The child of heaven looked at her mutely, with sweet grave eyes, in
which there was much that confused her who was a stranger here; and once
more softly shook her head.

"Is it that He will not, then?" said the other with a low voice of awe.
"Our Lord who died--He--"

"Listen," said the other, "I hear His step on the way."

The little Pilgrim rose up from the mound on which she was sitting. Her
soul was confused with wonder and fear. She had thought that an angel
might step between a soul on earth and sin, and that if one but prayed
and prayed, the dear Lord would stand between and deliver the tempted.
She had meant when she saw His face to ask Him to save Was not He born,
did not He live, and die to save? The angel-maiden looked at her all the
while, with eyes that understood all her perplexity and her doubt, but
spoke not. Thus it was that before the Lord came to her the sweetness of
her first blessedness was obscured, and she found that here, too, even
here, though in a moment she should see Him, there was need for faith.
Young Margaret, who had been kneeling by her, rose up too and stood
among the lilies, waiting, her soft countenance shining, her eyes turned
towards Him who was coming. Upon her there was no cloud nor doubt. She
was one of the children of that land familiar with His presence. And in
the air there was a sound such as those who hear it alone can
describe--a sound as of help coming and safety, like the sound of a
deliverer when one is in deadly danger, like the sound of a conqueror,
like the step of the dearest-beloved coming home. As it came nearer the
fear melted away out of the beating heart of the Pilgrim. Who could fear
so near Him? her breath went away from her, her heart out of her bosom,
to meet His coming. Oh, never fear could live where He was! Her soul was