“I thought it cost Him nothing at all.”
“Child, it could only be done in one of two ways, at the cost of His very self. Either He should forgive sin without propitiation—which were to cost His righteousness and truth and honour. Could that be? In no wise. Then it must be at the cost of His own bearing the penalty due unto the sinner. Thy sins, Amphillis, thine every failure in duty, thine every foolish thought or wrongful word, cost the Father His own Son out of His bosom, cost the Son a human life of agony and a death of uttermost terribleness. Didst thou believe that?”
A long look of mingled amazement and horror preceded the reply. “Mistress Perrote, I never thought of no such thing! I thought—I thought,” said Amphillis, struggling for the right words to make her meaning clear, “I thought our Lord was to judge us for our sins, and our blessed Lady did plead with Him to have mercy on us, and we must do the best we could, and pray her to pray for us. But the fashion you so put it seemeth—it seemeth certain, as though the matter were settled and done with, and should not be fordone (revoked). Is it thus?”
If Perrote de Carhaix had not been gifted with the unction from the Holy One, she would have made a terrible mistake at that juncture. All that she had been taught by man inclined her to say “no” to the question. But “there are a few of us whom God whispers in the ear,” and those who hear those whispers often go utterly contrary to man’s teaching, being bound only by God’s word. So bound they must be. If they speak not according to that word, it is because there is no light in them—only an ignis fatuus which leads the traveller into quagmires. But they are often free from all other bonds. Perrote could not have told what made her answer that question in the way she did. It was as if a soft hand were laid upon her lips, preventing her from entering into any doctrinal disputations, and insisting on her keeping the question down to the personal level. She said—or that inward monitor said through her—
“Is it settled for thee, Amphillis?”
“Mistress, I don’t know! Can I have it settled?”
“‘He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.’ ‘I give unto them eternal life.’” (John three verse 36; ten, verse 28.) Perrote said no more.
“Then, if I go and ask at Him—?”
“‘My Lord God, I cried unto Thee, and Thou madest me whole.’ ‘All ye that hope in the Lord, do manly, and your heart shall be comforted.’” (Psalm thirty, verse 3; thirty-one, verse 25; Hereford and Purvey’s version.)
Once more it was as by a heavenly instinct that Perrote answered in God’s words rather than in her own. Amphillis drew a long breath. The light was rising on her. She could not have put her convictions into words; and it was quite as well, for had she done so, men might have persuaded her out of them. But the one conviction “borne in upon her” was—God, and not man; God’s word, not men’s words; God the Saviour of men, not man the saviour of himself; God the Giver of His Son for the salvation of men, not men the offerers of something to God for their own salvation. And when man or woman reaches that point, that he sees in all the universe only himself and God, the two points are not likely to remain long apart. When the one is need longing for love, and the Other is love seeking for need, what can they do but come close together?