By What Authority?

by Robert Hugh Benson

  CHAPTER II

  SOME NEW LESSONS

  The six years that followed Sir Nicholas' return and Hubert's departurefor the North had passed uneventfully at Great Keynes. The old knight hadbeen profoundly shocked that any Catholic, especially an agent sovaluable as Mr. Stewart, should have found his house a death-trap; andalthough he continued receiving his friends and succouring them, he didso with more real caution and less ostentation of it. His religious zealand discretion were further increased by the secret return to the "OldReligion" of several of his villagers during the period; and a very faircongregation attended Mass so often as it was said in the cloister wingof the Hall. The new rector, like his predecessor, was content to let thesquire alone; and unlike him had no wife to make trouble.

  Then, suddenly, in the summer of '77, catastrophes began, headed by theunexpected return of Hubert, impatient of waiting, and with new plans inhis mind.

  Isabel had been out with Mistress Margaret walking in the dusk one Augustevening after supper, on the raised terrace beneath the yews. They hadbeen listening to the loud snoring of the young owls in the ivy on thechimney-stack opposite, and had watched the fierce bird slide silentlyout of the gloom, white against the blackness, and disappear down amongthe meadows. Once Isabel had seen him pause, too, on one of his returnjourneys, suspicious of the dim figures beneath, silhouetted on a branchagainst the luminous green western sky, with the outline of a mouse withits hanging tail plain in his crooked claws, before he glided to his nestagain. As Isabel waited she heard the bang of the garden-door, but gaveit no thought, and a moment after Mistress Margaret asked her to fetch acouple of wraps from the house for them both, as the air had a touch ofchill in it. She came down the lichened steps, crossed the lawn, andpassed into the unlighted hall. As she entered, the door opposite opened,and for a moment she saw the silhouette of a man's figure against thebright passage beyond. Her heart suddenly leapt, and stood still.

  "Anthony!" she whispered, in a hush of suspense.

  There was a vibration and a step beside her.

  "Isabel!" said Hubert's voice. And then his arms closed round her for thefirst time in her life. She struggled and panted a moment as she felt hisbreath on her face; and he released her. She recoiled to the door, andstood there silent and panting.

  "Oh! Isabel!" he whispered; and again, "Isabel!"

  She put out her hand and grasped the door-post behind her.

  "Oh! Hubert! Why have you come?"

  He came a step nearer and she could see the faint whiteness of his facein the western glimmer.

  "I cannot wait," he said, "I have been nearly beside myself. I have leftthe north--and I cannot wait so long."

  "Well?" she said; and he heard the note of entreaty and anxiety in hervoice.

  "I have my plans," he answered; "I will tell you to-morrow. Where is myaunt?"

  Isabel heard a step on the gravel outside.

  "She is coming," she said sharply. Hubert melted into the dark, and shesaw the opposite door open and let him out.

  The next day Hubert announced his plans to Sir Nicholas, and a conflictfollowed.

  "I cannot go on, sir," he said, "I cannot wait for ever. I am treatedlike a servant, too; and you know how miserably I am paid, I have obeyedyou for six years, sir; and now I have thrown up the post and told mylord to his face that I can bear with him no longer."

  Sir Nicholas' face, as he sat in his upright chair opposite the boy, grewflushed with passion.

  "It is your accursed temper, sir," he said violently. "I know you of old.Wait? For what? For the Protestant girl? I told you to put that from yourmind, sir."

  Hubert did not propose as yet to let his father into all his plans.

  "I have not spoken her name, sir, I think. I say I cannot wait for myfortune; I may be impatient, sir--I do not deny it."

  "Then how do you propose to better it?" sneered his father.

  "In November," said Hubert steadily, looking his father in the eyes, "Isail with Mr. Drake."

  Sir Nicholas' face grew terrific. He rose, and struck the table twicewith his clenched fist.

  "Then, by God, sir, Mr. Drake may have you now."

  Hubert's face grew white with anger; but he had his temper under control.

  "Then I wish you good-day, sir," and he left the room.

  When the boy had left the house again for London, as he did the sameafternoon, Lady Maxwell tried to soothe the old man. It was impossible,even for her, to approach him before.

  "Sweetheart," she said tranquilly, as he sat and glowered at his platewhen supper was over and the men had left the room, "sweetheart, we musthave Hubert down here again. He must not sail with Mr. Drake."

  The old man's face flared up again in anger.

  "He may follow his own devices," he cried. "I care not what he does. Hehas given up the post that I asked for him; and he comes striding andruffling home with his hat cocked and--and----"; his voice becameinarticulate.

  "He is only a boy, sweetheart; with a boy's hot blood--you would soonerhave him like that than a milk-sop. Besides--he is our boy."

  The old man growled. His wife went on:

  "And now that James cannot have the estate, he must have it, as you know,and carry on the old name."

  "He has disgraced it," burst out the angry old man, "and he is going nowwith that damned Protestant to harry Catholics. By the grace of God Ilove my country, and would serve her Grace with my heart's blood--butthat my boy should go with Drake----!" and again his voice failed.

  It was a couple of days before she could obtain her husband's leave towrite a conciliatory letter, giving leave to Hubert to go with Drake, ifhe had made any positive engagement (because, as she represented to SirNicholas, there was nothing actually wrong or disloyal to the Faith init)--but entreating him with much pathos not to leave his old parents sobitterly.

  * * * *

  "Oh, my dear son," the end of the letter ran, "your father is old; andGod, in whose hand are our days, alone knows how long he will live; andI, too, my son, am old. So come back to us and be our dear child again.You must not think too hardly of your father's words to you; he is quickand hot, as you are, too--but indeed we love you dearly. Your room hereis ready for you; and Piers wants a firm hand now over him, as yourfather is so old. So come back, my darling, and make our old hearts gladagain."

  But the weeks passed by, and no answer came, and the old people's heartsgrew sick with suspense; and then, at last, in September the courierbrought a letter, written from Plymouth, which told the mother that itwas too late; that he had in fact engaged himself to Mr. Drake in Augustbefore he had come to Great Keynes at all; and that in honour he mustkeep his engagement. He asked pardon of his father for his hastiness; butit seemed a cold and half-hearted sorrow; and the letter ended byannouncing that the little fleet would sail in November; and that atpresent they were busy fitting the ships and engaging the men; and thatthere would be no opportunity for him to return to wish them good-byebefore he sailed. It was plain that the lad was angry still.

  Sir Nicholas did not say much; but a silence fell on the house. LadyMaxwell sent for Isabel, and they had a long interview. The old lady wasastonished at the girl's quietness and resignation.

  Yes, she said, she loved Hubert with all her heart. She had loved him fora long while. No, she was not angry, only startled. What would she doabout the difference in religion? Could she marry him while one was aCatholic and the other a Protestant? No, they would never be happy likethat; and she did not know what she would do. She supposed she would waitand see. Yes, she would wait and see; that was all that could bedone.--And then had come a silent burst of tears, and the girl had sunkdown on her knees and hidden her face in the old lady's lap, and thewrinkled jewelled old hand passed quietly over the girl's black hair; butno more had been said, and Isabel presently got up and went home to theDower House.

  The autumn went by, and November ca
me, and there was no further word fromHubert. Then towards the end of November a report reached them fromAnthony at Lambeth that the fleet had sailed; but had put back intoFalmouth after a terrible storm in the Channel. And hope just raised itshead.

  Then one evening after supper Sir Nicholas complained of fever andrestlessness, and went early to bed. In the night he was delirious.Mistress Margaret hastened up at midnight from the Dower House, and agroom galloped off to Lindfield before morning to fetch the doctor, andanother to fetch Mr. Barnes, the priest, from Cuckfield. Sir Nicholas wasbled to reduce the fever of the pneumonia that had attacked him. All daylong he was sinking. About eleven o'clock that night he fell asleep,apparently, and Lady Maxwell, who had watched incessantly, was persuadedto lie down; but at three o'clock in the morning, on the first ofDecember, Mistress Margaret awakened her, and together they knelt by thebedside of the old man. The priest, who had anointed him on the previousevening, knelt behind, repeating the prayers for the dying.

  Sir Nicholas lay on his back, supported by pillows, under the gloom ofthe black old four-posted bed. A wood-fire glowed on the hearth, and theair was fragrant with the scent of the burning cedar-logs. A crucifix wasin the old man's hands; but his eyes were bright with fever, and hisfingers every now and then relaxed, and then tightened their hold againon the cool silver of the figure of the crucified Saviour. His lips weremoving tremulously, and his ruddy old face was pale now.

  The priest's voice went on steadily; the struggle was beginning.

  "_Proficiscere, anima christiana, de hoc mundo_.--Go forth, Christiansoul, from this world in the name of God the Father Almighty, who createdthee; in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, Who sufferedfor thee; in the name of the Holy Ghost, who was shed forth upon thee; Inthe name of Angels and Archangels; in the name of Thrones and Dominions;in the name of Principalities and Powers----"

  Suddenly the old man, whose head had been slowly turning from side toside, ceased his movement, and his open mouth closed; he was lookingsteadily at his wife, and a look of recognition came back to his eyes.

  "Sweetheart," he said; and smiled, and died.

  * * * *

  Isabel did not see much of Mistress Margaret for the next few days; shewas constantly with her sister, and when she came to the Dower House nowand then, said little to the girl. There were curious rumours in thevillage; strangers came and went continually, and there was a vastcongregation at the funeral, when the body of the old knight was laid torest in the Maxwell chapel. The following day the air of mysterydeepened; and young Mrs. Melton whispered to Isabel, with many glancesand becks, that she and her man had seen lights through the chapelwindows at three o'clock that morning. Isabel went into the chapelpresently to visit the grave, and there was a new smear of black on theeast wall as if a taper had been set too near.

  The courier who had been despatched to announce to Hubert that his fatherhad died and left him master of the Hall and estate, with certainconditions, returned at the end of the month with the news that the fleethad sailed again on the thirteenth, and that Hubert was gone with it; soLady Maxwell, now more silent and retired than ever, for the presentretained her old position and Mr. Piers took charge of the estate.

  Although Isabel outwardly was very little changed in the last six years,great movements had been taking place in her soul, and if Hubert had onlyknown the state of the case, possibly he would not have gone so hastilywith Mr. Drake.

  The close companionship of such an one as Mistress Margaret was doing itsalmost inevitable work; and the girl had been learning that behind thebrilliant and even crude surface of the Catholic practice, there laystill and beautiful depths of devotion which she had scarcely dreamed of.The old nun's life was a revelation to Isabel; she heard from her bed inthe black winter mornings her footsteps in the next room, and soon learntthat Mistress Margaret spent at least two hours in prayer before sheappeared at all. Two or three times in the day she knew that she retiredagain for the same purpose, and again an hour after she was in bed, therewere the same gentle movements next door. She began to discover, too,that for the Catholic, as well as for the Puritan, the Person of theSaviour was the very heart of religion; that her own devotion to Christwas a very languid flame by the side of the ardent inarticulate passionof this soul who believed herself His wedded spouse; and that the worshipof the saints and the Blessed Mother instead of distracting the love ofthe Christian soul rather seemed to augment it. The King of Love stood,as she fancied sometimes, to Catholic eyes, in a glow of ineffablesplendour; and the faces of His adoring Court reflected the ruddy gloryon all sides; thus refracting the light of their central Sun, instead of,as she had thought, obscuring it.

  Other difficulties, too, began to seem oddly unreal and intangible, whenshe had looked at them in the light of Mistress Margaret's clear old eyesand candid face. It was a real event in her inner life when she firstbegan to understand what the rosary meant to Catholics. Mistress Corbethad told her what was the actual use of the beads; and how the mysteriesof Christ's life and death were to be pondered over as the variousprayers were said; but it had hitherto seemed to Isabel as if this methodwere an elaborate and superstitious substitute for reading the inspiredrecord of the New Testament.

  She had been sitting out in the little walled garden in front of theDower House one morning on an early summer day after her father's death,and Mistress Margaret had come out in her black dress and stood for amoment looking at her irresolutely, framed in the dark doorway. Then shehad come slowly across the grass, and Isabel had seen for the first timein her fingers a string of ivory beads. Mistress Margaret sat down on agarden chair a little way from her, and let her hands sink into her lap,still holding the beads. Isabel said nothing, but went on reading.Presently she looked up again, and the old lady's eyes were half-closed,and her lips just moving; and the beads passing slowly through herfingers. She looked almost like a child dreaming, in spite of herwrinkles and her snowy hair; the pale light of a serene soul lay on herface. This did not look like the mechanical performance that Isabel hadalways associated with the idea of beads. So the minutes passed away;every time that Isabel looked up there was the little white face with thelong lashes lying on the cheek, and the crown of snowy hair and lace, andthe luminous look of a soul in conscious communion with the unseen.

  When the old lady had finished, she twisted the beads about her fingersand opened her eyes. Isabel had an impulse to speak.

  "Mistress Margaret," she said, "may I ask you something?"

  "Of course, my darling," the old lady said.

  "I have never seen you use those before--I cannot understand them."

  "What is it," asked the old lady, "that you don't understand?"

  "How can prayers said over and over again like that be any good?"

  Mistress Margaret was silent for a moment.

  "I saw young Mrs. Martin last week," she said, "with her little girl inher lap. Amy had her arms round her mother's neck, and was being rockedto and fro; and every time she rocked she said 'Oh, mother.'"

  "But then," said Isabel, after a moment's silence, "she was only achild."

  "'Except ye become like little children--'" quoted Mistress Margaretsoftly--"you see, my Isabel, we are nothing more than children with Godand His Blessed Mother. To say 'Hail Mary, Hail Mary,' is the best way oftelling her how much we love her. And then this string of beads is likeOur Lady's girdle, and her children love to finger it, and whisper toher. And then we say our paternosters, too; and all the while we aretalking she is shewing us pictures of her dear Child, and we look at allthe great things He did for us, one by one; and then we turn the page andbegin again."

  "I see," said Isabel; and after a moment or two's silence MistressMargaret got up and went into the house.

  The girl sat still with her hands clasped round her knee. How strange anddifferent this religion was to the fiery gospel she had heard last yearat Northampton from the harsh stern preacher, at whose voice a veil
seemed to rend and show a red-hot heaven behind! How tender and simplethis was--like a blue summer's sky with drifting clouds! If only it wastrue! If only there were a great Mother whose girdle was of beads strungtogether, which dangled into every Christian's hands; whose face bentdown over every Christian's bed; and whose mighty and tender arms thathad held her Son and God were still stretched out beneath her otherchildren. And Isabel, whose soul yearned for a mother, sighed as shereminded herself that there was but "one Mediator between God andman--the man, Christ Jesus."

  And so the time went by, like an outgoing tide, silent and steady. Theold nun did not talk much to the girl about dogmatic religion, for shewas in a difficult position. She was timid certainly of betraying herfaith by silence, but she was also timid of betraying her trust byspeech. Sometimes she felt she had gone too far, sometimes not farenough; but on the whole her practice was never to suggest questions, butonly to answer them when Isabel asked; and to occupy herself withaffirmative rather than with destructive criticism. More than this shehesitated to do out of honour for the dead; less than this she dared notdo out of love for God and Isabel. But there were three or fourconversations that she felt were worth waiting for; and the look onIsabel's face afterwards, and the sudden questions she would asksometimes after a fit of silence, made her friend's heart quicken towardsher, and her prayers more fervent.

  The two were sitting together one December day in Isabel's upstairs roomand the girl, who had just come in from a solitary walk, was halfkneeling on the window-seat and drumming her fingers softly on the panesas she looked out at the red western sky.

  "I used to think," she said, "that Catholics had no spiritual life; butnow it seems to me that in comparison we Puritans have none. You know somuch about the soul, as to what is from God and what from the Evil One;and we have to grope for ourselves. And yet our Saviour said that Hissheep should know His voice. I do not understand it." And she turnedtowards Mistress Margaret who had laid down her work and was listening.

  "Dear child," she said, "if you mean our priests and spiritual writers,it is because they study it. We believe in the science of the soul; andwe consult our spiritual guides for our soul's health, as the leech forour body's health."

  "But why must you ask the priest, if the Lord speaks to all alike?"

  "He speaks through the priest, my dear, as He does through thephysician."

  "But why should the priest know better than the people?" pursued Isabel,intent on her point.

  "Because he tells us what the Church says," said the other smiling, "itis his business. He need not be any better or cleverer in other respects.The baker may be a thief or a foolish fellow; but his bread is good."

  "But how do you know," went on Isabel, who thought Mistress Margaret alittle slow to see her point--"how do you know that the Church is right?"

  The old nun considered a moment, and then lifted her embroidery again.

  "Why do you think," she asked, beginning to sew, "that each single soulthat asks God's guidance is right?"

  "Because the Holy Ghost is promised to such," said Isabel wondering.

  "Then is it not likely," went on the other still stitching, "that themillions of souls who form Holy Church are right, when they all agreetogether?" Isabel moved a little impatiently.

  "You see," went on Mistress Margaret, "that is what we Catholics believeour Saviour meant when He said that the gates of hell should not prevailagainst His Church."

  But Isabel was not content. She broke in:

  "But why are not the Scriptures sufficient? They are God's Word."

  The other put down her embroidery again, and smiled up into the girl'spuzzled eyes.

  "Well, my child," she said, "do they seem sufficient, when you look atChristendom now? If they are so clear, how is it that you have theLutherans, and the Anabaptists, and the Family of Love, and theCalvinists, and the Church of England, all saying they hold to theScriptures alone. Nay, nay; the Scriptures are the grammar, and theChurch is the dame that teaches out of it, and she knows so well muchthat is not in the grammar, and we name that tradition. But where thereis no dame to teach, the children soon fall a-fighting about the book andthe meaning of it."

  Isabel looked at Mistress Margaret a moment, and then turned back againto the window in silence.

  At another time they had a word or two about Peter's prerogatives.

  "Surely," said Isabel suddenly, as they walked together in the garden,"Christ is the one Foundation of the Church, St. Paul tells us soexpressly."

  "Yes, my dear," said the nun, "but then Christ our Lord said: 'Thou artPeter, and on this rock I will build my Church.' So he who is the onlyGood Shepherd, said to Peter, 'Feed My sheep'; and He that is _ClavisDavid_ and that openeth and none shutteth said to him, 'I will givethee the keys, and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound inheaven.' That is why we call Peter the Vicar of Christ."

  Isabel raised her eyebrows.

  "Surely, surely----" she began.

  "Yes, my child," said Mistress Margaret, "I know it is new and strange toyou; but it was not to your grandfather or his forbears: to them, as tome, it is the plain meaning of the words. We Catholics are a simple folk.We hold that what our Saviour said simply He meant simply: as we do inthe sacred mystery of His Body and Blood. To us, you know," she went on,smiling, with a hand on the girl's arm, "it seems as if you Protestantstwisted the Word of God against all justice."

  Isabel smiled back at her; but she was puzzled. The point of view was newto her. And yet again in the garden, a few months later, as they sat outtogether on the lawn, the girl opened the same subject.

  "Mistress Margaret," she said, "I have been thinking a great deal; and itseems very plain when you talk. But you know our great divines couldanswer you, though I cannot. My father was no Papist; and Dr. Grindal andthe Bishops are all wise men. How do you answer that?"

  The nun looked silently down at the grass a moment or two.

  "It is the old tale," she said at last, looking up; "we cannot believethat the babes and sucklings are as likely to be right in such matters asthe wise and prudent--even more likely, if our Saviour's words are to bebelieved. Dear child, do you not see that our Lord came to save all men,and call all men into His Church; and that therefore He must have markedHis Church in such a manner that the most ignorant may perceive it aseasily as the most learned? Learning is very well, and it is the gift ofGod; but salvation and grace cannot depend upon it. It needs an architectto understand why Paul's Church is strong and beautiful, and what makesit so; but any child or foolish fellow can see that it is so."

  "I do not understand," said Isabel, wrinkling her forehead.

  "Why this--that you are as likely to know the Catholic Church when yousee it, as Dr. Grindal or Dr. Freake, or your dear father himself. Only adivine can explain about it and understand it, but you and I are as fitto see it and walk into it, as any of them."

  "But then why are they not all Catholics?" asked Isabel, stillbewildered.

  "Ah!" said the nun, softly, "God alone knows, who reads hearts and callswhom He will. But learning, at least, has nought to do with it."

  Conversations of this kind that took place now and then between the twowere sufficient to show Mistress Margaret, like tiny bubbles on thesurface of a clear stream, the swift movement of this limpid soul thatshe loved so well. But on the other hand, all the girl's past life, andmost sacred and dear associations, were in conflict with this movement;the memory of her quiet, wise father rose and reproached her sometimes;Anthony's enthusiastic talk, when he came down from Lambeth, on theglorious destinies of the Church of England, of her gallant protestagainst the corruptions of the West, and of her future unique position inChristendom as the National Church of the most progressive country--allthis caused her to shrink back terrified from the bourne to which she wasdrifting, and from the breach that must follow with her brother. Butabove all else that caused her pain was the shocking suspicion that herlove for Hubert perhaps was influencing her, and that she was livin
g ingross self-deception as to the sincerity of her motives.

  This culminated at last in a scene that seriously startled the old nun;it took place one summer night after Hubert's departure in Mr. Drake'sexpedition. Mistress Margaret had seen Isabel to her room, and an hourlater had finished her night-office and was thinking of preparing herselfto bed, when there was a hurried tap at the door, and Isabel came quicklyin, her face pale and miserable, her great grey eyes full of trouble anddistraction, and her hair on her shoulders.

  "My dear child," said the nun, "what is it?"

  Isabel closed the door and stood looking at her, with her lips parted.

  "How can I know, Mistress Margaret," she said, in the voice of asleep-walker, "whether this is the voice of God or of my own wicked self?No, no," she went on, as the other came towards her, frightened, "let metell you. I must speak."

  "Yes, my child, you shall; but come and sit down first," and she drew herto a chair and set her in it, and threw a wrap over her knees and feet;and sat down beside her, and took one of her hands, and held it betweenher own.

  "Now then, Isabel, what is it?"

  "I have been thinking over it all so long," began the girl, in the sametremulous voice, with her eyes fixed on the nun's face, "and to-night inbed I could not bear it any longer. You see, I love Hubert, and I used tothink I loved our Saviour too; but now I do not know. It seems as if Hewas leading me to the Catholic Church; all is so much more plain and easythere--it seems--it seems--to make sense in the Catholic Church; and allthe rest of us are wandering in the dark. But if I become a Catholic, yousee, I can marry Hubert then; and I cannot help thinking of that; andwanting to marry him. But then perhaps that is the reason that I think Isee it all so plainly; just because I want to see it plainly. And what amI to do? Why will not our Lord shew me my own heart and what is HisWill?"

  Mistress Margaret shook her head gently.

  "Dear child," she said, "our Saviour loves you and wishes to make youhappy. Do you not think that perhaps He is helping you and making it easyin this way, by drawing you to His Church through Hubert. Why should notboth be His Will? that you should become a Catholic and marry Hubert aswell?"

  "Yes," said Isabel, "but how can I tell?"

  "There is only one thing to be done," went on the old lady, "be quitesimple and quiet. Whenever your soul begins to be disturbed and anxious,put yourself in His Hands, and refuse to decide for yourself. It is soeasy, so easy."

  "But why should I be so anxious and disturbed, if it were not our Lordspeaking and warning me?"

  "In the Catholic Church," said Mistress Margaret, "we know well about allthose movements of the soul; and we call them scruples. You must resistthem, dear child, like temptations. We are told that if a soul is ingrace and desires to serve God, then whenever our Lord speaks it is tobring sweetness with Him; and when it is the evil one, he bringsdisturbance. And that is why I am sure that these questionings are notfrom God. You feel stifled, is it not so, when you try to pray? and allseems empty of God; the waves and storms are going over you. But liestill and be content; and refuse to be disturbed; and you will soon be atpeace again and see the light clearly."

  Mistress Margaret found herself speaking simply in short words andsentences as to a child. She had seen that for a long while past theclouds had been gathering over Isabel, and that her soul was at presentcompletely overcast and unable to perceive or decide anything clearly;and so she gave her this simple advice, and did her utmost to soothe her,knowing that such a clean soul would not be kept long in the dark.

  She knelt down with Isabel presently and prayed aloud with her, in aquiet even voice; a patch of moonlight lay on the floor, and something ofits white serenity seemed to be in the old nun's tones as she entreatedthe merciful Lord to bid peace again to this anxious soul, and let hersee light again through the dark.

  And when she had taken Isabel back again to her own room at last, and hadseen her safely into bed, and kissed her good-night, already the girl'sface was quieter as it lay on the pillow, and the lines were smoothed outof her forehead.

  "God bless you!" said Mistress Margaret.