Geoffrey had been gaining strength rapidly the last few days, and his spirits rose also. Not that Hubert was forgotten: there was not a moment in which he did not miss that dear brother, rendered doubly dear by the trials they had undergone together for their mutual faith, and who had been for so long the object of his care; but though he was not gay, he could not be sad. Hope was awake again, and that calm, peaceful death-scene had left no bitterness behind. The little grave in the forest glade, with the golden light flickering through the elm-branches on its violets and snow-drops, was not brighter than the sunny memories the child had left behind him. Life was not so very precious a thing to a Lollard in that age of oppression and tyranny, that he should grieve deeply over one who had laid aside its burden, and received the reward. During the weary hours of his imprisonment, Geoffrey had learned many a lesson of unselfishness and self-sacrifice, and besides, heaven had grown nearer and more real to him--more real in fact, than the world from which he had been so long separated. From his tomb in the convent-dungeon he had arisen to a new spiritual life, he who had entered his prison a haughty, passionate boy, fired, it is true, by many noble impulses, but with an untamed spirit and unsanctified will, came forth a calm, collected young man, disciplined in soul and mind, older by many years than he had been six months before. He had learned to read in a different way the history of his past life, as well as that which opened before him day by day. He had also learned in his loneliness to comprehend and to trust more fully that pure gospel truth which he had until then received more as a political than a religious creed, as intended to lead to freedom from worldly tyranny, rather than from the dominion of sin and death.
He held several conversations with Father Paul about his future plans. The ecclesiastic had the best means of judging concerning the spiritual state of the kingdom, and its readiness for the reception of the reformed doctrines, and he pronounced the movement premature. The people were not, as a general thing, ready for any change in religion. Papistry had too firm a hold on the lives and property of every class to be dislodged, except by a combined movement of the masses, and that could not be hoped for until the superstition and bigotry which now enshrouded the whole land had been driven away by the diffusion of education and a pure gospel. But how could the gospel be diffused when not one in a hundred could read or write their mother tongue? And how could education be brought to bear on the common people when it would cost the laborer all he received for months of toil to purchase a single book?
"I tell you," said the priest emphatically, "that as long as the Bible is locked up from men, and men are shut out from the Bible, we can have no general reformation in the church. When the Word of God shall be so multiplied that every man may have it if he will, and every man's mind is so enlightened that he may read it if he will, then let Rome tremble, for her power over the nations will be gone."
"Has all this blood been expended, then, in vain?" asked Geoffrey.
"No," replied the monk; "that cannot be. God in his providence wastes nothing; certainly not human suffering. Those who shall live after us in future ages, and look back on the history of these times, will understand how God is working with this land and its inhabitants; we cannot; we can only trust. A thousand years are but a day in his sight, and one day as a thousand years. We must only labor on, seeking to lead, here and there a soul out of darkness into light. Do you know that I intend to be your fellow-traveller to-morrow?"
"No," said Geoffrey, joyfully; "but whither and for how long?"
"I cannot answer the last question," replied Father Paul, "and the first only in part. I am now, like yourself, an exile, for my life will not be worth an hour's purchase when the archbishop hears of my heresy. My plan is first to go with you to London, see my sister, Lady Katharine's mother, and convey her and her children to a place of safety; then to join Lord Cobham in Wales, and there, under him and other godly men, learn more of these glorious truths, for I am but a child in the true knowledge, and have much to unlearn, as well as to learn. After that, if God will grant to me, so unworthy, the privilege of preaching his good tidings, I will go about the country and seek to lead home some of his lost sheep by telling them how I was restored."
"That was Hubert's great desire," said Geoffrey rather sadly; "but God thought otherwise."
"Nay, there you mistake," replied the Father with emotion. "I have stood in many pulpits and pronounced many discourses, for men say I have the gift of an eloquent tongue; but as I look back on them all, I cannot remember that one has been the means of saving a single soul. I have bidden men subdue the flesh by penance--never the spirit by penitence; I have taught sinners to seek a release from the consequences of their crimes in the cloister, in pilgrimages, in costly offerings, but I have never directed them to the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world. I have taught my people to fear the wrath of the church, but never warned them to prepare for the judgment of God. Oh! my burden is heavy, heavy! Be thankful, my son, that you are spared from knowing that thousands have gone down to the grave depending on your false teaching. A blind leader of the blind I had been for nearly half a century, until a few words from the lips of a child taught me myself. What I now am, whatever hereafter God will permit me to do for my fellow-sinners, will all be owing to your brother.
"And not to me alone has he unfolded the truth as it is in Jesus. His holy life and death have left lessons behind whose effects only God can know. Even Mother Beatrice seems softened, and I have left with her a few simple truths and searching questions which may, through God's blessing, work to her eternal profit. And poor Dick, how changed he seems! How wonderful is this doctrine of Christ's righteousness atoning for sin without any effort on our part but that of accepting it! That is the only thing which can heal the festering, cankering wounds of remorse. How glorious is the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free!"