“So did you and I, Flemild; and He bids us love one another.”
Flemild stood struck with astonishment, her kerchief half off her head.
“I crucified our Lord!” she exclaimed. “Ermine, what can you mean?”
“Sin crucified Him,” said Ermine quietly; “your sins and mine, was it not? If He died not for our sins, we shall have to bear them ourselves. And did He not die for Countess too?”
“I thought He died for those who are in holy Church; and Countess is a wicked heathen Jew.”
“Yes, for holy Church, which means those whom God has chosen out of the world. How can you know that Countess is not some day to be a member of holy Church?”
“Ermine, they are regular wicked people!”
“We are all wicked people, till God renews us by His Holy Spirit.”
“I’m not!” cried Flemild indignantly; “and I don’t believe you are either.”
“Ah, Flemild, that is because you are blind. Sin has darkened our eyes; we cannot see ourselves.”