Upon this Margaret kissed her, putting her soft cheek against hers, and
said; "It is a mystery; it cannot be put into words; in your time you
will know."

"When you touch me you change me, and I grow like you," the Pilgrim said.
"Ah, if she could see us together, you and me! And will you go to her
soon again? And do you see them always, what they are doing? and take
care of them?"

"It is our Father who takes cares of them, and our Lord who is our
Brother. I do his errands when I am able. Sometimes he will let me go,
sometimes another, according as it is best. Who am I that I should take
care of them? I serve them when I may."

"But you do not forget them?" the Pilgrim said, with wistful eyes.

"We love them always," said Margaret. She was more still than the lady
who had first spoken with the Pilgrim. Her countenance was full of a
heavenly calm. It had never known passion nor anguish. Sometimes there
was in it a far-seeing look of vision, sometimes the simplicity of a
child. "But what are we in comparison? For he loves them more than we do.
When he keeps us from them, it is for love. We must each live our own
life."

"But it is hard for them sometimes," said the little Pilgrim, who could
not withdraw her thoughts from those she had left.

"They are never forsaken," said the angel maiden.