into the fire and answered not, until she said, all
suddenly, "Dame Hilda, be there two of you, or but one?"

"Truly, Dame Isabel, I take not your meaning."

"Ah!" saith she; "then is there but one of you. If so, you cannot
conceive me. Thou dost, Ellen?"

"Ay, Dame Isabel, that do I, but too well."

"They have easier lives, methinks, that are but one. You look on me,
Dame Hilda, as who should say, What nonsense doth this maid talk! But
if you knew what it was to have two natures within you, pulling you
diverse ways, sometimes the one uppermost, and at times the other; and
which of the twain be _you_, that cannot you tell--I will tell you, I
have noted this many times"--Isabel's voice sank as if she feared to be
overheard--"in them whose father and mother have been of divers
dispositions. Some of the children may take after the one, and some
after the other; but there will be one, at least, who partaketh both,
and then they pull him divers ways, that he knoweth no peace." Isabel's
audience had been larger than she supposed. As she ended, with a weary
sigh, a soft hand fell upon her head, and I who, sat upon her knees,
could better see than she, looked up into my Lady's face.

"Sit still, daughter," said she, as Isabel strove to rise. "Nay, sweet
heart, I am not angered at thy fantasy, though truly I, being but one
like Dame Hilda, conceive not thy meaning. It may be so. I have not
all the wit upon earth, that I should scorn or set down the words of
them that speak out of other knowledge than mine. But, my Isabel, there
is another way than this wherein thou mayest have two natures."

"How so, Dame, an' it like you?"

"The nature of sinful man, and the nature of God Almighty."

"They must be marvellous saints that so have," said Dame Hilda, crossing
herself.

"Some of them," said my Lady gently, "were once marvellous sinners."

"Why, you should have to strive a very lifetime for that," quoth Dame
Hilda. "I should think no man could rise thereto that dwelt not in
anchorite's cell, and scourged him on the bare back every morrow, and
ate but of black rye-bread, and drank of ditch-water. Deary me, but I
would not like that! I'd put up with a bit less saintliness, _I_
would!"

"You are all out there, Dame," my Lady made answer. "This fashion of
saintliness may be along with such matters, but it cometh not by their
help."

"How comes it then, Dame, an't like you?"

"By asking for it," saith our m