"
"I can't read. I should only make myself twice as ill. I won't
try."
"But I will read to you, if you will let me."
"How comes it you are such a theologian? A woman is not expected
to know about that sort of thing."
"I am no theologian. There just comes one of the cases in which
those who call themselves his followers do not believe what the
Master said: he said God hid these things from the wise and
prudent, and revealed them to babes. I had a father who was child
enough to know them, and I was child enough to believe him, and
so grew able to understand them for myself. The whole secret is
to do the thing the Master tells you: then you will understand
what he tells you. The opinion of the wisest man, if he does not
do the things he reads, is not worth a rush. He may be partly
right, but you have no reason to trust him."
"Well, you shall be my chaplain. To-morrow, if I'm able to
listen, you shall see what you can make of the old sinner."
Mary did not waste words: where would have been the use of
pulling up the poor spiritual clodpole at every lumbering step,
at any word inconsistent with the holy manners of the high
countries? Once get him to court, and the power of the presence
would subdue him, and make him over again from the beginning,
without which absolute renewal the best observance of religious
etiquette is worse than worthless.
Pages:
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591