“‘This has been the cause of great troubles in the world for these many years,’ father said, ‘but, little maid, do not trouble your head about it now; when you are older we can talk about it.’”
“Are the heretics such very wicked people then, do you think, Aline?”
Aline put her little white hand to her chin and looked down. “I do not know what to think about it,” she said. “I suppose that they are, but they do not seem to be treated fairly.”
“I hate unfairness,” said Audry in her impulsive way.
“I do not see why they should not be allowed to speak for themselves, and I do not see how people can condemn them when they do not know what their reasons are for thinking what they do. Of course I am very young and do not know anything about it; but it sounds as though the priests were afraid that the truth can not take care of itself; but surely it cannot be the truth if it is afraid to hear the other side. I remember a motto on the chimney piece at home,--‘Magna veritas est et prevalebit,’ and it seems to me that it must be so. I wish that father were alive to talk to me. He was so clever and he understood things.”
“But you have not said what your motto means,” Audry interposed.
Aline laughed through the tears that were beginning to gather,--“Oh, that means, The truth is great and will prevail. If it is the truth it must win; and it can do it no harm to have objections raised against it, as it will only make their error more clear.”
“What about the book, Aline?” said Audry, changing the subject; “no one is likely to come up here now, they never do; so I think we could have another look at it.”
Aline picked up the book and opened it; she paused for a moment and then gave a little cry,--“I have found out what the parchment is for; come and look here.”
Audry came and looked. “I do not see anything,” she said.
“Look at the parchment; do you not see one or two letters showing through nearly all the little holes?”
“b. u. t. o. n. e. m. u. s. t. s. e. e. t. h. a. t. a. l. i. g. h. t. i. s. n. e. v. e. r. c. a. r. r. i. e. d. i. n. f. r. o. n. t. o. f. t. h. e. s. l. i. t. s. i. n. t. h. e.,” read Audry, a letter at a time.
“Oh, I see,-- It spells, ‘but one must see that a light is never carried in front of the slits in the.’ How clever of you to find it out!”