"But how can she, when G.o.d inspires her?"

"There is another question I want settled first. How can I believe that G.o.d inspires her, when I see that she contradicts His distinct commands?"

"I suppose the priest would say that was very wicked."

"What do I care for that popinjay? How did _you_ get over it? Had you no sensation of horror, when you were required to bow down to those stocks and stones?"

"Well, no," said Christian, speaking very slowly. "I believed what Gerard had taught us, and--"

"When did Gerhardt ever teach you that rubbish?"

"He never did," answered David. "The priests taught us that. And I did find it main hard to swallow at first."

"Ah! I'm afraid I shall find it too hard to swallow at last. But there is nothing of all that in this book."

"I know nought about books. But of course the Church must know the truth," responded David uneasily.

"This is the truth," answered Countess, laying her hand upon the book.

"But if this be, that is not. David--Ruth--I believe as you do in Jesus Christ of Nazareth: but I believe in no gilded images nor priestly lies.

I shall take my religion from His words, not from them. I should like to be baptised, if it mean to confess Him before men; but if it only mean to swallow the priests' fables, and to kneel before G.o.ds that cannot hear nor save, I will have none of it. As the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, I will never bow down to the work of men's hands!"

She had risen and stood before them, a grand figure, with hands clenched and eyes on fire. Christian shrank as if alarmed. David spoke in a regretful tone.

"Well! I thought that way myself for a while. But they said. I couldn't be a Christian if I did not go to church, and attend the holy ma.s.s. The Church had the truth, and G.o.d had given it to her: so I thought I might be mistaken, and I gave in. I've wondered sometimes whether I did right."

"If that be what baptism means--to put my soul into the hands of that thing they call the Church, and let it mould me like wax--to defile myself with all the idols and all the follies that I see there--I will not be baptised. I will believe without it. And if He ask me at the Day of Doom why I did not obey His command given in Galilee, I shall say, 'Lord, I could not do it without disobeying Thy first command, given amid the thunders of Sinai.' If men drive me to do thus, it will not be my sin, but theirs."

"Well, I don't know!" answered David, in evident perplexity. "I suppose you _could_ be baptised, with nothing more--but I don't know any priest that would do it."

"Would you do it?"

"Oh, I daren't!"

"David, your religion is very queer."

"What's the matter?" asked David in astonishment.

"The other day, when I told you I was in a great slough, you did not advise me to go and ask those gaudy images to help me out of it; you spoke of n.o.body but the Lord. Now that we come to talk about images, you flounder about as if you did not know what to say."

"Well, don't you see, I know one o' them two, but I've only been told the other."

"Oh yes, I see. You are not the first who has had one religion for sunshiny weather, and another for rainy days; only that with you-- different from most people--you wear your best robe in the storm."

David rubbed his face upon the sleeve of his jacket, as if he wished to rub some more discrimination into his brains.

"Nay, I don't know--I hope you've no call to say that."

"I usually say what I think. But there's no need to fret; you've time to mend."

Both the women noticed that for a few days after that, David was very silent and thoughtful. When the Sunday came he excused himself from going to church, much to the surprise and perplexity of his wife. The day after he asks for a holiday, and did not return till late at night.

As they sat round the fire on the following evening, David said suddenly,--"I think I've found it out."

"What?" asked his mistress.

"Your puzzle--and my own too."

"Let me have the key, by all means, if you possess it."

"Well, I have been to see the hermit of Holywell. They say he is the holiest man within reach of London, go what way you will. And he has read me a bit out of a book that seems to settle the matter. At least I thought so. Maybe you mightn't see it so easy."

"It takes more than fair words to convince me. However, let me hear what it is. What was the book? I should like to know that first."

"He said it was an epistle written by Paul the Apostle to somebody--I can't just remember whom."

"Who was he?"

"Why, he was one of the saints, wasn't he?"

"I don't know. There's no mention of him in my book."

David looked like a man stopped unexpectedly in rapid career. "You always want to know so much about every thing!" he said, rubbing his face on his sleeve, as he had a habit of doing when puzzled. "Now I never thought to ask that."

"But before I can act on a message from my superior, I must surely satisfy myself as to the credentials of the messenger. However, let us hear the message. Perhaps that may tell us something. Some things bear on their faces the evidence of what they are--still more of what they are not."

"Well, what he read was this: 'If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that G.o.d hath raised Him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.' And 'Look you,' saith he, 'there isn't a word here of any body else.' 'If thou shalt confess' Him--not the saints, nor the images, nor the Church, nor the priest. 'Baptism,'

saith he, 'is confessing Him.' Then he turned over some leaves, and read a bit from another place, how our Lord said, 'Come unto Me, all ye--'"

Countess's eyes lighted up suddenly. "That's in my book. 'All ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.'"

"That's it. And says he, 'He does not say, "Come to the Church or the priest," but "Come to Me."' 'Well,' says I, 'but how can you do one without the other?' 'You may come to the priest easy enough, and never come to Christ,' saith he, 'so it's like to be as easy to come to Christ without the priest.' 'Well, but,' says I, 'priests doesn't say so.'

'No,' says he; 'they don't'--quite short like. 'But for all I can see in this book,' says he, 'He does.'"

"Go on!" said Countess eagerly, when David paused.

"Well, then--I hope you'll excuse me if I said more than I should--says I to him, 'Now look here, Father: suppose you had somebody coming to you for advice, that had been a Jew like me, and was ready to believe in our Lord, but could not put up with images and such, would you turn him away because he could not believe enough, or would you baptise him?' 'I would baptise him,' saith he. Then he turns over the book again, and reads: '"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."

That is what the Apostles said to one man,' says he: 'and if it was enough then, it is enough now.' 'But, Father,' says I, 'that sounds rather as if you thought the Church might go wrong, or had gone wrong, in putting all these things beside our Lord.' 'My son,' saith he, 'what meanest thou by the Church? The Holy Ghost cannot teach error. Men in the Church may go wrong, and are continually wandering into error. What said our Lord to the rulers of the Jews, who were the priests of His day? "Ye do err, not knowing the Scriptures." This book is truth: when men leave this book,' saith he, 'they go astray.' 'But not holy Church?' said I. 'Ah,' saith he, 'the elect may stray from the fold; how much more they that are strangers there? The only safe place for any one of us,' he says, 'is to keep close to the side of the Good Shepherd.'"

"David, where dwells that hermit?"

"By the holy well, away on the Stronde, west of Lud Gate. Any body you meet on that road will tell you where to find him. His hut stands a bit back from the high way, on the north."

"Very good. I'll find him."

The next day, until nearly the hour of curfew, nothing was seen of Countess. She took Olaf with her as guard, and they returned at the last moment, just in time to enter the City before the gates were closed. David and Christian had finished their work, shut up the shop, and put the children to bed, when Olaf made his stately entrance, with his mistress behind him.

"Thy old hermit," she said, addressing David, "is the first decent Christian I have found--the first that goes by his Master's words, and does not worry me with nonsense."

She drew off her hood, and sat down in the chimney-corner.