Gerhardt looked up—a look which struck all who saw it. There was in it a little surface trouble, but under that a look of such perfect peace and sweet acceptance of the Divine will, as they had never before beheld.
“There will be no penance laid on me,” he said, “that my Father will not help me to bear. I have only to take the next step, whether it lead into the home at Bethany or the judgment-hall of Pilate. The Garden of God lies beyond them both.”
Aliz looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign tongue.
“Gerard,” she said, “I do hope you have no foolish ideas of braving out the censure of the Bishop. Such action would not only be sin, but it would be the worst policy imaginable. Holy Church is always merciful to those who abase themselves before her,—who own their folly, and humbly bow to her rebuke. But she has no mercy on rebels who persist in their rebellion,—stubborn self-opinionated men, who in their incredible folly and presumption imagine themselves capable of correcting her.”
“No,” answered Gerhardt in that same low voice. “She has no mercy.”
“Then I hope you see how very foolish and impossible it would be for you to adopt any other course than that of instant and complete submission?” urged Aliz in a kinder tone.
Gerhardt rose from his seat and faced her.
“Your meaning is kind,” he said, “and conscientious also. You desire the glory of your Church, but you also feel pity for the suffering of the human creatures who dissent from her, and are crushed under the wheels of her triumphal car. I thank you for that pity. In the land where one cup of cold water goeth not without its reward, it may be that even a passing impulse of compassion is not forgotten before God. It may at least call down some earthly blessing. But for me—my way is clear before me, and I have but to go straight forward. I thank God that I know my duty. Doubt is worse than pain.”
“Indeed, I am thankful too,” said Aliz, as she rose to take leave. “That you should do your duty is the thing I desire.—Well, Isel, our Lady keep you! I will send Leuesa down to-morrow or the next day.”
Aliz departed, and the rest began to think of bedtime. Isel sent the girls upstairs, then Haimet followed, and Agnes went at last. But Gerhardt sat on, his eyes fixed on the cold hearth. It was evident that he regarded the news which he had heard as of no slight import. He rose at length, and walked to the window. It was only a wooden shutter, fastened by a button, and now closed for the night. Looking round to make sure that all had left the lower room, he threw the casement open. But he did not see Isel, who at the moment was concealed by the red curtain drawn half-way across the house-place, at the other end where the ladder went up.