“That is, Heaven?” said Agnes questioningly. Her admiration for his knowledge and wisdom was high.
“That is Heaven,” he replied in the same tone as before.
“John, what thinkest Heaven shall be like?”
“Like God!” said the Black Friar slowly. “Therefore, glorious—wonderful—perfect in every part—holy—satisfying.”
“And right fair and beauteous, doubtless,” she added, by way of completing the picture.
“That which is perfect must be fair,” said John Laurence. “He saith to His Church, ‘Thou art all fair, My love, and a stain is not in thee.’ That is, to thee, and me, Agnes.”
“To me?” she repeated, in an awe-struck voice. “Nay, how so, trow? I am all o’er a stain with my sins.”
The answer was in inspired words. “‘For perfect wert thou, in My beauty which I put upon thee, saith the Lord God.’”
Agnes sat still, trying to take in the idea.
“Hear yet again another His saying to the Church: ‘Thou hast wounded Mine heart, My sister-spouse; thou hast wounded Mine heart in one of thine eyes, and in one chain of thy neck.’ Now what is the eye?—is it not a member of the body? Doth not this learn us that every one of Christ’s members hath his proper and peculiar love of Him, that cannot belong to any other? Yea, more; for the chain of the neck is not a member, but only the ornament of a member. Wherefore one grace—for the ornaments of the soul be his graces—one grace of one Christian soul is enough to delight Christ’s heart.”