"Anne, who do you suppose did so arrange matters that you should be born in a family, and have these natural ties to bind you down to earth?" asked Jack abruptly. "Who is it that has made all these relations of parent and child, brother and sister, husband and wife?"
"God, I suppose," said Anne, after a little hesitation.
"I suppose He did without doubt, since the Psalm says that children are an heritage from the Lord, and the man is blest who hath his quiver full of them; and again, 'He maketh the barren woman to keep house and to be a joyful mother of children.' Do you not think He knew what He was about when He made all these family ties? Did He not know what was the life best fitted to promote holiness?"
"I suppose then you would have every one go on in earthly carnal courses," said Anne, somewhat tartly, and coloring deeply. "You would have nobody lead a religious consecrated life save those who have no friends or relations?"
"I would have all men and women lead religious lives, ay, and lives consecrated to God's service," replied Jack with emphasis. "I would have all they do consecrated to God, yea, even eating and drinking; but I would have them religious in the state where He hath placed them, and in the duties He hath marked out for them, instead of making fantastic duties of their own. I would have them serve Him in their own families and among their neighbors, and not selfishly shut themselves up in a cloister or hermitage. I do not believe God's Word ever gave warrant for any such conduct as that. Almost all the Bible saints that I can learn anything about were married, and had servants and horses and cattle, and overlooked them as gentlemen and farmers do nowadays."
"But it is so much easier to serve God in the cloister," said Anne, in a more subdued voice.
"I am not so sure of that, dear sister," remarked Sister Barbara, who had been listening attentively. "The temptations were of a different kind perhaps, but I am not sure but they were as trying. Think of all the little bickerings and heart-burnings we used to have among us; think how much jealousy there was of the favor of the prioress, and how many tales were told from one to another. And I am sure you can see that there were a good many hindrances even in the convent. Besides, to say truth," continued Sister Barbara, blushing a little, "I don't know how it is, but I seem to enjoy my prayers now a great deal more than I did when I had little or nothing else to do than to pray. I do believe one reason is that my health is so much better now that I run about so much in the open air, and have so many things to think about."
"I am sure you are looking better, madam," said Cicely. "You have such a fine color. I wish I could see our Anne's cheeks so red."
"I have been very happy in this house," said Sister Barbara, with tears in her bright gray eyes. "I am so thankful to Master Lucas for bringing me here, if only that I might see what a home is like. I never knew before. When I go back to the cloister, I shall take pleasure in thinking how many homes there are in the land, and how good and happy the people are in them; and I shall feel a great deal more hopeful about the world than ever I did before."
"Why should you ever go back to the cloister, madam?" asked Master Lucas. "Why should you not stay and make your home with us so long as you need one? One house is large enough and to spare, and one more makes no difference, even if you did not pay for your keeping, which you do and more too. We are but simple folk, 'tis true, and you a born lady, but yet—"