And Isabel, whose soul yearned for a mother, sighed as she
reminded herself that there was but "one Mediator between God and
man--the man, Christ Jesus."
And so the time went by, like an outgoing tide, silent and steady. The
old nun did not talk much to the girl about dogmatic religion, for she
was in a difficult position. She was timid certainly of betraying her
faith by silence, but she was also timid of betraying her trust by
speech. Sometimes she felt she had gone too far, sometimes not far
enough; but on the whole her practice was never to suggest questions, but
only to answer them when Isabel asked; and to occupy herself with
affirmative rather than with destructive criticism. More than this she
hesitated to do out of honour for the dead; less than this she dared not
do out of love for God and Isabel. But there were three or four
conversations that she felt were worth waiting for; and the look on
Isabel's face afterwards, and the sudden questions she would ask
sometimes after a fit of silence, made her friend's heart quicken towards
her, and her prayers more fervent.
The two were sitting together one December day in Isabel's upstairs room
and the girl, who had just come in from a solitary walk, was half
kneeling on the window-seat and drumming her fingers softly on the panes
as she looked out at the red western sky.
"I used to think," she said, "that Catholics had no spiritual life; but
now it seems to me that in comparison we Puritans have none.
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