book I find the frequent command of God, to search the scriptures. The

priests say, I must not search them. Then, either they are not from God, because they contradict him; or the book is not from God, because it contradicts them. Now in this book I find innumerable proofs that it is from God; and they themselves declare it to be so. They are self-condemned to any one who opens it; and therefore have they sealed it, lest men should read and know them for what they are."

"And yet," said Constance, "who was so eager as you to save the good bishop of Ely--who rejoiced so much at his escape?"

"I say not that there are no good men amongst them, dear Constance," replied her cousin; "for I believe that there are many; but all human beings have their weaknesses. I believe doctor Morton to be a good man; but of course he teaches nothing but the doctrines of the church to which he belongs--he dare teach nothing else; for who would venture to incur, not only the loss of every worldly good, but death itself--a burning and a terrible death--when perhaps he thinks he can do as much good, by following the ways of those who went before him, as by any other path?"

"But truth is beautiful," said Constance; "and would a good man teach falsehood, when the very book of his religion shows him that it is so?"

"Did he ever read that book? Did he ever study it?" asked Iola. "Did he ever examine its pages closely, seeking no gloss or comment of those who would pervert it, but merely asking the aid of the Holy Spirit? Many a man is unwilling to examine too closely, when all his earthly happiness depends upon his shutting his eyes. Many a man is too timid to stand by his own judgment, however right, when there are a multitude of decisions, however corrupt, against him."

"But perhaps," said Constance, "the book may be so obscure and difficult, that it cannot be understood without an interpretation."

"It is clear and simple as the unclouded sky," replied Iola; "as easy as the words which we address to babes. It was given to, and transmitted by, unlettered fishermen. It made all clear that was dark, and removed every cloud and every shadow. This book contains but one mystery, instead of the thousands which they teach us; and that mystery is explained, so that we cannot but believe even while we do not comprehend."

"But what does it teach, then?" asked Constance.

"It teaches that we are to worship God alone," answered Iola. "It teaches that to bow down before any creature, statue, or image, is to offend the Creator, and is idolatry against God. It teaches that there is no mediator, no intercessor but one, Christ, and that the office of saints and martyrs is to praise God, not to intercede for mortals. It teaches that the only atonement, the only sacrifice needful to expiate the sins of the whole world, was that of Christ; that it was complete, full, and sufficient, and that to look to any other for pardon, is to rob God of his glory. It teaches that man can be pardoned by God alone, and will be pardoned through faith in Christ. It teaches, moreover, that, if any man keeps the whole law of God, even to the smallest point, he has done no more than he is bound to do, and therefore that his good works have no power to save him from the original curse--how much loss to help or to save any other. It teaches too, dear cousin, that repentance is needful to every one--the deep, heartfelt, sincere repentance of the spirit; but that, to seek, by inflicting pains upon our body, to atone for the evils we have committed, is to rest upon a broken reed, to presume upon our own strength, and to deny the efficacy of God's mercy in Christ."

Constance listened with deep attention, till her cousin had done.

"I would fain read that book," she said, in a hesitating tone; "but the priests have always forbidden it."

"God says, 'read it!'" said Iola. "Who shall set up the words of man against the words of God?"

"Will you lend it to me, then?" asked Constance, timidly.

"Oh, joyfully," answered Iola; "but it must be upon one condition, dear Constance. I have bound you, by a promise, never to repeat anything I say to you. I must now have another promise, never to let any eye but your own see this little volume. When you read it, lock the door. When you have done, hide it where no one can find it. I need give you no motive, dear Constance," she added, throwing her arm round her neck, and gazing affectionately into her eyes; "but yet let me remind you, that my life is at stake, that the least imprudence, the least indiscretion would give me over to a death by fire; for they hold those who worship God as God himself has taught to be heretics. We are not called upon either to be teachers or martyrs. We may be permitted to hold on our own way, without offending others, so long as we worship not things of stick and stone; but, should it be discovered what my real thoughts are, that moment I should be dragged before those who would force me to declare them. I would never renounce my opinions or deny my belief; and the only fate before me would be death."

"God forbid!" said Constance earnestly. "God forbid I will be very careful, Iola--more careful than if my own life was at stake."

"I know you will, sweet sister," replied Iola, putting the book into her hands. "Read it, Constance, read it and judge for yourself. Try to cast from your mind everything you have heard on religion not contained in this book; and, if you do that, this book will as certainly lead you right as there is truth in Heaven."

Constance took it, and retired to her own chamber, where she sat down for a few moments' thought. Her first meditation, however, was not of the book, but of Iola.

Was this the same creature, she thought, whom she had known from infancy--sweet, gay, playful Iola? Was this she whose heart she used to think the lightest in the world, whose deepest meditations seemed to break off in a sportive jest? At first it seemed strange, almost impossible. But yet, when she called memory to her aid, and recollected many of the circumstances of the past, especially during the last two years, she saw that it might well be. She felt that her own graver and somewhat slower spirit might not reach those depths of thought into which Iola's seemed to plunge with bold and fearless courage. She remembered many a gay speech, many a half-reply which had appeared all sportiveness, but which, when examined and pondered, proved to be full of mind and matter.

"Yes," she said, at length. "I have loved her, but not esteemed her enough. I have known her well, but not the depths. She is all that I thought her; but she is more. Yet it was not she deceived me, but myself. She hid nothing; but my eye was too dim to penetrate even the light veil with which her happy nature covered her strong mind. It is strange, what an awe I feel in looking at this little volume!" and she gazed at it, as it lay upon her knee. "It must be that I have so often heard that we ought not to read it, that I have yielded my judgment to mere assertions. Yet I have heard the very men who bade me forbear call it the word of God. I will read it. That word must be a comfort and blessing. But I will pray first;" and kneeling down she began, "Oh, blessed Saint Clare--"

But then she suddenly stopped, and meditated for a moment, still kneeling. She seemed puzzled how to frame her appeal. At length, however, she bowed her head upon her hands, and repeated in English the Lord's prayer. She added nothing more, but, rising from her knees, unclasped the book, drew the lamp nearer, and began to read.

The clock struck four, and found her reading still.