There was a hand laid upon the latch of the door; for doors, even in
great houses, had latches to them, dear reader, in that age of simple
contrivances; and Constance asked, "Who is there?"
"Open, Constance, open," said the voice of Iola; and her cousin gave
her instant admission, holding out her arms to her, and pressing her
to her heart, as if she had thought that the companion of her youth
was lost to her for ever.
"Have you been disturbed, Constance?" asked her cousin, kissing her
cheek.
"Only by your girl, Susan, about a quarter of an hour ago," replied
Constance. "I bade her come again in half an hour, and tell my maiden
not to sit up for me."
"I have been long, dear cousin," said Iola, "and kept you waiting; but
I could not help it; for there was much to say."
"And you have been far," said Constance, gazing at her with inquiring
looks; "for your gown is wet with dew--and torn moreover!"
"And my feet too with the brambles," answered Iola, sitting down, and
uncovering her fair delicate feet and ancles. "My path has been almost
as rough and thorny as that of the world, Constance. See how they have
scratched me."
"But what did he say? What advice have you obtained?" demanded
Constance, looking with no very serious commiseration at the scratches
which streaked the pure white skin of her cousin.
"You don't pity me," said Iola, laughing. "You are a cruel girl."
"If the wounds of the world are not more serious than these, you will
not deserve much pity," answered Constance. "I am anxious about graver
things, Iola; but you are so light."
"Well, well, I will tell you," answered Iola. "Let me but put on these
slippers, and get a little breath; for my heart has been beating
somewhat more than needful. What counsel has he given, do you ask? How
do you know that it was a man at all?--Well, I will own. It was a man,
but an old one, Constance; and now I will tell you what he said. He
said that a marriage contracted between infants was not lawful. That
it was a corrupt custom which could not be justified, for that a
reasonable consent was needful to make a marriage valid, consequently,
that I am not bound at all by acts to which I gave no consent--the
acts of others, not my own. He says moreover that religion itself
forbids me to promise what I cannot perform."
Constance gazed at her with wonder and surprise. The view thus
suddenly presented to her was so strange, so new, so contrary to the
received notions and opinions of the time, that, at first, all seemed
mist and darkness to her.
"This is extraordinary indeed!" she exclaimed. "This is extraordinary
indeed! Who can it be, Iola, who thus ventures to set at defiance not
merely the opinions of the world at large, but that of lawyers and
fathers of the church, who have always held such contracts binding?"
"He says that it is not so," answered Iola. "He gave me many instances
in which such contracts, especially between princes and high nobles,
have been set at nought, where the church has treated them as things
of no value, and lawyers have passed them over with little reverence.
But I could tell you more extraordinary things than this, Constance.
Men are beginning in this world to look with keen and searching eyes
into these received opinions which you talk of, and to ask if they are
founded on justice and right, or on ignorance, superstition, and
craft. Light is streaming in upon darkness; and there is a day rising,
of which I see the dawn, though I may never see the noon."
"I can understand nothing of all this," said Constance. "Dearest Iola,
I think your wits must have been shaken by all you have undergone. You
speak so wildly and so strangely."
"Nay, nay," said Iola. "I am as calm as you are; and these ideas which
I give you, under the promise you have made, never to reveal one word
that I tell you, I have long held and shall ever continue to hold."
"I have never had any hint of them before. I have never seen any sign
of them," replied Constance; "and yet we have been like sisters from
our infancy."
"During the last year, Constance," asked Iola, in a grave and solemn
tone, "have you ever seen me kneel down to worship picture of saint,
or of virgin, relic, statue, or crucifix?"
Constance put her hand upon her forehead, and gazed at her cousin with
a look of bewildered dismay. "I do not know that I have," she said,
after a moment's thought; "but I have seen you tell your beads. I have
known you confess and receive absolution."
"I have told my beads, Constance," said her cousin; "and at every bead
I have said a prayer; but it has been to God the Father, through
Christ the Saviour, and I have ever prayed for direction in the right.
I have confessed, because there can be no harm in confessing my sins
to the ear of a priest as well as to the ear of God; and, if he has
pretended to absolve me from sins which God alone can absolve, it is
his fault and not mine. I have thought myself little benefitted
thereby."
Constance started up, exclaiming, "I will go and pray for you, Iola. I
will go and pray for you!"
"Stay yet a while, dear cousin; and then gladly will I ask your
prayers," said Iola; "but let them, dear Constance, be addressed to
God alone, and not to saints or martyrs. You will ask why. I will show
you in a moment. God has himself forbidden it. Look here;" and she
drew a small closely written book from her bosom. "This, Constance, is
the word of God," she continued, "the book from which priests, and
bishops, and popes, pretend to derive their religion. Look what are
its injunctions here."
Timidly and stealthily, as if she were committing an act of very
doubtful propriety, Constance looked over her cousin's shoulder to the
page which Iola held open in the book, and read on with eager and
attentive eyes.
"Does it say so?" she asked at length. "Does it say so? What can this
mean, Iola? Why should they so deceive us?"
"That I cannot tell," answered Iola; "for no good purpose, doubtless;
but that matters little. It is sufficient for me to know that they do
deceive us; and, in a matter that concerns my soul's salvation, I will
not be deceived. We spoke just before I went, Constance, of mental
reservation. You own--you know, that it is neither more nor less than
deceit. It is promising without performing, clothing a lie in the garb
of truth. What does not follow from such duplicity! Will not they who
cheat us, and make a profession of cheating, in one thing, cheat us in
many?--Will they not cheat us in all? Often have I thought, before I
saw this book, that it was strange man should have the power to
forgive sins. We are told that our sins are against God and against
man. If against man, the only one who has power to forgive them is the
man whom we have offended; if against God, then God only has the
power. But all sins are against God, for they are all a violation of
his law, and therefore he only can remit them perfectly."
"But he may depute the power to his priests," said Constance.
"What, the Almighty, all-seeing God, depute his power to blind
impotent mortals!" exclaimed Iola. "What, depute his power of
pardoning me to a drunken, luxurious, sinful priest! You may say that
such a man has not the power, and that absolution from him is of no
avail. But if you do, dear cousin, you are a heretic; for we are told
that it is of avail. But what must be their idea of the great Searcher
of all hearts, who believe that he has need of such instruments,
chooses them, or uses them. Such is not the picture of Him given in
this book. Here, God is God; the Saviour, man and God; the Holy
Spirit, the comforter and guide of man from God. There is no other
intercessor between man and God but the one, who is man and God, no
other guide but the Spirit, proceeding from both Father and Saviour,
no other atonement but the death of Christ, no other sacrifice but
his."
"I am bewildered," said Constance, bending her head down to her hands
and covering her eyes in thought. The next moment, however, she looked
up, asking, "Then why do the clergy forbid us to read this book, if it
teaches so to know God?"
"Because it is that which condemns them," answered Iola; "they profess
that the religion they teach is founded upon this book, and in this
book I find the frequent command of God, to search the scriptures. The
priests say, I must not search them. Then, either they are not from
God, because they contradict him; or the book is not from God, because
it contradicts them. Now in this book I find innumerable proofs that
it is from God; and they themselves declare it to be so. They are
self-condemned to any one who opens it; and therefore have they sealed
it, lest men should read and know them for what they are."
"And yet," said Constance, "who was so eager as you to save the good
bishop of Ely--who rejoiced so much at his escape?"
"I say not that there are no good men amongst them, dear Constance,"
replied her cousin; "for I believe that there are many; but all human
beings have their weaknesses. I believe doctor Morton to be a good
man; but of course he teaches nothing but the doctrines of the church
to which he belongs--he dare teach nothing else; for who would venture
to incur, not only the loss of every worldly good, but death itself--a
burning and a terrible death--when perhaps he thinks he can do as much
good, by following the ways of those who went before him, as by any
other path?"
"But truth is beautiful," said Constance; "and would a good man teach
falsehood, when the very book of his religion shows him that it is
so?"
"Did he ever read that book? Did he ever study it?" asked Iola. "Did
he ever examine its pages closely, seeking no gloss or comment of
those who would pervert it, but merely asking the aid of the Holy
Spirit? Many a man is unwilling to examine too closely, when all his
earthly happiness depends upon his shutting his eyes. Many a man is
too timid to stand by his own judgment, however right, when there are
a multitude of decisions, however corrupt, against him."
"But perhaps," said Constance, "the book may be so obscure and
difficult, that it cannot be understood without an interpretation."
"It is clear and simple as the unclouded sky," replied Iola; "as easy
as the words which we address to babes. It was given to, and
transmitted by, unlettered fishermen. It made all clear that was dark,
and removed every cloud and every shadow. This book contains but one
mystery, instead of the thousands which they teach us; and that
mystery is explained, so that we cannot but believe even while we do
not comprehend."
"But what does it teach, then?" asked Constance.
"It teaches that we are to worship God alone," answered Iola. "It
teaches that to bow down before any creature, statue, or image, is to
offend the Creator, and is idolatry against God. It teaches that there
is no mediator, no intercessor but one, Christ, and that the office of
saints and martyrs is to praise God, not to intercede for mortals. It
teaches that the only atonement, the only sacrifice needful to expiate
the sins of the whole world, was that of Christ; that it was complete,
full, and sufficient, and that to look to any other for pardon, is to
rob God of his glory. It teaches that man can be pardoned by God
alone, and will be pardoned through faith in Christ. It teaches,
moreover, that, if any man keeps the whole law of God, even to the
smallest point, he has done no more than he is bound to do, and
therefore that his good works have no power to save him from the
original curse--how much loss to help or to save any other. It teaches
too, dear cousin, that repentance is needful to every one--the deep,
heartfelt, sincere repentance of the spirit; but that, to seek, by
inflicting pains upon our body, to atone for the evils we have
committed, is to rest upon a broken reed, to presume upon our own
strength, and to deny the efficacy of God's mercy in Christ."
Constance listened with deep attention, till her cousin had done.
"I would fain read that book," she said, in a hesitating tone; "but
the priests have always forbidden it."
"God says, 'read it!'" said Iola. "Who shall set up the words of man
against the words of God?"
"Will you lend it to me, then?" asked Constance, timidly.
"Oh, joyfully," answered Iola; "but it must be upon one condition,
dear Constance. I have bound you, by a promise, never to repeat
anything I say to you. I must now have another promise, never to let
any eye but your own see this little volume. When you read it, lock
the door. When you have done, hide it where no one can find it. I need
give you no motive, dear Constance," she added, throwing her arm round
her neck, and gazing affectionately into her eyes; "but yet let me
remind you, that my life is at stake, that the least imprudence, the
least indiscretion would give me over to a death by fire; for they
hold those who worship God as God himself has taught to be heretics.
We are not called upon either to be teachers or martyrs. We may be
permitted to hold on our own way, without offending others, so long as
we worship not things of stick and stone; but, should it be discovered
what my real thoughts are, that moment I should be dragged before
those who would force me to declare them. I would never renounce my
opinions or deny my belief; and the only fate before me would be
death."
"God forbid!" said Constance earnestly. "God forbid I will be very
careful, Iola--more careful than if my own life was at stake."
"I know you will, sweet sister," replied Iola, putting the book into
her hands. "Read it, Constance, read it and judge for yourself. Try to
cast from your mind everything you have heard on religion not
contained in this book; and, if you do that, this book will as
certainly lead you right as there is truth in Heaven."
Constance took it, and retired to her own chamber, where she sat down
for a few moments' thought. Her first meditation, however, was not of
the book, but of Iola.
Was this the same creature, she thought, whom she had known from
infancy--sweet, gay, playful Iola? Was this she whose heart she used
to think the lightest in the world, whose deepest meditations seemed
to break off in a sportive jest? At first it seemed strange, almost
impossible. But yet, when she called memory to her aid, and
recollected many of the circumstances of the past, especially during
the last two years, she saw that it might well be. She felt that her
own graver and somewhat slower spirit might not reach those depths of
thought into which Iola's seemed to plunge with bold and fearless
courage. She remembered many a gay speech, many a half-reply which had
appeared all sportiveness, but which, when examined and pondered,
proved to be full of mind and matter.
"Yes," she said, at length. "I have loved her, but not esteemed her
enough. I have known her well, but not the depths. She is all that I
thought her; but she is more. Yet it was not she deceived me, but
myself. She hid nothing; but my eye was too dim to penetrate even the
light veil with which her happy nature covered her strong mind. It is
strange, what an awe I feel in looking at this little volume!" and she
gazed at it, as it lay upon her knee. "It must be that I have so often
heard that we ought not to read it, that I have yielded my judgment to
mere assertions. Yet I have heard the very men who bade me forbear
call it the word of God. I will read it. That word must be a comfort
and blessing. But I will pray first;" and kneeling down she began,
"Oh, blessed Saint Clare--"
But then she suddenly stopped, and meditated for a moment, still
kneeling. She seemed puzzled how to frame her appeal. At length,
however, she bowed her head upon her hands, and repeated in English
the Lord's prayer. She added nothing more, but, rising from her knees,
unclasped the book, drew the lamp nearer, and began to read.
The clock struck four, and found her reading still.