“He might be worser,” said Lady Basset, icily.
“That’s true of an handful of folks,” said the Countess. “And I reckon he might be better, eh? That’s true of most. Good lack, I marvel wherefore we all were made. Was it by reason God loved or hated us? Say, my Predicant Friaress.”
“Very dear Lady, the wise man saith, ‘God made a man rightful, and he meddled himself with questions without, number.’ (Ecclesiastes eight, verse 29.) And Saint Paul saith that ‘God commendeth His charity in us, for when we were sinners, Christ was dead for us.’ (Romans five, verse 8.) Moreover, Saint John—”
“Hold! There be two Scriptures. Where is the sermon?”
“The Scriptures, Lady, preach a better sermon than I can.”
“That’s but a short one. Man’s ill, and God is good; behold all thine homily. That man is ill, I lack no preaching friar to tell me. As to God being good, the Church saith so, and there I rest. Mary, Mother! if He were good, He would bring my Jean back to me.”
“Very dear Lady, God is wiser than men, and He seeth the end from the beginning.”
“Have done, Perrotine! I tell thee, if God be good, He will bring my Jean to me. There I abide. I’ll say it, if He do. I would love any man that wrought that: and if He will work it, I will love Him—and not otherwise. Hold! I desire no more talk.”
The Countess turned her face to the wall, and Perrote retired, with tears in her eyes.
“Lord, Thou art wise!” she said in her heart; “wiser than I, than she, than all men. But never yet have I known her to depart from such a word as that. Oh, if it be possible,—if it be possible!—Thou who camest down from Heaven to earth, come down once more to the weak and stubborn soul of this dying woman, and grant her that which she requests, if so she may be won to love thee! Father, the time is very short, and her soul is very dark. O fair Father, Jesu Christ, lose not this soul for which Thou hast died!”