"And do you think 'tis really the true Gospel?" I asked again, remembering what Amice had told me about it.
"I have no doubt of it. Master Ellenwood, at my request, and for his own satisfaction, has been comparing it with the Greek and Latin text, and says 'tis marvellously well done."
"Oh, how I should love to read it!" I exclaimed.
"You would find many things to astonish you, my child," answered my mother. "Yea, to upset all your former notions, and mayhap lead you to renounce and contemn many things which you have been used to hold most sacred all your life long."
"Dick said I must not read it if I ever meant to go back to the convent," I said. "But mother—Madam, I would say—"
"Nay, dearest child, call me ever mother, if you will," said she, pressing my arm kindly. "'Tis very sweet to me to hear the name fall so naturally from your lips. But what would you say, dear heart?"
"I was going to say, that this difference seems very strange and sad to me," I went on. "If the Gospels are right—and the true Gospel must be right—then is the Church wrong!"
"Well, what then?" she asked. "Your reasoning is good, but what then?"
"Why, then we must follow the Gospel, as it seems to me," I answered. "But, mother, will you let me have this Gospel to read?"
"Yes, child! Since you ask it, I can do no otherwise," said she, after a moment's hesitation. "I dare not withhold the word of God from you—but alas, my child, have you considered that you may be taking in hand the torch to light your own funeral pile, withal? Shall I give you that which may be your death?"