"Whatever he hath done?"

"Whatever he hath done."

"I can never do that," replied Philippa, yet rather regretfully than angrily. "What he did to me I might; but--"

"I know," said the Grey Lady quietly, when Philippa paused. "It _is_ easier to forgive one's own wrongs than those of others. I think your heart is not quite so loveless as you would persuade yourself."

"To the dead--no," said Philippa huskily. "But to any who could love me in return--" and she paused again, leaving her sentence unended as before. "No, I never could forgive him."

"Never, of yourself," was the answer. "But whoso taketh Christ for his Priest to atone, taketh Christ also for his King to govern. In him G.o.d worketh, bringing forth from his soul graces which He Himself hath first put there--graces which the natural heart never can bring forth. Faith is the first of these; then love; and then obedience. And both love and obedience teach forgiveness. 'If ye forgive not men their trespa.s.ses, how then shall your Father which is in Heaven forgive your trespa.s.ses?'"

"Then," said Philippa, after a minute's silence, during which she was deeply meditating, "what we give to G.o.d is these graces of which you speak?--we give Him faith, and love, and obedience?"

"a.s.suredly--when He hath first implanted all within us."

"But what do we give of ourselves?" asked Philippa in a puzzled tone.

"We give _ourselves_."

"This giving of ourselves, then," pursued Philippa slowly, "maketh the grace of condignity?"

"We give to G.o.d," replied the low voice of the eremitess, "ourselves, and our sins. The last He purgeth away, and casteth them into the depths of the sea. Is there grace of condignity in them? And for us, when our sins are forgiven, and our souls cleansed, we are for ever committing further sin, for ever needing fresh cleansing and renewed pardon. Is there grace of condignity, then, in us?"

"But where do you allow the grace of condignity?"

"I allow it not at all."

Philippa shrank back a little. In her eyes, this was heresy.

"You love not that," said the Grey Lady gently. "But can you find any other way of salvation that will stand with the dignity of G.o.d? If man save himself, then is Christ no Saviour; if man take the first step towards G.o.d, then is Christ no Author, but only the Finisher of faith."

"It seems to me," answered Philippa rather coldly, "that such a view as yours detracts from the dignity of man."

She could not see the smile that crossed the lips of the eremitess.

"Most certainly it does," said she.

"And G.o.d made man," objected Philippa. "To injure the dignity of man, therefore, is to affront the dignity of G.o.d."

"Dignity fell with Adam," said the Grey Lady. "Satan fatally injured the dignity of man, when he crept into Eden. Man hath none left now, but only as he returneth unto G.o.d. And do you think there be any grace of condignity in a beggar, when he holdeth forth his hand to receive a garment in the convent dole? Is it such a condescension in him to accept the coat given to him, that he thereby earneth it of merit? Yet this, and less than this, is all that man can do toward G.o.d."

"Are you one of the Boni-Homines?" asked Philippa suddenly.

She was beginning to recognise their doctrines now.

"The family of G.o.d are one," answered the Grey Lady, rather evasively.

"He teacheth not different things to divers of His people, though He lead them by varying ways to the knowledge of the one truth."

"But are you one of the Boni-Homines?" Philippa repeated.

"By birth--no."

"No," echoed Philippa, "I should think not, by birth. Your accent and your manners show you high-born; and they are low-born varlets--common people."

"The common people," answered the Grey Lady, "are usually those who hear Christ the most gladly. 'Not many n.o.ble are called;' yet, thank G.o.d, a few. But do you, then, count Archbishop Bradwardine, or Bishop Grosteste, or William de Edingdon, Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor of England,--among the common people?"

"They were not among _them_?" exclaimed Philippa in contemptuous surprise.

"Trust me, but they were,--two of them at least; and the third preached their doctrines, though he went not out from them."

"I could not have believed it!"

"'The wind bloweth where it listeth,'" said the Grey Lady, softly: but she hardly spoke to her visitor.

Philippa rose. "I thank you for your counsel," she said.

"And you mean, _not_ to follow it?" was the gentle response.

"I do not know what I mean to do," she said honestly. "I want to do right; but I cannot believe it right to deny the grace of condignity.

It is so blessed a doctrine! How else shall men merit the favour of G.o.d? And I do not perceive, by your view, how men approach G.o.d at all."

"By G.o.d approaching them," said the eremitess. "'Whosoever will, let him take the Water of Life freely.' But G.o.d provideth the water; man only receiveth it; and the will to receive it is of G.o.d, not of man's own deed and effort. 'It is G.o.d that worketh in us.' Salvation is 'not of works, lest any man should boast.'"

"That is not the doctrine of holy Church," answered Philippa, somewhat offended.

"It is the doctrine of Saint Paul," was the quiet rejoinder, "for the words I have just spoken are not mine, but his."

"Are you certain of that, Mother?"

"Quite certain."

"Who told you them?"

The Grey Lady turned, and took from a rough shelf or ledge, scooped out in the rocky wall of the little cavern, a small brown-covered volume.

"I know not if you can read," she said, offering the book to Lady Sergeaux; "but there are the words."

The little volume was no continuous Book of Scripture, but consisted of pa.s.sages extracted almost at random, of varying lengths, apparently just as certain paragraphs had attracted her when she heard or read them.

"Yes, I can read. My nurse taught me," said Philippa, taking the little book from her hand.

But her eyes lighted, the first thing, upon a pa.s.sage which enchained them; and she read no further.

"Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again; but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst."

CHAPTER EIGHT.