"Yes, really—and blue mould is like a miniature forest. You will know about it"—he said with a smile. "But do you see how this touches the standard of moral perfection?—how it explains that other word, 'Be ye also perfect'."
Faith had not seen before, but she did now; for in her face the answer flashed most eloquently. She was silent.
"That is the sort of perfection we are promised," Mr. Linden went on presently,—"that is the sort of perfection we shall see. Now, both glass and eye are imperfect,—specked, and flawed, and short-sighted; and can but faintly discern 'the balancings of the clouds, the wondrous works of him that is perfect in knowledge.' But then!—
'When sin no more obstructs our sight,
When sorrow pains our hearts no more,
How shall we view the Prince of Light,
And all his works of grace explore!
What heights and depths of love divine
Will then through endless ages shine!'"
The words moved her probably, for she sat with her face turned a little away so that its play or its gravity were scarce so well revealed. Not very long however. The silence lasted time enough to let her thoughts come back to the subject never very far from them.
"You are tired, Mr. Linden."
"By what chain of reasoning, Miss Faith?"
"I know by the sound of your voice. And you eat nothing to-day. Do you like cocoa, Mr. Linden?" she added eagerly.
He smiled a little and answered yes.
"Then I shall bring you some!"