Part 17 (1/2)
”Hast alway done thy duty, Amphillis?”
”Alack, no, Mistress. Yet meseemeth there be worser folks than I. I am alway regular at shrift.”
”The which shrift thou shouldst little need, if thou hadst never failed in duty. But how shall our Lord make thee safe?”
”Why, forgive me my sins,” replied Amphillis, looking puzzled.
”That saith what He shall do, not how He shall do it. Thy sins are a debt to G.o.d's law and righteousness. Canst thou pay a debt without cost?”
”But forgiveness costs nought.”
”Doth it so? I think scarce anything costs more. Hast ever meditated, Amphillis, what it cost G.o.d to forgive sin?”
”I thought it cost Him nothing at all.”
”Child, it could only be done in one of two ways, at the cost of His very self. Either He should forgive sin without propitiation--which were to cost His righteousness and truth and honour. Could that be? In no wise. Then it must be at the cost of His own bearing the penalty due unto the sinner. Thy sins, Amphillis, thine every failure in duty, thine every foolish thought or wrongful word, cost the Father His own Son out of His bosom, cost the Son a human life of agony and a death of uttermost terribleness. Didst thou believe that?”
A long look of mingled amazement and horror preceded the reply.
”Mistress Perrote, I never thought of no such thing! I thought--I thought,” said Amphillis, struggling for the right words to make her meaning clear, ”I thought our Lord was to judge us for our sins, and our blessed Lady did plead with Him to have mercy on us, and we must do the best we could, and pray her to pray for us. But the fas.h.i.+on you so put it seemeth--it seemeth certain, as though the matter were settled and done with, and should not be fordone [revoked]. Is it thus?”
If Perrote de Carhaix had not been gifted with the unction from the Holy One, she would have made a terrible mistake at that juncture. All that she had been taught by man inclined her to say ”no” to the question.
But ”there are a few of us whom G.o.d whispers in the ear,” and those who hear those whispers often go utterly contrary to man's teaching, being bound only by G.o.d's word. So bound they must be. If they speak not according to that word, it is because there is no light in them--only an _ignis fatuus_ which leads the traveller into quagmires. But they are often free from all other bonds. Perrote could not have told what made her answer that question in the way she did. It was as if a soft hand were laid upon her lips, preventing her from entering into any doctrinal disputations, and insisting on her keeping the question down to the personal level. She said--or that inward monitor said through her--
”Is it settled for thee, Amphillis?”
”Mistress, I don't know! Can I have it settled?”
”'He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.' 'I give unto them eternal life.'” [John three verse 36; ten, verse 28.] Perrote said no more.
”Then, if I go and ask at Him--?”
”'My Lord G.o.d, I cried unto Thee, and Thou madest me whole.' 'All ye that hope in the Lord, do manly, and your heart shall be comforted.'”
[Psalm thirty, verse 3; thirty-one, verse 25; Hereford and Purvey's version.]
Once more it was as by a heavenly instinct that Perrote answered in G.o.d's words rather than in her own. Amphillis drew a long breath. The light was rising on her. She could not have put her convictions into words; and it was quite as well, for had she done so, men might have persuaded her out of them. But the one conviction ”borne in upon her”
was--G.o.d, and not man; G.o.d's word, not men's words; G.o.d the Saviour of men, not man the saviour of himself; G.o.d the Giver of His Son for the salvation of men, not men the offerers of something to G.o.d for their own salvation. And when man or woman reaches that point, that he sees in all the universe only himself and G.o.d, the two points are not likely to remain long apart. When the one is need longing for love, and the Other is love seeking for need, what can they do but come close together?
Sir G.o.dfrey set forth for his tournament in magnificent style, and Lady Foljambe and Mistress Margaret with him. Young G.o.dfrey was already gone. The old knight rode a fine charger, and was preceded by his standard-bearer, carrying a pennon of bright blue, whereon were embroidered his master's arms--sable, a bend or, between six scallops of the second. The ladies journeyed together in a quirle, and were provided with rich robes and all their jewellery. The house and the prisoner were left in the hands of Matthew, Father Jordan, and Perrote.
Norman Hylton accompanied his master.
Lady Foljambe's mind had grown tolerably easy on the subject of Ivo, and she only gave Perrote a long lecture, warning her, among other things, never to leave the door unlocked nor the prisoner alone. Either Perrote or Amphillis must sleep in the pallet bed in her chamber during the whole time of Lady Foljambe's absence, so that she should never be left unguarded for a single moment. Matthew received another harangue, to which he paid little attention in reality, though in outward seeming he received it with due deference. Father Jordan languidly washed his hands with invisible soap, and a.s.sured his patrons that no harm could possibly come to the prisoner through their absence.
The Tuesday evening was near its close. The sun had just sunk behind the western hills; the day had been bright and beautiful in the extreme.
Amphillis was going slowly upstairs to her turret, carrying her little work-basket, which was covered with brown velvet and adorned with silver cord, when she saw Kate standing in the window of the landing, as if she were waiting for something or some person. It struck Amphillis that Kate looked unhappy.
”Kate, what aileth thee?” she asked, pausing ere ere she mounted the last steps. ”Dost await here for man to pa.s.s?”
”Nay, Mistress--leastwise--O Mistress Amphillis, I wis not what to do!”