“Why, Joyce!” said Lady Louvaine, smiling, “thou wert not wont to call thyself a Puritan, in the old days when thou and Bess Wolvercot used to pick a crow betwixt you over Dr Meade’s surplice at Keswick.”
“No, I wasn’t,” said she. “But I tell you, Lettice, there be things human nature cannot bear. A clean white surplice and Christ’s Gospel is one thing, and a purple vestment and an other Gospel is another. And if I’m to swallow the purple vestment along with the white surplice, I’ll have neither. As to old Bess, dear blessed soul! she’s in her right place, where she belongs; and if I may creep in at a corner of Heaven’s door and clean her golden sandals, I shall be thankful enough, the Lord knows.”
“But, Mrs Morrell! sure you never mean to say that surplices be giving place to purple vestments down this road!” cried Temperance in much horror.
“Children,” said the old lady very solemnly, “we two, in God’s mercy, shall not live to see what is coming, but very like you will. And I tell you, all is coming back which our fathers cast forth into the Valley of Hinnom, and afore you—Temperance, Faith, and Edith—be old women, it will be set up in the court of the Temple. Ay, much if it creep not into the Holy of Holies ere those three young folks have a silver hair. The Devil is coming, children: he’s safe to be first; and in his train are the priests and the Pope. They are all coming: and you’ll have to turn them out again, as your grandfathers did. And don’t you fancy that shall be an easy task. It’ll be the hardest whereto you ever set your shoulders. God grant you win through it! There are two dangers afore you, and when I say that, I mean not the torture-chamber and the stake. Nay, I am thinking of worser dangers than those—snares wherein feet are more easily trapped, a deal. List to me, for ere many years be over, you will find that I speak truth. The lesser danger is if the Devil come to you in his black robes, and offer to buy you with that which he guesseth to be your price—and that shall not be the same for all: a golden necklace may tempt one, and a place at Court another, and a Barbary mare a third. But worse, far worse, is the danger when the Devil comes in his robes of light; when he gilds his lie with a cover of outside truth; when he quotes Scripture for his purpose, twisting it so subtilely that if the Spirit of God give you not the answer, you know not how to answer him. Remember, all you young ones, and Aubrey in especial, that no man can touch pitch and not be denied. ‘Evil communications corrupt good manners:’ and they corrupt them worst and quickest when you see not that they be evil. If you think the scales be falling from your eyes, make very sure that they are not growing on them. And you can do that only by keeping very close to God’s footstool and to God’s Word. Be sure of this: whatsoever leads you away from that Book leads you wrong. I care not what it be—King or Pope, priest or layman, blind faith or blind reason,—he that neglects and sets aside the Word of God, for whatever cause, and whatever thing he would put in his place—children, his ways incline unto Hell, and his paths unto the dead. Go not after him, nor follow him. Mark my words, and see, twenty and yet more forty years hence, if they come not true.”
Aubrey whispered to Lettice, “What made her pick out me in ‘especial,’ trow? I’m not about to handle no pitch.”
But Hans said, with his gravest face, “I thank you, Madam,” and seemed to be thinking hard about something all the rest of the evening.
On the Sunday morning, all went to church except the two old ladies, who could honestly plead infirmity.
When they came out, Lettice, who was burning to speak her mind, exclaimed,—“Saw you ever a parson so use himself, Aubrey? Truly I know not how to specify it—turning, and twisting, and bowing, and casting up of his hands and eyes—it well-nigh made me for to laugh!”
“Like a merry Andrew or a cheap Jack,” laughed Aubrey.
“I thought his sermon stranger yet,” said Hans, “nor could I see what it had to do with his text.”