Now was Elizabeth very uncomfortable, and she hated discomfort.  She would have given a great deal to make herself right; if a movement of her hand could have changed her and cleared away the hindrance, it would have been made on the instant; her judgment and her wish were clear; but her will was not.  Unconditional submission she thought she was ready for; unconditional obedience was a stumbling-block before which she stopped short.  She knew there would come up occasions when her own will would take its way —­ she could not promise for it that it would not; and she was afraid to give up her freedom utterly and engage to serve God in everything.  An enormous engagement, she felt!  How was she to meet with ten thousand the enemy that came against her with twenty thousand?  —­ Ay, how?  But if he were not met —­ if she were to be the servant of sin for ever —­ all was lost then!  And she was not going to be lost; therefore she was going to be the unconditional servant of God.  When? —­

The tears came, but they did not flow; they could not, for the fever of doubt and questioning.  She dashed them away as impertinent asides.  What were they to the matter in hand.  Elizabeth was in distress.  But at the same time it was distress that she was resolved to get out of.  She did not know just what to do; but neither would she go into the house till something was done.

“If Mr. Landholm were here! —­”

“What could he do?” answered conscience; “there is the question before you, for you to deal with.  You must deal with it.  It’s a plain question.”

“I cannot” —­ and “Who will undertake for me?” —­ were Elizabeth’s answering cry.

Her heart involuntarily turned to the great helper, but what could or would he do for her? —­ it was his will she was thwarting.  Nevertheless, “to whom should she go?” —­ the shaken needle of her mind’s compass turned more and more steadily to its great centre.  There was light in no other quarter but on that ‘wicket-gate’ towards which Bunyan’s Pilgrim first long ago set off to run.  With some such sorrowful blind looking, she opened to her chapter of Matthew again, and carelessly and sadly turned over a leaf or two; till she saw a word which though printed in the ordinary type of the rest, stood out to her eyes like the lettering on a signboard.  “ASK.” —­

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.”

The tears came then with a gush.

“Ask what? —­ it doesn’t say, —­but it must be whatever my difficulty needs —­ there is no restriction.  ‘Knock’! —­ I will —­ till it is opened to me —­ as it will be! —­”

The difficulty was not gone —­ the mountain had not suddenly sunk to a level; but she had got a clue to get over the one, and daylight had broken through the other.  Elizabeth felt not changed at all; no better, and no tenderer; but she laid hold of those words as one who has but uncertain footing puts his arms round a strong tree, —­ she clung as one clings there; and clasped them with assurance of life.  Ask? —­ did she not ask, with tears that streamed now; she knocked, clasping that stronghold with more glad and sure clasp; she knew then that everything would be ‘made plain’ in the rough places of her heart.