"I read in the Word, Mr. Philip, of different sorts of consciences. There is a defiled conscience. 'Unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled.'[[18]] There is an evil conscience. 'Having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience;'[[19]] and nought in earth or heaven will sprinkle them to this end save the blood of Christ. There is a conscience lost and smothered in dead works. 'How much more shall the blood of Christ ... purge your conscience from dead works?'[[20]] Now, Mr. Philip, see your 'good' and charity to the poor. Works, you see: but, coming from dead hearts and souls—dead works. And lastly, deepest and deadliest of all, I read of a conscience 'seared with a hot iron.'[[21]] Ay, there have been some of those in our day. The Lord protect us from it! The devil hath such a grip of them that they cannot free themselves; and, poor blind souls! they never know it, but think they are doing God's service. Are these consciences given as guides, Mr. Philip?"
"Well, you see, all that is Saint Peter's opinion."
"I ask you pardon, 'tis Paul, not Peter.'
"Oh, St. Paul? Well, 'tis all the same."
"Ay, Mr. Philip, it is all the same, for it was the Holy Ghost that spake through both of them. And His opinion is scarce to be dealt with so lightly, methinks, seeing that by His word we shall be judged at the last day."
Patient took up her work again, and said no more. Philip was silent for a time: when he next spoke it was on a different subject.
"Celia, I want you to come down at my mother's next assembly. I should like to present my friend Colville to you."
"I am rather curious to see him," she admitted.
"Mr. Philip, if I might presume to say a word"—
"'Presume to say a word!' you may presume to say a thousand, my dear old Covenanter. What's in the wind now?"