the
root of bitterness remained? It is only when we hear God say, "Thy sins
are forgiven thee," that it is possible to go in peace. And Isabel
never heard it until she came to Him. Then, when she came empty-handed,
He filled her hands with gifts; He breathed into the harassed soul rest
and hope.

This was what God gave her. But men gave her something very different.
They had nothing better for this woman that had been a sinner, than the
old comment of Simon the Pharisee. They were not ready to cast the
remembrance of her iniquities into the depths of the sea--far from it.
What they gave her was a scorned and slandered name, a character
sketched in words that dwelt gloatingly on her early devotion to the
world, the flesh, and the Devil, and left unwritten the story of her
subsequent devotion to God. The later portion of her life is passed
over in silence. We see something of its probable character in the
supreme contempt of the monkish chroniclers; in the heretical epithet of
"pestilent" applied to her; in the Lollard terms of her last will; in
her choice of eminent Lollards as executors; in her bosom friendship
with the Lollard Queen.

But at another Table from that of Simon the Pharisee, "many that are
first shall be last, and the last first."

We have kept Maude standing for a long while, before her mistress,
seated in the great chair in Dame Agnes de La Marche's chamber.

"And how lovest thy new fashion of life, my maid?" demanded the
Countess, when she had taken her seat.

"Right well, an' it like your Grace."

"Thou art here welsomer [more comfortable] than in the kitchen?"

"Surely so, Madam."

"Dame Joan speaketh well of thy cunning." [Skill.]

Maude smiled and courtesied. She was gradually learning Court manners.

"And hast thou yet thy book-leaf, the which I read unto thee?"

"Oh ay, Madam!"

"`Thy book-leaf!'" interjected Constance. "What book hast thou?"

"A part of God's Word, my daughter," replied her mother gravely;
"touching His great City, the holy Jerusalem, which shall come down from
God out of Heaven, and is lightened with His glory."

"When will it come?" said Constance, with unwonted gravity.

"God wot. To all seeming, not ere thou and I be either within the same,
or without His gates for ever."

The Countess turned back to Maude.

"My maid, thou wouldst fain know at that time whether I had any dwelling
in that city. Wist thou that an' thou wilt, there thou mayest d