“We give to God,” replied the low voice of the eremitess, “ourselves, and our sins. The last He purgeth away, and casteth them into the depths of the sea. Is there grace of condignity in them? And for us, when our sins are forgiven, and our souls cleansed, we are for ever committing further sin, for ever needing fresh cleansing and renewed pardon. Is there grace of condignity, then, in us?”
“But where do you allow the grace of condignity?”
“I allow it not at all.”
Philippa shrank back a little. In her eyes, this was heresy.
“You love not that,” said the Grey Lady gently. “But can you find any other way of salvation that will stand with the dignity of God? If man save himself, then is Christ no Saviour; if man take the first step towards God, then is Christ no Author, but only the Finisher of faith.”
“It seems to me,” answered Philippa rather coldly, “that such a view as yours detracts from the dignity of man.”
She could not see the smile that crossed the lips of the eremitess.
“Most certainly it does,” said she.
“And God made man,” objected Philippa. “To injure the dignity of man, therefore, is to affront the dignity of God.”
“Dignity fell with Adam,” said the Grey Lady. “Satan fatally injured the dignity of man, when he crept into Eden. Man hath none left now, but only as he returneth unto God. And do you think there be any grace of condignity in a beggar, when he holdeth forth his hand to receive a garment in the convent dole? Is it such a condescension in him to accept the coat given to him, that he thereby earneth it of merit? Yet this, and less than this, is all that man can do toward God.”