“Woe to the eye that sheds no tears -
No tears for God to wipe away!”
“G.E.M.”
“And is it so hard to forgive?” asked the soft voice of Isabel.
“I will try, but it seems impossible,” responded Philippa. “How can any forgive injuries that reach down to the very root of the heart and life?”
“My child,” said Isabel, “he that injureth followeth after Satan; but he that forgiveth followeth after God. It is because our great debt to God is too mighty for our bounded sight, and we cannot reach to the ends thereof, that we are so ready to require of our fellow-debtors the small and sorry sum owed to ourselves. ‘He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?’ And can any love and yet not forgive?”
“It is sometimes easier to love one ere he be seen than after,” said Philippa, sarcastically.
Isabel smiled rather sadly, for the latent thought in her daughter’s mind was only too apparent to her. Had Philippa known as little of her father as of her mother, her feeling towards him would have been far less bitter. But there was no other answer. Even though twenty-seven years lay between that day and the June morning on which she had quitted Arundel, Isabel could not trust herself to speak of Richard Fitzalan. She dared not run the risk of re-opening the wound, by looking to see whether it had healed.
“Mother,” said Philippa suddenly, “thou wilt come with me to Kilquyt?”
“For a time,” answered Isabel, “if thine husband assent thereto.”
“I shall not ask him,” said Philippa, with a slight pout.
“Then I shall not go,” replied Isabel quietly. “I will not enter his house without his permission.”