Margaret was deeply moved. There was so much truth in what Will said. She had rarely in her life been so grieved as when across Europe abuse had been flung by this monk of Germany, and by her father in the name of the King. What a terrible thing it was when two good men, because they could not agree on certain points, must forget courtesy and good manners, and fling insults at one another!
She said sternly: “I do not know what Father will do when he hears of this.”
“Nor I, Meg.”
“He would not wish to harbor a heretic under his roof.”
“That is so. Margaret, I love you. It is for that reason that I could be silent no longer. I could not continue with you under false pretences. Nor can I govern my thoughts. I trust you will understand me. Speak to me, Margaret. Tell me that you will try to understand how I have fought these thoughts.”
“You … you should not fight them. All thoughts should be examined.”
“Margaret… you … you will tell your father now, I know. Then I shall go away from here. That is something I cannot endure….”
He had turned to her, but she ran from him, out of the schoolroom.
HOW THANKFUL she was that it was daytime and there was no one else in the bedroom. She lay on the bed which she shared with Cecily, and drew the curtains … shutting out the house … shutting out everything but her thoughts.
Will… a heretic! And her father hated heretics! They had inspired him with a fierceness, a hatred of which she had not believed him capable.
This was terrible—nothing more terrible could have happened. Those two were against each other.
She remembered the change in her father, his fierceness against the heretic, his absolute belief in the Church of Rome.
He is wrong to be so certain, she thought. And Will is wrong to be certain that Luther is right. Why must there be this hatred between men? Why cannot they love God simply, without dogmas that must be disputed?
Jesus had told men to love one another. Yet how could they obey that command when they disputed together with such ferocity, and instead of love fostered hatred?
Love must become the ruling passion of the world. If her father was to follow the teaching of Jesus Christ, he must not hate Martin Luther because his views differed from his own; nor must Luther hate her father and the King for similar reasons.
Why could they not say: “You believe this and I believe that. But let us go our ways in peace. Let us brood on these matters which delight us, and in so doing, if perchance we find the truth, then that is a great and glorious thing which we can show to the world; and let us light it with love, not hatred, so that all may see it.”
She sat up in bed and touched her burning cheeks. She, being Margaret, must see herself as clearly as she saw others. Margaret's brain must examine her heart. She stood between two men—Will Roper and her father—and now she would admit that they were the two whom she loved best in the world. She loved them both so much that she could not bear to be without either of them. A cause for dispute had raised itself between them; it was like an ugly dragon whose nostrils gave out the fire of hatred.
She must turn that hatred into love. She knew suddenly that she was ready to practice deceit if necessary to achieve that end.
Margaret More looked into her mind and discovered that the most important things in the world to her were that her father and Will Roper should continue to be friends, and that she should keep them near her that they might all be happy together. Who was right—the Pope or Martin Luther? She did not know; and she realized with a mighty shock that she believed neither of them was wholly right nor wholly wrong. In any case she wondered whether she would be prepared to take sides if she could believe that one was right and one was wrong.
She wanted to live in harmony with the men she loved.
NOW THAT she knew herself, she was too honest to feign ignorance.
She rose from the bed and went in search of Will.
He was still in the schoolroom where she had left him. He was standing by the window staring out disconsolately. If he was a man who had found the truth, he looked as if he had lost all else he cared for in doing so.
He turned as she entered. “Margaret!”
She went to him and smiled up at him. Then he put his arms about her.
“Margaret… dearest Meg…. Then you did love me?”
“I know not whether I did or did not,” she said. “I only know I do.”
“Margaret… now?”
“Yes, now!” she said emphatically. “For when our thoughts come, as you say, they must be examined. Will, some time ago you asked me to marry you. I answer you now: I will.”
“But, Margaret… your father … ?”
“He has said he is pleased.”
He kissed her, and she thought: How strange it is! I am no longer Margaret More, the solemn little scholar. I do not care for the arguments in books. I care nothing but that Will loves me and that I can live the rest of my life with him and with Father.
“You are laughing, Meg. Why, you are different.”
“I am happy,” she said. “I see that it is because I am in love. Do you not like me thus?” Now she seemed coquettish, even as Ailie.
“Meg, I love you now and forever. But I feel this cannot really be happening, and that I shall wake up in a moment.”
“It is real… real as our life shall be.”
He took her to the window seat and kept his arm about her.
We shall be here together, she was telling herself. Life is good. It must be so. I will make it so.
“Meg … how happy I am! I never thought… You seemed remote … far too clever for me … and now… when I had given up hope …”
“You should never give up hope, Will. Never … never….”
“How you laugh, Meg. I have never heard you laugh like this.”
“It is the laughter of happiness, Will. That is the best sort of laughter. Not to laugh in derision at the misfortunes of others … not to laugh with relief because you feel remote from those misfortunes; but to laugh because you are happy … happy … because you have found that life is good.”
“When did you decide that you would marry me?”
“I think it must have been a long time ago, but I knew it only when you spoke to me just now. I knew then that I loved you.”
“When I told you … when I confessed)”
“It was seeing you, Will, so sure that you were right….”
“Then you, too, feel as I do.”
“D I feel nothing but love. Sometimes I think I never have. I loved Father and I wanted to be clever to please him. You see, that was love of Father, not love of learning. Now I know that I love you too. So I have two people to love, and I love you both so much that there seems hardly room for anything else in my life.”
“Margaret! Is this Margaret?”
“Yes, it is the same Margaret. She was there all the time, I suppose, but she was hidden by the solemn scholar. She did not know herself. She saw herself as others saw her. Now she has seen herself as she is.”
They talked of marriage and he said: “What will your father say? Will he consent now?”
She was silent, amazed at herself, amazed that she who had never thought to deceive her father, could think of deceiving him now.
But she had become a woman who thought in terms of love. It only mattered that there should be amity in her house; that she, the woman, should hold her home together; and so make peace and love between those whom she loved more than her own life.