“Can one love Him whom one does not fully know?” It was one of the sharp searching questions that Mr. Gwynne sometimes put, which never failed to startle Olive, and to which she could not always reply; but she made an effort to do so now.
“Yes, when what we do know of Him commands love. Does Ailie, even Ailie, thoroughly know her father? And yet she loves him.”
“That I cannot judge; but most true it is, we know as little of God as Ailie knows of her father—ay, and look up to Heaven with as blindfold ignorance as Ailie looks up to me.
“Alas! Ailie's is indeed blindfold ignorance!” said Olive, not quite understanding his half-muttered words, but thinking they offered a good opportunity for fulfilling her purpose. “Mr. Gwynne, may I speak to you about something which has long troubled me?”
“Troubled you, Miss Rothesay? Surely that is not my fault? I would not for the world do aught that would give pain to one so good as you.”
He said this very kindly, pressing her arm with a brotherly gentleness, which passed into her heart; imparting to her not only a quick sense of pleasure, but likewise courage.
“Thank you, Mr. Gwynne. This does really pain me. It is the subject on which we talked the first time that ever you and I met, and of which we have never since spoken—your determination with respect to little Ailie's religious instruction.”
“Ah!” A start, and a dark look. “Well, Miss Rothesay, what have you to say?”
“That I think you are not quite right—nay, quite wrong,” said Olive, gathering resolution. “You are taking from your child her only strength in life—her only comfort in death. You keep from her the true faith; she will soon make to herself a false one.”
“Nay, what is more false than the idle traditions taught by ranting parents to their offspring—the Bible travestied into a nursery talc—heaven transformed into a pretty pleasure-house—and hell and its horrors brought as bugbears to frighten children in the dark. Do you think I would have my child turned into a baby saint, to patter glibly over parrot prayers, exchange pet sweetmeats for missionary pennies, and so learn to keep up a debtor and creditor account with Heaven? No, Miss Rothesay, I would rather see her grow up a heathen.”