Those who
say, "Even God cannot destroy the fact!" care more about their own
cursed shame than their Father's blessed truth! Such will rather
excuse than confess. When a man heartily confesses, leaving excuse
to God, the truth makes him free, he knows that the evil has gone
from him, as a man knows that he is cured of his plague.
"I did the thing," he says, "but I could not do it now. I am the
same, yet not the same. I confess, I would not hide it, but I loathe
it--ten times the more that the evil thing was mine."
Had the earl been able to say thus, he would have felt his soul a
cleansed chapel, new-opened to the light and air;--nay, better--a
fresh-watered garden, in which the fruits of the spirit had begun to
grow! God's forgiveness is as the burst of a spring morning into the
heart of winter. His autumn is the paying of the uttermost farthing.
To let us go without that would be the pardon of a demon, not the
forgiveness of the eternally loving God. But--Not yet, alas, not
yet! has to be said over so many souls!
Arctura was struck dumb. She turned and walked out upon the great
stair, her uncle following her. All the way up to the second floor
she felt as if he were about to stab her in the back, but she would
not look behind her. She went straight to her room, and heard her
uncle go on to his. She rang her bell, sent for Donal, and told him
what had passed.
Pages:
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607