But--listen, Hugh. In asking what you asked, you scarce
know what you did. You need not say 'yea,' nor 'nay,' but I incline to
think with the Reverend Mother, that the woman you sought was not
foolish little Seraphine, turned one way by the neighing of a palfrey,
another by the embroidering of a pomegranate. There are women of finer
mould in that Nunnery, any one of whom may be your lost betrothed. But
of this we may be sure: whosoever she be, the Prioress knows her, and
knew of whom she wrote when she sent you that message. She has the
entire confidence of all in the Nunnery. I verily believe she knows
them better than does their confessor--a saintly old man, but dim.
"Now, listen to me. I said you knew not what you asked. Hugh, my lad,
if you had won your betrothed away, you would have had much to learn
and much to unlearn. Believe me, I know women, as only a priest of
many years' standing can know them. Women are either bad or good. The
bad are bad below man's understanding, because their badness is not
leavened by one grain of honour; a fact the worst of men will ever fail
to grasp. The good are good above man's comprehension, because their
perfect purity of heart causeth the spirit ever to triumph over the
flesh; and their love-instinct is the instinct of self-sacrifice.
Every true woman is a Madonna in the home, or fain would be, if her man
would let her. To such a woman, each promise of a child is an
Annunciation; our Lady's awe and wonder, whisper again in the temple of
her inner being; for her love has deified the man she loves; and, it
seems to her, a child of his and hers must be a holy babe, born into
the world to help redeem it.
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