The priest departed, and Sir John sank into a crazy chair by the couch of the old woman.
A faded coverlet was upon it, whereon was wrought the history of Cain and Abel; there were four posts supporting a canopy, but one post drooped, and the whole threatened to come down together.
“Speak, mother, why hast thou sent for me at last? or why didst thou not send before?”
“I would not have sent for thee now, but if I did not, a damning crime would stain thy soul and mine; mine, because I alone can reveal to thee its nature; thine, because thy sin led the way to it.”
“My sin, woman! gain is righteousness, loss is sin, I know no other description for either: I believe not as priestlings prate, nor didst thou once, although, like other unbelievers, we held our tongue for fear of Mother Church with her discipline of fire and faggot, for if we had said that we believed not in hell hereafter, she would have created one for us here.”
“Enough, hadst thou seen what I have seen, thou wouldst know there is a God and a terrible one, and that the worst flames Churchmen kindle here for heretics are no more in comparison with those which await the unforgiven sinner, than painted flames compare with those which wither up the unbeliever or witch in Smithfield.”
“I came not here to hear a sermon, Madge; what further crime hast thou to warn me against? I would not commit useless ones.”
“Dost thou remember when thy brother’s widow bare a poor babe, who never saw its father’s face?”
“I do, as thou knowest, too well; it was a great disappointment to me.”