“There was a time, Helen,” she went on, “when it seemed to me uttermost misery that no prayers should be permitted for her soul. Think thou with what comfort I found in God’s Word that none were needed for her. Ah, these Papists will tell you of the happiness of their priests’ fatherly care, and the sweetness of absolution: but they tell you not of the agony of despair to them to whom absolution is denied, and for whom the Church and the priest have no words save curses. I have seen it, Helen. Well for them whom it drives straight to Him that is high above all Churches, and who hath mercy on whom He will have mercy. Praise be to His holy name, that the furthest bounds of men’s forbearance touch not the ‘uttermost’ of God.”
When my Lady thus spake, it came upon my mind all of a sudden, to ask at her somewhat the which had troubled me of long time. I marvel wherefore it should be, that it doth alway seem easier to carry one’s knots and griefs unto them that be not the nearest and dearest, than unto them that be. Is it by reason that courtesy ordereth that they shall list the better, and not be so like to snub a body?—yet that can scarce be so with me, that am alway gently entreated both of Father and Mother. Or is it that one would not show ignorance or mistakings afore them one loves, nor have them hereafter cast in one’s teeth, as might be if one were o’erheard of one’s sist—Good lack! but methought I were bettered of saying unkindly things. I will stay me, not by reason that it should cost me two pence, but because I do desire to please God and do the right.
Well, so I said unto my Lady, “Madam, I pray you pardon me if I speak not well, but there is one place of Holy Writ that doth sore pose and trouble me. It is that of Saint Paul, which saith, that if they that were once enlightened shall fall away, there shall be no hope to renew them again. That doth alway seem to me so awful a word!—to think of one that had sinned longing for forgiveness, and yet must not have it—I cannot understand how it should be, when Christ liveth to save to the uttermost!”
“Nor any other,” saith she. “Dear Helen, thou readest it wrong, as I believe many do. The Apostle saith not, there is no renewing to pardon: he saith, there is no renewing to repentance. With them that have sinned against light, the language of whose hearts is, ‘I have loved idols, and after them I will go,’—these have no desire of remission. They do not wish to be forgiven. But these, dear maid, are not they that long for pardon and are willing to turn from sin. That is repentance. So long as a sinner can repent, so long can he receive pardon. The sinner that doth long for forgiveness which God can not or will not give him, is a monster was never found yet in this world or that which is to come.”
Right comfortable did I think these words. I never should have dared (as Milly saith touching the 139th Psalm) to have turned o’er the two leaves together that I might not see this sixth chapter of Hebrews: yet did I never see it without a diseaseful creeping feeling, belike, coming o’er me. And I am sore afeared lest I may have come nigh, at times, to wishing that Saint Paul had not writ the same.
“Yet mark thou, Helen,” again saith my Lady, “there is a difference betwixt remission of sin and remission of penalty. Every sinner should be glad enough to part with his punishment: but no sinner was ever yet willing to part with his sin but under the promptings of God’s Spirit. And that is but a sorry repentance which would fain keep the sin, if only it might without incurring penalty.”
“Madam, you do cause sin to look very awful,” said I.
“That is how God would have thee see it, Helen,” saith she. “Remember, He hates sin not for His own sake only, but for thy sake. Ah, dear maid, when some sin, or some matter that perhaps scarce seems sin to thee, yet makes a cloud to rise up betwixt God and thee—when this shall creep into thy very bosom, and nestle himself there warm and close, and be unto thee as a precious jewel—remember, if so be, that ‘it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than thou shouldst, having two hands, or two feet, be cast into everlasting fire.’ He that said that, Helen, knew what Hell was.”
Selwick Hall, January ye xxi.
Blanche is gone home at last. Aunt Joyce and I went thither this last night with her, her mother having wrung consent from her father that she should come. For all that was the scene distressful, for Master Lewthwaite kept not in divers sharp speeches, and Blanche (that is sore wanting in reverence to her elders) would answer back as she should not: but at the last Mistress Lewthwaite gat them peaced, and Alice and Blanche went off together. Alice behaved better than my fears. But, dear heart, to my thinking, how hard and proud is Blanche! Why, she would brazen it out that she hath done none ill of no kind. The good Lord open her eyes!