“The nature of sinful man, and the nature of God Almighty.”
“They must be marvellous saints that so have,” said Dame Hilda, crossing herself.
“Some of them,” said my Lady gently, “were once marvellous sinners.”
“Why, you should have to strive a very lifetime for that,” quoth Dame Hilda. “I should think no man could rise thereto that dwelt not in anchorite’s cell, and scourged him on the bare back every morrow, and ate but of black rye-bread, and drank of ditch-water. Deary me, but I would not like that! I’d put up with a bit less saintliness, I would!”
“You are all out there, Dame,” my Lady made answer. “This fashion of saintliness may be along with such matters, but it cometh not by their help.”
“How comes it then, Dame, an’t like you?”
“By asking for it,” saith our mother, quietly.
“Good lack! but which of the saints must I ask for it?” quoth she. “I’ll give him all the wax candles in Ludlow, a week afore I die. I’d rather not have it sooner.”
“When go you about to die, Dame?”
“Our Lady love us! That cannot I say.”