He was going about his Father’s business, not lingering, yet neither making haste; and the calm and peace which the little Pilgrim had seen in the faces of the blessed were but reflections from the majestic gentleness of the countenance to which, all quivering with happiness and wonder, she lifted up her eyes.  Many things there had been in her mind to say to him.  She wanted to ask for those she loved some things which perhaps he had overlooked.  She wanted to say, “Send me.”  It seemed to her that here was the occasion she had longed for all her life.  Oh, how many times had she wished to be able to go to him, to fall at his feet, to show him something which had been left undone, something which perhaps for her asking he would remember to do.  But when this dream of her life was fulfilled, and the little Pilgrim, kneeling, and all shaken and trembling with devotion and joy, was at his feet, lifting her face to him, seeing him, hearing him—­then she said nothing to him at all.  She no longer wanted to say anything, or wanted anything except what he chose, or had power to think of anything except that all was well, and everything—­everything as it should be in his hand.  It seemed to her that all that she had ever hoped for was fulfilled when she met the look in his eyes.  At first it seemed too bright for her to meet; but next moment she knew it was all that was needed to light up the world, and in it everything was clear.  Her trembling ceased, her little frame grew inspired; though she still knelt, her head rose erect, drawn to him like the flower to the sun.  She could not tell how long it was, nor what was said, nor if it was in words.  All that she knew was that she told him all that ever she had thought, or wished, or intended in all her life, although she said nothing at all; and that he opened all things to her, and showed her that everything was well, and no one forgotten; and that the things she would have told him of were more near his heart than hers, and those to whom she wanted to be sent were in his own hand.  But whether this passed with words or without words, she could not tell.  Her soul expanded under his eyes like a flower.  It opened out, it comprehended and felt and knew.  She smote her hands together in her wonder that she could have missed seeing what was so clear, and laughed with a sweet scorn at her folly, as two people who love each other laugh at the little misunderstanding that has parted them.  She was bold with him, though she was so timid by nature, and ventured to laugh at herself, not to reproach herself; for his divine eyes spoke no blame, but smiled upon her folly too.  And then he laid a hand upon her head, which seemed to fill her with currents of strength and joy running through all her veins.  And then she seemed to come to herself, saying loud out, “And that I will! and that I will!” and lo, she was kneeling on the warm, soft sod alone, and hearing the sound of his footsteps as he went about his Father’s