CHAPTER THREE.
BELASEZ.
"And, born of Thee, she may not always take Earth's accents for the oracles of God."
_Felicia Hemans_.
The last word had scarcely left the pedlar's lips, when the door of theante-chamber was flung open, and a boy of Margaret's age burst into theroom.
He was fair-haired and bright-faced, with a slender, elegant figure, andall his motions were very agile. Beginning with--"I say, Magot!"--hestopped suddenly both tongue and feet as he caught sight of theCountess.
"Well, Sir Richard?" suggested that lady.
"I cry you mercy, Lady. I did not know you were here."
"And if you had done--what then?"
"Why, then," answered Richard, laughing but colouring, "I suppose Iought to have come in more quietly."
"Ah! Did you ever read with Father Nicholas about an old man who saidthat the Athenians knew what was right, but the Lacedemonians did it?"
"Your pardon, Lady! I always forget what I read with Father Nicholas."
"I should suppose so. I am afraid there is Athenian blood in yourveins, Sir Richard!"
"Lady, if it stand with your pleasure, there is none but true Christianblood in my veins!" was the proud reply.
"_Pure foy_! If you are so proud of your blood, I fear you will disdainto do what I was about to bid you."
"I shall never disdain to execute the commands of a fair lady."
"My word, Sir Richard, but you are growing a courtly knight! You seethat Jew boy has left his cap behind. As there are none here butdamsels, I was thinking I would ask you to call him back to fetch it."
"He shall have it--a Jew boy! I'll take the tongs, then!"
The next minute Delecresse, who was just turning back to fetch theforgotten cap, heard a boyish voice calling to him out of a window, andlooking up, saw his cap held out in the tongs.
"Here, thou cur of a Jew! What dost thou mean, to leave thy heathenstuff in the chamber of a noble damsel?"
And the cap was dropped into the courtyard, with such good aim that itfirst hit Delecresse on the head, and then lodged itself in the midst ofa puddle.
Delecresse, without uttering a word, yet flushing red even through hisdark complexion, deliberately stooped, recovered his wet cap, and placedit on his head, pressing it firmly down as if he wished to impart themoisture to his hair. Then he turned and looked fixedly at Richard, whowas watching him with an amused face.
"That wasn't a bad shot, was it?" cried the younger lad.
"Thank you," was the answer of Delecresse. "I shall know you again!"
The affront was a boyish freak, perpetrated rather in thoughtlessnessthan malice: but the tone of the answer, however simple the words,manifestly breathed revenge. Richard de Clare was not an ill-naturedboy. But he had been taught from his babyhood that a Jew was the scumof the earth, and that to speak contumeliously to such was so far frombeing wrong, that it absolutely savoured of piety. _Jews_ had crucifiedChrist. To have aided one of them, or to have been over civil to him,would in a Christian have been considered as putting a slight upon hisLord. There was, therefore, some excuse for Richard, educated as he hadbeen in this belief.
Delecresse, on the contrary, had been as carefully brought up in theopposite conviction. To him it was the Gentile who was the refuse ofhumanity, and it was a perpetual humiliation to be forced to cringe to,and wait upon, such contemptible creatures. Moreover, the day wascoming when their positions should be reversed; and who could say hownear it was at hand? Then the proud Christian noble would be the slaveof the despised Jew pedlar, and--thought Delecresse, grinding histeeth--he at least would take care that the Christian slave shouldindulge no mistakes on that point.
To both the youths Satan was whispering, and by both he was obeyed. Andeach of them was positively convinced that he was serving God.
The vengeful words of Delecresse made no impression whatever on theyoung Earl of Gloucester. He would have laughed with scorn at the mereidea that such an insect as that could have any power to hurt him. Hedanced back to Margaret's bower, where, in a few minutes, he, she,Marie, and Eva were engaged in a merry round game.
Beside the three girls who were in the care of the Countess, Earl Huberthad also three boy-wards--Richard de Clare, heir of the earldom ofGloucester; Roger de Mowbray, heir of the barony of Mowbray, now aboutfifteen years old; and John de Averenches (or Avranches), the son of aknight. With these six, the Earl's two sons, his daughter, and hisdaughter-in-law, there was no lack of young people in the Castle, ofwhom Sir John de Burgh, the eldest, was only twenty-nine.
The promise made by Abraham of Norwich was faithfully kept. A week hadnot quite elapsed when Levina announced to the Countess that the Jewpedlar and the maiden his daughter awaited her pleasure in the court.The Countess desired her to bring them up immediately to Margaret'sbower, whither she would go herself to meet them.
Margaret and Doucebelle had just come in from a walk upon the leads--theusual way in which ladies took airings in the thirteenth century.Indeed, the leads were the only safe and proper place for a young girl'sout-door recreation. The courtyard was always filled by the householdservants and soldiers of the garrison: and the idea of taking a walkoutside the precincts of the Castle, would never have occurred toanybody, unless it were to a very ignorant child indeed. There were nosafe highroads, nor quiet lanes, in those days, where a maiden mightwander without fear of molestation. Old ballads are full of accounts ofthe perils incurred by rash and self-sufficient girls who ventured aloneout of doors in their innocent ignorance or imprudent bravado. Theroadless wastes gave harbour to abundance of fierce small animals anddeadly vipers, and to men worse than any of them.
Old Abraham, cap in hand, bowed low before the Princess, and presented aclosely-veiled, graceful figure, as the young broideress whom he hadpromised.
"Lay thy veil aside, my maid," said the Countess, with most unusualkindness, considering that it was a Jewess to whom she spoke.
The maiden obeyed, and revealed to the eyes of the Princess and herdamsels a face and figure of such extreme loveliness that she no longerwondered at the anxiety of her father to provide for her concealment.But the beauty of Belasez was of an entirely different type from that ofthe Christians around her. Her complexion was olive, her hair ravenblack, her eyes large and dark, now melting as if in liquid light, nowbrilliant and full of fire. And if Margaret looked two years beyond herreal age, Belasez looked more like seven.
"Thou knowest wherefore thou art come hither?" asked the Countess,smiling complacently on the vision before her.
"To broider for my Lady," said Belasez, in a low, clear, musical voice.
"And wilt thou obey my orders?"
"I will obey my Lady in every thing not forbidden by the holy law."
"Well, I think we shall agree, my maid," returned the Countess, whoseprivate views respecting religious tolerance were something quiteextraordinary for the time at which she lived. "I would not willinglycoerce any person's conscience. But as I do not know thy law, thou wilthave to tell me if I should desire thee to do some forbidden thing."
"My Lady is very good to her handmaiden," said Belasez.
"Margaret, take the maid into thy wardrobe for a little while, until shehas dined; and after that I will show her what I require. She will beglad of rest after her journey."
Margaret obeyed, and a motion of her mother's hand sent Doucebelle afterher. The daughter of the house sat down on the settle which stretchedbelow the window, and Doucebelle followed her example: but Belasezremained standing.
"Come and sit here by me," said Margaret to the young Jewess. "I wantto talk to thee."
Belasez obeyed in silence.
"Art thou very tired with thy journey?"
"Not now, damsel, I thank you. We have come but a short stage thismorning."
"Art thou fond of broidery?"
"I love everything beautiful."
"And nothing that is not beautiful?"
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"I did not say that, damsel." Belasez's smile showed a perfect row ofsnow-white teeth.
"Am I fair enough to love?" asked Margaret laughingly. She had a gooddeal of her mother's easy tolerance of differences, and all her sweetaffability to those beneath her.
"Ah, my damsel, true love regards the heart rather than the face,methinks. I cannot see into my damsel's heart in one minute, but Ishould think it was not at all difficult to love her."
"I want every body to love me," said Margaret. "And I love every body."
"If my damsel would permit me to counsel her,--love every body by allmeans: but do not let her want every body to love her."
"Why not?"
"Because I fear my damsel will meet with disappointment."
"Oh, I hate to be disappointed. Hast thou brought thine image withthee?"
To Margaret this question sounded most natural. In the first place, shecould not conceive the idea of prayer without something visible to prayto: and in the second, she had been taught that all Jews and Saracenswere idolaters. She was surprised to see the blood rush to Belasez'sdark cheek, and the fire flash from her eyes.
"Will my damsel allow me to ask what she means? I do not understand."
"Wilt thou not want to say thy prayers whilst thou art here?" respondedMargaret, who was at least as much puzzled as Belasez.
"Most certainly! but not to an image!"
"Oh, do you Jews sometimes pray without images?"
"Does my damsel take us for idolaters?"
"Yes, I was always told so," said Margaret, looking astonished.
The fire died out of Belasez's eyes. She saw that Margaret had simplymade an innocent mistake from sheer ignorance of the question.
"My damsel has been misinformed. We Israelites hold all images to bewicked, and abhorrent to the holy law."
"Then thou wilt not want to set up an idol for thyself anywhere?"
"Most assuredly not."
"I hope I have not vexed thee," said Margaret, ingenuously. "I did notknow."
"My damsel did not vex me, as soon as I saw that she did not know."
"And wouldst thou not like better to be a Christian than a Jew?"demanded Margaret, who could not imagine the possibility of any feelingon Belasez's part regarding her nationality except those of regret andhumiliation.
But the answer, though it came in a single syllable, was unmistakable.Intense pride, passionate devotion to her own creed and people, thedeepest scorn and loathing for all others, combined to make up the toneof Belasez's "No!"
"How very odd!" exclaimed Margaret, looking at her, with an expressionof great astonishment upon her own fair, open features.
"Is it odd to my damsel? Does she know what her question sounded like,to me?"
"Tell me."
"`Would she not like better to be a villein scullion-maid, than to bethe daughter of my noble Lord of Kent?'"
"But Jews are not noble!" cried Margaret, gazing in bewilderment fromBelasez to Doucebelle, as if she expected one of them to help her out ofthe puzzle.
"Not in the world's estimate," answered Belasez. "There is One abovethe world."
Before Margaret could reply, the deep bass "Ding-dong!" of the greatdinner-bell rang through the Castle, and Levina made her appearance atthe door.
"My Lady has given me charge concerning thee, Belasez," she said, rathercoldly addressing the Jewess. "Thou wilt come with me."
With a graceful reverence to Margaret, Belasez turned, and followedLevina.
At that date, no titles except those of nobility or office were usual inEngland. Any woman below a peer's daughter, was addressed by herChristian name or by that of her husband. That is to say, the unmarriedwoman was simply "Joan;" the married one was "John's Wife."
Belasez was gifted by nature with a large amount of that kind ofintuition which has been defined as feeling the pressure of otherpeople's atmosphere. It may be a gift which augurs delicacy andrefinement, but it always brings discomfort to its possessor. She knewinstinctively, and in a moment, that Levina was likely to be her enemy.
It was true. Levina was a prey to that green-eyed monster which sportsitself with the miseries of humanity. She had been the best broideressin the Castle until that day. And now she felt herself suddenlysupplanted by a young thing of barely more than half her age andexperience, who was called in, forsooth, to do something which it wasimagined that Levina could not do. What business had the Countess tosuppose there was any thing she could not do?--or, to want something outof her power to provide? Was there the slightest likelihood, thoughtLevina, flaring up, that this scrap of a creature could work better thanherself?--a mere chit of a child (Levina was past thirty), with acomplexion like the fire-bricks (Levina's resembled putty), and hair thecolour of nasty sloes (Levina's was nearer that of a tiger-lily), andgreat staring eyes like horn lanterns! The Countess was the mostunreasonable, and Levina the most cruelly-outraged, of all the womenthat had ever held a needle since those useful instruments wereoriginally invented.
Levina did not put her unparalleled wrongs into words. It would havebeen easier for Belasez to get on with her if she had done so. She heldher head up, and snorted like an impatient horse, as she stalked throughthe door into the ante-chamber.
"This is where thou art to be," she snapped in a staccato tone.
Any amount of personal slight and scorn was merely what Belasez had beenaccustomed to receive from Christians ever since she had left hercradle. The disdain of Levina, therefore, though she could hardly enjoyit, made far less impression on her than the unaccountable kindliness ofthe royal ladies.
"The Lady bade me ask what thou wouldst eat?" demanded Levina in thesame tone as before.
"I thank thee. Any thing that has not had life."
"What's that for?" came in shorter snaps than ever.
"It would not be _kosher_."
"Speak sense! What does the vermin mean?"
"I mean, it would not be killed according to our law."
"Suppose it wasn't I--what then?"
"Then I must not eat it."
"Stupid, silly, ridiculous stuff! May I be put in a pie, if I know whatthe Lady was thinking about, when she brought in such road-dirt as this!And my damsel sets herself above us all, forsooth! She must have hermeat served according to some law that nobody ever heard of, least ofall the Lord King's noble Council: and she must have a table set for herall by herself, as though she were a sick queen. Pray you, my nobleCountess, would you eat in gold or silver?--and how many varlets shallserve to carry your dainty meat?--and is your sweet Grace served uponthe knee, or no? I would fain have things done as may pleasure my rightnoble Lady."
Belasez answered as she usually disposed of similar affronts,--bytreating them as if they were offered in genuine courtesy, but with afaint ring of satire beneath her tone.
"I thank you. I should prefer wood, or pewter if it please you: and Ishould think one varlet might answer. I was never served upon the kneeyet, and it will scarcely be necessary now."
Levina gave a second and stronger snort, and disappeared down thestairs. In a few minutes she made her reappearance, carrying in onehand a plate of broiled ham, and in the other a piece of extremely dryand rather mouldy bread.
"Here is my gracious damsel's first course! Fulk le Especer was so goodas to tell me that folks of her sort are mighty fond of ham; so I tookgreat care to bring her some. There'll be sauce with the next."
That there would be sauce--of one species--with every course served toher in that house, Belasez was beginning to feel no doubt. Yet howeverLevina chose to behave to her, the young Jewess maintained her owndignity. She quietly put aside the plate of ham, and, cutting off themouldy pieces, ate the dry bread without complaint Belasez's kindly andgenerous nature was determined that the Countess, who had been so muchkinder to her than at that time Christians usually were to Jews, shouldhear no murmuring word from her unless it came to actual starvation.
Levina's sauce presented its
elf unmistakably with the second course,which proved to be a piece of apple-pie, swimming in the strongestvinegar. Though it must have set her teeth on edge, Belasez consumedthe pie in silence, avoiding the vinegar so far as she could, andentertained while she did so by Levina's assurances that it delightedher to see how completely Belasez enjoyed it.
The third article, according to Levina, was cheese: but the firstmouthful was enough to convince the persecuted Jewess that soft soapwould have been a more correct epithet. She quietly let it alone.
"_Ha, chetife_! I am sadly in fear that my sweetest damsel does notlike our Suffolk cheese?" said Levina in a most doleful tone.
"Is it manufactured in this county?" asked Belasez very coolly; for, in1234, all soaps were of foreign importation. "I thought it tasted morelike the French make."
Levina vanished down the stairs, but her suppressed laughter was quiteaudible. She came up again with two more plates, and informed Belasezthat they constituted the last course. One of them was filled withchicken-bones, picked exceedingly clean: the other with a piece of sweetcake, over which had been poured some very hot saline compound which byno means harmonised with the cake, but set Belasez's throat on fire.She managed, however, to eat it, thinking that she would get little foodof any kind if she did not: and Levina departed with the plates,remarking that it had done her good to see the excellent meal whichBelasez had made. It was a relief to the girl to be left alone: forsolitude had no terrors for her, and Levina was certainly not anenjoyable companion. After half-an-hour's quiet, Margaret and Evaentered the ante-chamber.
"Hast thou dined, Belasez?" asked Margaret, kindly.
"I thank my damsel, yes."
"Did Levina bring thee such dishes as thou mightest eat?"
"According to our law? Oh yes."
It was rather a relief to Belasez that the question took that form.
"Then that is all right," said Margaret, innocently, and passed on intoher own room.
The Countess's step was heard approaching, but just before entering shestopped at the head of the stairs.
"Thou hast given the girl her dinner, Levina?"
"Oh yes, my Lady!"
"What had she?"
"I brought her apple-pie, if it please my Lady, and cheese, and gateaude Dijon, and ham, and--a few other little things: but she would nottouch the ham, and scarcely the cheese."
"Thou hast forgotten, Levina: I told thee no meat of any kind, nor fish;and I believe no Jew will touch ham. I did not know they objected tocheese. But had she enough? Apple-pie and gateau de Dijon make but apoor dinner."
And without questioning Levina further, the Countess went on andaddressed Belasez direct.
"My maid, hast thou fared well? I fear Levina did not bring thee properthings."
Belasez hesitated. She was very unwilling to say no: and how could shein conscience say yes?
"They were according to our law, I thank my Lady,--all but the ham.That, under her gracious leave, I must decline."
"But thou didst not take the cheese?"
"No,--with my Lady's leave."
"Was it not in accordance with thy law, or didst thou not like it?"
"If my Lady will pardon me," said poor Belasez, driven into a corner, "Idid not like it."
"What kind was it?"
"Levina said it was Suffolk cheese." Belasez's conscience rather smoteher in giving this answer.
"Ah!" responded the unconscious Countess, "it is often hard, andeverybody does not like it, I know."
Belasez was silent beyond a slight reverence to show that she heard theobservation.
"But hast thou had enough?" pursued the Countess, still unsatisfied.
"I am greatly obliged to my Lady, and quite ready to serve her," was theevasive reply.
The Countess looked hard at Belasez, but she said no more. Shedespatched Levina for the scarf which was to be copied, and gave theyoung Jewess her instructions. The exquisite work which grew inBelasez's skilful hands evidently delighted the Countess. She wasextremely kind, and the reserved but sensitive nature of Belasez wentout towards her in fervent love.
To Margaret, the Jewish broideress was an object of equal mystery andinterest. She would sit watching her work for long periods. Shenoticed that Belasez ignored the existence of her private oratory, madeno reverence to the gilded Virgin which stood on a bracket in herwardrobe, and passed the _benitier_ without vouchsafing the leastattention to the holy water. Manifestly, Jews did not believe in gildedimages and holy water. But then, in what did they believe? Had theyany faith in any thing? Belasez had owned to saying her prayers, andshe acknowledged the existence of some law which she felt herself boundto obey. But whose law was it?--and to whom did she pray? Thesethoughts seethed in Margaret's brain till at last, one afternoon whenshe sat watching the embroidery, they burst forth into speech,"Belasez!"
"What would my damsel?"
"Belasez, what dost thou believe?"
The Jewess looked up in surprise.
"I am not sure that I understand my damsel's question. Will shecondescend to explain?"
"I mean, what god dost thou worship?"
"There is but one God," answered Belasez, solemnly.
"That I believe, too: but we do not worship the same God, do we?"
"I think we do--to a certain extent."
"But there is a difference between us. What is the difference?"
Belasez seemed to hesitate.
"Don't be afraid, but speak out!" said Margaret, eagerly.
"If I say what my Lady would not approve, would it be right in me?"
"My Lady and mother will not mind. Go on!"
"Damsel, I think the difference touches Him who is the Sent of God, andthe Son of the Blessed. We believe in Him, as well as you. But webelieve that He is yet to come, and is to be the salvation of Israel.You believe,"--Belasez's words came slowly, as if dragged fromher--"that He is come, long ago; and you think He will save all men."
"But that is our Lord Christ, surely?" said Margaret.
"You call Him so," was Belasez's reply. "But He did come!" saidMargaret, in a puzzled tone.
"A man came, undoubtedly, who claimed to be the Man who was to come.But was the claim a true one?"
"I have always been told that it was!"
"And I have always been told that it was not."
"Then how are we to find out which is true?" Belasez spread her handsout with a semi-Eastern gesture, which indicated hopeless incapacity, ofsome sort.
"Damsel, do not ask me. The holy prophets told our fathers of old timethat so long as Israel walked contrary to the Holy One, so long shouldthey wander over the earth, forsaken exiles, and be punished seven timesfor their sins. Are we not exiles? Is He not punishing us? Our holyand beautiful house is a desolation; our land is overthrown bystrangers. Yet we are no idolaters; we are no Sabbath-breakers; we donot profane the name of the Blessed. Do you think I never ask myselffor what sin it is that we are thus cast away from the presence of ourKing? In old days it was always for such sins as I have named: itcannot be that now. Is it--O Abraham our father! can it be?--that Hehas come, the King of Israel, and we have not known Him? Damsel, thereare thousands of the sons of Israel that have asked that question! Andthen--"
Belasez stopped suddenly.
"Go on!" urged Margaret. "What then?"
"I shall say what my damsel will not wish to hear, if I do go on."
"But I wish very much to hear it."
"And then we look around on you, who call yourselves servants of Himwhom ye say is come. We ask you to tell us what you have learned ofHim. And ye answer us with the very things which the King of Israelsolemnly forbade. Ye point us to images of dead men, and ye hold upbefore us a goddess, a fair dead woman, and ye say, These are they whomye shall serve! And we answer, If these things be what ye have learnedfrom him that is come, then he never can be the Sent of God. Godforbade all idolatry, and all image-making: if he taught it, can he beMessiah? This is why
in all the ages we have stood aloof. We mighthave received him, we might have believed him,--but for this."
"But I do not know," said Margaret, thoughtfully, "that holy Church laysmuch stress on images. I should think, if ye prefer to pray withoutthem, she would allow you to do so. I cannot understand how ye can praywithout them; for what is there to pray to? It is your infirmity, Isuppose."
"Ah, Damsel," said Belasez with a sad smile, "this seems to you a very,very little matter! How shall a Jew and a Christian ever understandeach other? For it is life or death to us. It is a question ofobeying, or of disobeying--not of doing something we fancy, or do notfancy."
"Yes, but holy Church would decide it for you," urged Margaret,earnestly.
"Damsel, your words are strange to my ears. The Holy One (to whom bepraise!) has decided it long ago. `Ye shall _not_ make unto you anygraven image: ye shall _not_ bow down to them, nor worship them.' Thecommand is given. What difference can it make to us, that the thing youcall the Church dares to disregard it? I scarcely understand what `theChurch' is. If I rightly know what my damsel means, it signifies allthe Christians. And Christians are Gentiles. How can the sons ofIsrael take laws from them? And to speak as if they could abrogate thelaw of Him that sitteth in the heavens, before whom they are all lessthan nothing and vanity! It is a strange tongue in which my damselspeaks. I do not understand it."
Neither did Margaret understand Belasez. She sat and looked at her,with her mind in bewildered confusion. To her, the authority of theChurch was paramount,--was the only irrefragable thing. And here wassomething which looked like another Church, setting itself up with someunaccountable and unheard-of claim to be older, truer, better!--something which denied that the Church--with horror be it whispered!--had any right to make laws!--which referred to a law, and a Legislator,so high above the Church that it scarcely regarded the Church as worthmention in the matter at all! Margaret felt stunned.
"But God speaks through the Church!" she gasped.
"If that were so, they would speak the same thing," was Belasez'sunanswerable response.
Margaret felt pushed into a corner, and did not know what to say next.The difference between her point of view and that of Belasez was sovast, that considerations which would have silenced any one else at oncepassed as the idle wind by her. And Margaret could not see how to alterit.
"I must ask Father Nicholas to show thee how it is," she said at last ina kindly manner. "I am only an ignorant girl. But he can explain tothee."
"Can he?" said Belasez. "What explanations of his, or any one's, canprove that man may please himself about obeying his Maker? He will tellme--does my damsel think I have never listened to a Christian priest?--he will tell me to offer incense to yonder gilded image. Had I notbetter offer it to myself? I am a living daughter of Israel: is thatnot better than the stone image of a dead one?"
"Better than our blessed Lady!" cried the horrified Margaret.
"Perhaps, if she were here, a living woman, she might be the betterwoman of the two," said Belasez, coolly. "But a living woman, I amsure, is better than a stone image, which can neither see, nor hear, norfeel."
"Oh, but don't you know," said Margaret eagerly, as a bright ideaoccurred to her, "that we have the holy Father,--the Pope? He keeps theChurch right; and our Lord commissioned Saint Peter, who was the firstPope, to teach every body and promised to guard him from all error."
Margaret was mentally congratulating herself on this brilliant solutionof all difficulties. Belasez looked up thoughtfully. "But did Hepromise to guard all the successors?"
"Oh, of course!"
"I wonder--supposing He were the Messiah--if He did," said Belasez."Because I have sometimes thought that might explain it."
"What might explain it?"
"My damsel knows that the disciples of great teachers often corrupttheir master's teaching, and in course of time they may come to teachdoctrines quite different from his. It has struck me sometimes whetherit might be so with you: that your Master was truly the Sent of God, andthat you have so corrupted His doctrines that there is very littlelikeness left now. There must be very little, if He spoke according tothe will of the Holy One."
"But the Church never changes," said Margaret. "Then He could not betrue," said Belasez. "Oh, but Father Nicholas says the Church develops!She always teaches the truth, but she unfolds it more and more as timegoes on."
"The truth is one, my damsel. It maybe more. But it can never bedifferent and contrary."
"But we change," urged Margaret, taking the last weapon out of herquiver. "We may need one thing to-day, and another to-morrow."
"We may. And if the original command had been even, `Ye shall make noimage _but one_,' I should think it might then, as need were, have beenaltered to, `Ye may now make a thousand images.' But being, `Ye shallmake _none_' it cannot be altered. That would be to alter His characterwho is in all His universe the only unchangeable One."
Margaret sat and watched the progress of the embroidery, but she said nomore.