“So you see,” said Theodora, “what is called orthodoxy has very little to do with religion; and a person may be very religious without holding the same dogmas as yourself, or, as some think, without holding any.”
“According to you, then,” said Lothair, “the Anglican view might be maintained.”
“I do not know what the Anglican view is,” said Theodora. “I do not belong to the Roman or to the Anglican Church.”
“And yet, you are very religious,” said Lothair.
“I hope so; I try to be so; and, when I fail in any duty, it is not the fault of my religion. I never deceive myself into that; I know it is my own fault.”
There was a pause; but they walked on. The soft splendor of the scene and all its accessories, the moonlight, and the fragrance, and the falling waters, wonderfully bewitched the spirit of the young Lothair.
“There is nothing I would not tell you,” he suddenly exclaimed, turning to Theodora, “and sometimes I think there is nothing you would not tell me. Tell me, then, I entreat you, what is your religion?”
“The true religion, I think,” said Theodora. “I worship in a church where I believe God dwells, and dwells for my guidance and my good—my conscience.”
“Your conscience may be divine,” said Lothair, “and I believe it is; but the consciences of other persons are not divine, and what is to guide them, and what is to prevent or to mitigate the evil they would perpetrate?”
“I have never heard from priests,” said Theodora, “any truth which my conscience had not revealed to me. They use different language from what I use, but I find, after a time, that we mean the thing. What I call time they call eternity; when they describe heaven, they give a picture of earth; and beings whom they style divine, they invest with all the attributes of humanity.”