"I did not think about it," said Diana. "But I am sure it is impossible to be as he said."
"I never heard Paul's truth questioned before," said the minister, with a dry sort of comicality.
"No, but, Mr. Masters," said Diana, half by way of apology, "I spoke from my own experience."
"And he spoke from his."
"But, sir,—Mr. Masters,—seriously, do you think it is possible to be contented when one is in trouble?"
"Miss Diana, One greater than David or Paul said this, 'If a man love me, he will keep my words; and my Father will love him; and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.' Where there is that indwelling, believe me, there is no trouble that can overthrow content."
"Content and pain together?" said Diana.
"Sometimes pain and very great joy."
"You are speaking of what I do not understand in the least," said
Diana. And her face looked half incredulous, half sad.
"I wish you did know it," he said. No more; only those few words had a simplicity, a truth, an accent of sympathy and affection, that reached the very depth of the heart he was speaking to; as the same things from his lips had often reached other hearts. He promised to take care of the book in his hand, and presently went away, with one of the warm, frank, lingering grasps of the hand, that were also a characteristic of Basil Masters. Diana stood at the door watching him ride away. It cannot be said she was soothed by his words, and perhaps he did not mean she should be. She stood with a weary feeling of want in her heart; but she thought only of the want of Evan.