“Wilt read me to sleep therewith?”
“Surely, Lady mine.”
“Was it thence thou readst once unto me, of a woman that was sinful, which washed our Lord’s feet?”
“Ay so, Madam.”
“Read that again.”
The words were repeated softly in the quiet chamber, by the dim light of the silver lamp. Maude paused when she had read them.
“When thou and I speak of such as we love, Maude, we make allowance for their short-comings. ‘She did but little ill,’ quoth we, or, ‘She had sore provoking thereto,’ and the like. But he saith, ‘Manye synnes ben forgiuen to hir’—yet not too many to be forgiven!”
“Ah, dear my Lady,” said Maude affectionately, “methinks our Lord can afford to take full measure of the sins of His chosen ones, sith He hath, to bless them, so full and free forgiveness.”
“Yet that must needs cost somewhat.”
“Cost!” repeated Maude with deep feeling. “Lady, the cost thereof to Him was the cross.”