’Then thou didst think it better to tell a falsehood to me than to Upstill?’

‘I would rather sin against thee, an’ it were a sin, Richard.  Were it wrong to think I would rather be in thy hands, sin or none, or sin and all, than in those of a mean-spirited knave whom I despised?  Besides I might one day, somehow or other, make it up to thee—­but I could not to him.  But was it sin, Richard?—­tell me that.  I have thought and thought over the matter until my mind is maze.  Thou seest it was my lord marquis’s business, not mine, and thou hadst no right in the matter.’

‘Prithee, Dorothy, ask not me to judge.’

’Art thou then so angry with me that thou will not help me to judge myself aright?’

’Not so, Dorothy, but there is one command in the New Testament for the which I am often more thankful than for any other.’

‘What is that, Richard.’

’Judge not.  Prythee, between whom lieth the quarrel, Dorothy?  Bethink thee.’

‘Between thee and me, Richard.’

‘No, verily, Dorothy.  I accuse thee not.’

Dorothy was silent for a moment, thinking.

‘I see, Richard,’ she said.  ’It lieth between me and my own conscience.’

’Then who am I, Dorothy, that I should dare step betwixt thee and thy conscience?  God forbid.  That were a presumption deserving indeed the pains of hell.’

‘But if my conscience and I seek a daysman betwixt us?’

‘Mortal man can never be that daysman, Dorothy.  Nay, an’ thou need an umpire, thou must seek to him who brought thee and thy conscience together and told thee to agree.  Let God, over all and in all, tell thee whether or no thou wert wrong.  For me, I dare not.  Believe me, Dorothy, it is sheer presumption for one man to intermeddle with the things that belong to the spirit of another man.’

‘But these are only the things of a woman,’ said Dorothy, in pure childish humility born of love.

‘Sure, Dorothy, thou wouldst not jest in such sober matters.’

’God forbid, Richard!  I but spoke that which was in me.  I see now it was foolishness.’

‘All a man can do in this matter of judgment,’ said Richard, ’is to lead his fellow man, if so be he can, up to the judgment of God.  He must never dare judge him for himself.  An’ thou cannot tell whether thou did well or ill in what thou didst, thou shouldst not vex thy soul.  God is thy refuge—­even from the wrongs of thine own judgment.  Pray to him to let thee know the truth, that if needful thou mayst repent.  Be patient and not sorrowful until he show thee.  Nor fear that he will judge thee harshly because he must judge thee truly.  That were to wrong God.  Trust in him even when thou fearest wrong in thyself, for he will deliver thee therefrom.’

‘Ah! how good and kind art thou, Richard.’

‘How should I be other to thee, beloved Dorothy?’

‘Thou art not then angry with me that I did deceive thee?’