be to let me know, that I may deal with them. The saints keep you!”

No occasion of scandal required that duty from Isel. Every now and then Gerhardt absented himself—for what purpose she did not know; but he left Agnes and Ermine behind, and they never told the object of his journeys. At home he lived quietly enough, generally following his trade of weaving, but always ready to do any thing required by his hostess. Isel came to congratulate herself highly on the presence of her quiet, kindly, helpful guests. In a house where the whole upper floor formed a single bedchamber, divided only by curtains stretched across, and the whole ground-floor was parlour and kitchen in one, a few inmates more or less, so long as they were pleasant and peaceable, were of small moment. Outwardly, the Germans conducted themselves in no way pointedly different from their English hosts. They indulged in rather longer prayers, but this only increased the respect in which they were held. They went to church like other people; and if they omitted the usual reverences paid to the images, they did it so unobtrusively that it struck and shocked no one.

The Roman Church, in 1160, was yet far from filling the measure of her iniquity. The mass was in Latin, but transubstantiation was only a “pious opinion;” there were invocation of saints and worship of images, prayers for the dead, and holy water; but dispensations and indulgences were uninvented, the Inquisition was unknown, numbers of the clergy were married men, and that organ of tyranny and sin, termed auricular confession, had not yet been set up to grind the consciences and torment the hearts of those who sought to please God according to the light they enjoyed. Without that, it was far harder to persecute; for how could a man be indicted for the belief in his heart, if he chose to keep the door of his lips?

The winter passed quietly away, and Isel was—for her—well pleased with her new departure. The priest, having once satisfied himself that the foreign visitors were nominal Christians, and gave no scandal to their neighbours, ceased to trouble himself about them. Anania continued to make disagreeable remarks at times, but gradually even she became more callous on the question, and nobody else ever said any thing.

“I do wonder if Father Vincent have given her a word or two,” said Isel. “She hasn’t took much of it, if he have. If she isn’t at me for one thing, she’s at me for another. If it were to please the saints to make Osbert the Lord King’s door-keeper, so as he’d go and live at London or Windsor, I shouldn’t wonder if I could get over it!”

“Ah, ‘the tongue can no man tame,’” observed Gerhardt with a smile.

“I don’t so much object to tongues when they’ve been in salt,” said Isel. “It’s fresh I don’t like ’em, and with a live temper behind of ’em. They don’t agree with me then.”

“It is the live temper behind, or rather the evil heart, which is the thing to blame. ‘Out of the heart proceed evil thoughts,’ which grow into evil words and deeds. Set the heart right, and the tongue will soon follow.”

“I reckon that’s a bit above either you or me,” replied Isel with a sigh.

“A man’s thoughts are his own,” interposed Haimet rather warmly. “Nobody has a right to curb them.”

“No man can curb them,” said Gerhardt, “unless the thinker put a curb on himself. He that can rule his own thoughts is king of himself: he that never attempts it is ‘a reed driven with the wind and tossed.’”

“Oh, there you fly too high for me,” said Haimet. “If my acts and words are inoffensive, I have a right to my thoughts.”

“Has any man a right to evil thoughts?” asked Gerhardt.

“What, you are one of those precise folks who make conscience of their thoughts? I call that all stuff and nonsense,” replied Haimet, throwing down the hammer he was using.

“If I make no conscience of my thoughts, of what am I to make conscience?” was the answer. “Thought is the seed, act the flower. If you do not wish for the flower, the surest way is not to sow the seed. Sow it, and the flower will blossom, whether you will or no.”

“That sort of thing may suit you,” said Haimet rather in an irritated tone. “I could never get along, if I had to be always measuring my thoughts with an ell-wand in that fashion.”

“Do you prefer the consequences?” asked Gerhardt.

“Consequences!—what consequences?”

“Rather awkward ones, sometimes. Thoughts of hatred, for instance, may issue in murder, and that may lead to your own death. If the thoughts had been curbed in the first instance, the miserable results would have been spared to all the sufferers. And ‘no man liveth to himself’: it is very seldom that you can bring suffering on one person only. It is almost sure to run over to two or three more. And as the troubles of every one of them will run over to another two or three, like circles in the water, the sorrow keeps ever widening, so that the consequences of one small act or word for evil are incalculable. It takes God to reckon them.”

“Eh, don’t you, now!” said Isel with a shudder. “Makes me go all creepy like, that does. I shouldn’t dare to do a thing all the days of my life, if I looked at every thing that way.”

“Friend,” said Gerhardt gravely, “these things are. It does not destroy them to look away from them. It is not given to us to choose whether we will act, but only how we will act. In some manner, for good or for ill, act we must.”

“I declare I won’t listen to you, Gerard. I’m going creepy-crawly this minute. Oh deary me! you do make things look just awful.”

“Rubbish!” said Haimet, driving a nail into the wall with unnecessary vehemence.

“It is the saying of a wise man, friends,” remarked Gerhardt, “that ‘he that contemneth small things shall fall by little and little.’ And with equal wisdom he saith again, ‘Be not confident in a plain way.’” (Note 5.)

“But it is all nonsense to say ‘we must act,’” resumed Haimet. “We need not act in any way unless we choose. How am I acting if I sit here and do nothing?”

“Unless you are resting after work is done, you are setting an example of idleness or indecision. Not to do, is sometimes to do in a most effectual way. Not to hinder the doing of evil, when it lies in your power, is equivalent to doing it.”

Haimet stared at Gerhardt for a moment.

“What a wicked lot of folks you would make us out to be!”

“So we are,” said Gerhardt with a quiet smile.

“Oh, I see!—that’s how you come by your queer notions of every man’s heart being bad. Well, you are consistent, I must admit.”

“I come by that notion, because I have seen into my own. I think I have most thoroughly realised my own folly by noting in how many cases, if I were endued with the power of God, I should not do what He does: and in like manner, I most realise my own wickedness by seeing the frequent instances wherein my will raises itself up in opposition to the will of God.”

“But how is it, then, that I never see such things in myself?”

“Your eyes are shut, for one thing. Moreover, you set up your own will as the standard to be followed, without seeking to ascertain the will of God. Therefore you do not see the opposition between them.”

“Oh, I don’t consider myself a saint or an angel. I have done foolish things, of course, and I dare say, some things that were not exactly right. We are all sinners, I suppose, and I am much like other people. But taking one thing with another, I think I am a very decent fellow. I can’t worry over my ‘depravity,’ as you do. I am not depraved. I know several men much worse than I am in every way.”

“Is that the ell-wand by which God will measure you? He will not hold you up against those men, but against the burning snow-white light of His own holiness.