"Settle not the whole day of your life at its morning, most dear
child, but live it hour by hour," she said. "If you would be of use now, go
gather the flowers for the Holy Table, and when themselves have drawn in
holiness from the spot, then shall you bring them to the sick woman over the
hill."
"Yes, Sister," the girl said submissively. But when she had crossed the
daisied grass and opened the wicket gate and came out into the fragrant lane,
something seemed to divide her mind with the roses, for though she sent one
glance toward the hedge, she sent another to the spot beyond--where the lane
gave out upon the great Street to the City--and after she had walked a little
way toward the flowers, she turned and walked a long way toward the road,
until she had come where her eyes could follow its white track far away over
the hills.
"I wonder if I shall ever hunger for heaven as I hunger for the sight of him,"
she murmured as she gazed.
But whatever the valleys might hold, the hillsides showed her nothing;
sighing, she turned back. "It seems to me," she said, "that if we could have
little tastes of heaven as we went along, then would there still be enough
left and the road would seem much shorter." Sighing, she set to work upon the
roses, that had twined themselves in a kindly veil over the bushes.
Standing so, it happened that she did not see the horseman who was just
gaining the crest of the nearest hill between her and the City.
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