"You see," responded Celia, a little apologetically, awaking to the fact that Patient had not expected her for another hour or two, "I am so little accustomed to these things. I never was up at such an hour as this before."
"All the better for you, Madam," said Patient, quietly.
"You do not like these assemblies?"
"I have nothing to do with them, Madam."
"But if you had," persisted Celia, looking for Patient's opinion as a sister in the faith.
But Patient seemed scarcely willing to impart it.
"You command me to answer you, Madam?" she said.
"I want to know, Patient," replied Celia, simply.
"'What concord hath Christ with Belial?'" answered Patient. "Madam, when I was but a young maid, I looked on the world as divided into many sects—Covenanters, Independents, Prelatists, Anabaptists, and the like, and I fancied that all who were not Covenanters (as I was) must needs be more or less wrong. Methinks I am wiser now. I see the world as divided into two camps only, and the army wherein I serve hath but one rallying-cry. They that believe, and they that believe not—here are the camps, 'What think ye of Christ?'—that is the rallying-cry. I see the Church as a great school, holding many forms and classes, but only one Master. And I think less now of a fellow-scholar sitting on another form from mine, and seeing the other side of the Master's face, if I find that he heareth His voice, and followeth Him. Madam, what think you all those great ladies down-stairs would say, if you asked them that question—'What think ye of Christ?'[[1]] Poor souls! they never think of Him. And with them in the enemy's camp I have nought to do, so long as they remain there."
"But may we not win them over to our side?" queried Celia.