"Ah," said Meg, "I never know whether I think your creed most stern or most merciful, Barnabas; but, if there is no such thing as escaping payment, then what does the Cross mean?"
"It saves us from our sins!" said the preacher. "The devil tempts us to be cowards through our lusts, through our love o' ease; His Cross is the overcoming o' the fear o' suffering, the banner o' Him who chose and conquered pain."
And she laid her head on his shoulder as they stood together, hoping in her heart that her womanly fears for him might be forgiven, seeing that they could never hold him back. "Ah, you may be right," she said. "At any rate yours is a brave creed, and one fit for a man who loves fighting. But I shall never rise to thinking that 'nothing else matters' so long as one is following the light. Barnabas, that is beyond me! I could pretend I did not mind being hurt," said Meg; "but at the bottom of my soul I should know it was a pretence. I can't understand that!"
"You can't understan' that?" said the man; and he drew her closer to him. "Sweetheart, who was it that said that if she stood with me on the scaffold there would be no such thing as shame for her? That she would find it easy if she might die with me? Was that a pretence?"
"No, no. It was truer than anything else," cried Meg. "But that was for you, and any woman would have felt that if she cared for you. Why, there is not a poor creature who haunts Newgate but would understand that. It is so simple! A sacrifice is no pain when it is for the person one loves. It ceases to be a sacrifice. One doesn't 'count' it."
"I see," said the preacher. "So any woman finds that simple, eh?" He looked at the woman by his side, his truly now, and there crept over his face that tender reverence which a good man gives so freely, and which always half shamed, half touched Margaret.
"Help me, lass," he said; "that I may find it simple too. I am cold at times. I doan't allus practise what I believe. I am a terrible coward, Margaret. Help me, that the fire o' th' Lord may be kindled afresh in me, to the savin' o' many!"
"I think it will be," said Meg, her own eyes kindling. "Oh, Barnabas, it is a difficult world; but, at least, you never tell one to be satisfied with makeshifts, because there is nothing else to be had."
A recollection of her girlhood was in her mind when she spoke.
"God forbid!" said Barnabas Thorpe. "Shall we satisfy our souls with swine's food? Better go hungry than that! That creed is fit for neither man nor woman. It's born o' despair an' ower-softness, an' it means a givin' up o' th' fight, which is a shamefu' thing. Isn't it queer to think o' th' hundreds i' those houses? I'll preach by the river to-morrow. It's good to be free again! One got kind o' sick with feeling eyes always on one by night and day, and no place to breathe alone in."