^^ fm s S 1 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ^:^.^, ^^^-^ "i FROM HOME. the truth, — enforced fasts, enforced abstaining from marriage, such as mark tlie religion whose central point is the Papacy ? But Lady Laurie felt that, under the circumstances, it would be unwise to place a contro- versial weapon in the hand of one so young as Robin. She therefore did not pursue the conversation. Nor had she time to do so, for the sound of Clarence and Harold's boots were heard as they came tramping into the hall. " Here, Robin ; give Eliza the fish, and tell her to cook them at once," cried Harold : then entering the break- fast-room with Clarence, he said to his mother, " I hope you'll excuse my being so late." " For once, in a way," said the lady mildly. " You are not wont to be late for prayers." Harold read a gentle rebuke in the words. " Are the letters in ?" inquired Clarence. " I am sure to hear from the Castle, for I took care to leave direc- tions as to my whereabouts." " The post generally comes in while we are at break- fast," answered Ida. The party sat down to the meal. Just as the fried fish was being brought in, Robin, whose seat always commanded a view of a bit of the road, exclaimed, " Here's the postman !" and off he ran to the porch to bring in the letters. " One for you," he said to Clarence, who hastily broke NEWS FROM HOME. 49 open the envelope, observing, as he did so, " It is from my mother." St. Clare did not read the contents aloud, but they made him look very grave ; and with intuitive sympathy no one spoke, and the fish lay for a while on the table untouched. Then Clarence said, in reply to Lady Laurie's inquiring look, " She^my sister — is very ill ; her mind wanders ; the rash covers her face. Poor Montao^ue — that's the earl to whom she is eno^ao-ed — is not allowed to see her. My mother and Catherine nurse her. Yes, she is very ill ; but there's hope." " We will all pray that, if it be the Lord's will, your dear sister may speedily recover," said Lady Laurie with feeling. A damp had been thrown over the cheerfulness of the party, which, however, speedily wore off. Clarence very soon resumed his usual manner; and if he felt much anxiety, he kept it to himself. He did not give Lady Laurie the impression of being one with very quick feelings ; or, in the high circle in which he moved, he might have been taught to suppress them. The day passed with little incident. When the sunset hour arrived. Lady Laurie was pleased and a little surprised to see Clarence again one of her party at the little Bible-reading. (39) CHAPTER VI. CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. Lady L. We read yesterday of St. Peter's call to be a disciple. It is a call which every one of us, of whatever age or position, has received. " Come unto Me " is the wide invitation addressed to all oppressed with the burden of sin. " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters," is a cry to all who desire eternal life. As I before observed, Peter, after abiding for a time with the Lord, seeing His miracles, listening to His words, seems to have returned to his home by the lake and his ordinary occupation of fishing. Robin. But I daresay that he was a much better man for having been with the Lord. Lady L. We can hardly doubt that Simon Peter was a better husband, a more dutiful son to his mother, a kinder neighbour, a nobler man, than he was before being brought into close intercourse with the pure and holy Saviour. Though Peter's daily work was but catching fish, and probably offering most of them for CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. 51 sale, his memory of his blessed Master's words and looks would act as a bridle on the disciple's passions, a check to deeds or even thoughts of sin. Clarence. It does not seem to me that fishing has anything to do with religion, nor have our school studies and sports either. A school-boy can't be like a monk or a priest. Common occupations and pious exercises are perfectly separate things. Lady L. You can no more separate religion from the affairs of daily life than you can distinguish the wine from the water in a glass wherein both have been mixed together. The wine colours and gives a taste to every single drop of the water. What do you consider, my young friend, that every one's chief object in life ought to be ? Clarence. It ought to be — I don't say that it is — to do such heaps of good works, like the saints, that one would certainly go to heaven, and have merits enough left over to help others there, like St. Peter, St. Francis, and other canonized people. Lady L. What say you, Harold ? Can you remember any passage bearing on the subject of winning a right to heaven by good works ? Harold was shy of answering in the presence of his school companion, so Lady Laurie turned to Ida. Ida. For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves ; it is the gift of God : not of works, lest any man should boast (E})li. ii. 8, 0). 52 CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. Clarence. Ah ! Father O'Brien always says that here — , I moan Protestants, think very little of good works. Lady L. As proofs of love, we think much of them ; as the means of obtaining salvation, nothing. No tree, however lofty, could enable us to climb up to heaven ; but the tree may be good in itself, and bear excellent fruit. Clarence did not look as if he cared to pursue the subject, so Lady Laurie dropped it, and opened her Bible, saying, " We will now hear of Peter's special call to be not only a disciple of Christ, but an evangelist — a preacher of good news. READING FEOM ST. LUKE V. 1-8. Robin. Oh, I don't wonder that St. Peter fell on his knees when he saw such a wonderful number of fishes ; but how could he ask the Lord to go away ? I would have held Him fast, and begged Him never to leave me. Lady L. I do not think that St. Peter did wish the Lord to depart. The fisherman's exclamation was only wrung from him by the sense of his own utter un- worthiness to be near so Divine a Being. Clarence. But the saint was not really so sinful. I^dy L. Oh, Clarence ! there has never been a saint on earth who was not a sinner, and the nearer he stood to the Divine Light, the more startled he was to see his own impurity. Job was declared by God Himself to be the best man li\'ing on earth at that time. If ever there CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. 53 was a saint, that saint was Job, and he maintained his own innocence before man. But when God, the pure, perfect God, was more clearly revealed unto Job, what a cry burst from his heart : " I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear ; but now mine eye seeth Thee : wherefore I repent in dust and ashes." Clarence. Then with you the merits of saints go for nothing. Lady L. I would compare man's righteousness to the leaves which Adam and Eve sewed together to make for themselves clothing. Leaves are by no means with- out beauty, but for clothing they are utterly useless. They wither, they are torn by a touch. When the Lord met Adam in the garden after his fall, how the miser- able fig-leaves must have shrunk and shrivelled in the glance of the Searcher of hearts ! Clarence. I can hardly believe, and I am sure that Catherine will never believe, that saints who fast till they look like living skeletons, who live far from the world in cells like graves, who pass weeks and months in silence like the monks of La Trappe, — that such holy men have not more merit than those who are good enough Christians if you like, but do nothing out of the way. Grand ascetics, like St. Anthony, must have had righteousness such as is not like mere flimsy leaves. Lady L. Can Ida remember any Scripture verse re- garding the righteousness of man ? 54 CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. Ida. The prophet Isaiah declares, " All our righteous- nesses are as filthy rags." Rohin (eagerly). And you taught me another text, mother. St. Paul, a very, very great saint, says, "All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God " (Rom. iii. 23). Lady L. It is also written that " the Scripture hath concluded all under sin, that the promise by faith of Jesus Christ might be given to them that believe." It would be easy to multiply qviotations. Clarence. Then if you think that saints have no merits that can carry them to heaven, of course it fol- lows that you do not believe that they have any extra merits to give to others. Our priests say that the merits of saints are like a treasury out of which the Church can dispense to us. Lady Laurie quietly turned to the forty-ninth Psalm and read aloud, " ' They that trust in their wealth, and boast themselves in the multitude of their riches ; none of them can by any means redeem his brother, nor give to God a ransom for him : for the redemption of their soul is precious,' — yes, so precious that nothing short of the blood of the Saviour, the Lamb of God, could redeem even an Abraham or a Peter." Clarence looked thoughtful, but not quite satisfied, and the reading from St. Luke proceeded from the latter part of the tenth verse. CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. 55 EEADING. " And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not ; from hence- forth thou shalt catch men. And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed Him." Robin. That's a grand missionary verse ! Father said it had often comforted him in his work. Lady L. It was like the Lord's commission, afterwards signed and sealed with His last command, " Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature." Harold. Not qvqyj one has this second call, like St. Peter ; not every one has to give up his other occupa- tions to go evangelizing over the world. Lady L. Not every one can be a missionary in the strict sense of the word, but all should have a mission- ary spirit, all should help the great cause, if not by money, at least by sympathy and prayers. Regarding this special call to the mission field, I have lately heard an interesting account of the circumstances which led Dr. DufF, now so successfully labouring in Cal- cutta,* to enter upon this grand work of fishing for souls. Robin. Mother, do tell us the story. Lady L. Alexander DuflT was in youth a very brillian4i student at St. Andrews Collefre. He carried off' the highest honours in Greek, Latin, logic, and natural * The reader will remember that Lady Laurie's "now "meant the year 1858. Dr. Duff has long since entered into rest. 66 CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. philosophy. Duff was one sure to win distinction wherever he went, and no doubt his parents were very proud of their son, and looked forward to his having a successful career in his own native isle. Alexander Duff had formed at college a warm friendship with a iine youth named Urquhart, and deeply interested was he when this friend, in an address to some fellow- students, announced his intention to devote himself to missionary work. The earnest Urquhart at the same time urged his companions to take the subject of thus labouring for the souls of the heathen into their own serious consideration. Harold. Is Mr. Urquhart working in India now ? Lady L. No ; the Lord had other views for His ser- vant ; the young Christian was never to tread a distant shore, nor preach Christ in a foreign tongue. Urquhart was early called to his rest ; doubtless his desire was accepted instead of the deed. Robin. But it was sad, very sad, to die before he had done anything at all ! Lady L. No one can say that Urquhart had done nothing for missions, my boy. His lamp was apparently soon put out, but not before it had been the means of lighting a beacon which is shining gloriously still. Alex- ander Duff felt moved to take his friend's vacant place, just as a brave soldier, when a comrade falls, springs forward to stand in the breach. CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. 57 Ida. But were his parents willing to let him go ? Lady L. My informant gave me a graphic account of the scene in Duff's home, amid the Grampian mountains, when he told his parents of his resolve. His return from his winter's studies at St. Andrews was always a joyful event to his good father and mother. Very cheer- ful was wont to be the gathering round the table on which smoked the viands, to prepare which for her " laddie " was to the mother a labour of love. Almost more cheerful still was the chat at evening by the blazing fire, where the big wood logs crackled and blazed. Alexander's conversation might have charmed any stranger ; to his own family to listen to him was a feast. Duff had been very fond of talking of his friend Urquhart ; the name of the noble young student who was to go out as a missionary to India was a very familiar one to the dwellers in the Scottish home. Of his death Duff's parents did not know, and they won- dered why, on this occasion, that name had not passed the lips of their son. " But what of your friend Urquhart ? " at last the father inquired. " Urquhart is no more !" replied Duf!" abruptly. With what a pang the words must have been spoken. Then the young student nerved himself to make a further disclosure, which would more deeply afiect liis hearers. Slowly, and -sxith a wistful expression on his face, Duff 58 CALL TO BE AN EVANGELIST. continued, " What if your son should take up his cloak ? You approved the motive which directed the choice of Urquhart — you commended his high purpose : the cloak is taken up!' Rohin. Oh ! what did the parents say ? Lady L. The startling announcement was received in awe-struck silence. At first the poor parents were almost overwhelmed at the thought of losing their son ; but at length they were enabled to make the great sacrifice which cost them so much, and Alexander DufF started for the field of his future great usefulness with his parents' consent and blessing. CHAPTER VII. THE ROSARY. " Harold, vje have taken up the cloak," said Robm to his brother as the two entered their little attic-room that night. " Speak for yourself," said Harold abruptly ; "if I take up any cloak it will be a military one, I mean to be a soldier." Robin was almost as much taken aback as Alexander Duff's parents had been, but from a very different cause. " You, Harold, a soldier ! " he exclaimed. " Yes; why should I not be one, like Lawrence, Have- lock, or Outram, or any other of those gallant heroes who have been saving India ! None are better Chris- tians than they." " But, Harold, don't you remember what we deter- mined to be on that happy day when Prem D^s was baptized ? " On the inorning of that day the young brothers had solemnly resolved to be missionaries as soon as their 60 THE ROSARY. age should permit, and to follow in the steps of their father. Robin remembered how he and Harold had knelt down and prayed together, as in full sincerity of purpose they had offered up themselves to God. The boys had even proposed to their father that they should bind themselves by a solemn promise ; but this Mr. Hartley forbade. They were much too young, he said, and knew too little of what they would undertake, to make such a vow. His heart's desire was that they both should enter the mission-field, but they must wait till they had proved their own steadiness of purpose, and could rest assured that their call was indeed from God. Harold did not reply to his brother's question ; he began, in rather a noisy way, to make changes in the arrangement of the furniture of his room — drao-ginij the chest of drawers from the bed, and knocking: over a chair in his impatient energy of movement. Robin saw that Harold did not choose to be spoken to again on the subject of missions ; and the boy was not sure whether his brother was not a little out of temper, he knew not why. Robin had no doubts on the subject on the following- morning, when, in his eager way, he ran after Harold and Clarence, who were just starting for the stream with their basket and rods. " Don't go without your little terrier-dog, Harold ! " cried he ; " I just stopped to look after a sick pigeon." THE ROSARY. 61 " Go back to your pigeon, we don't want yon," said Harold ungraciously ; " you're a terrier that's always barkinsf at what it does not understand." Robin had never before received such a rebuff from Harold ; it brought the hot blood to the young boy's face, and the brimming tears to his eyes. He could not utter a word. " I declare — the baby is crying ! " said Clarence. Robin clenched his fist, ground his teeth, and looked fiercely at the stranger who had so insulted him in his grief. But the child laid a bridle on his passion, and darted away. As soon as he was out of sight and hearing, Robin, wounded to the quick by his brother's harshness, flung himself on the dewy grass, and sobbed as if his young heart would break. " It is he — that horrid, hateful, popish Clarence — who has robbed me of Harold and set him against me ! I have no brother now — none — none ! " sobbed out the boy. " And I loved Harold so — and I love him still. I'm sure that he will be sorry for being so very, very unkind ! " And Harold was sorry. He was troubled with self- reproach as he went on his way, and hardly heard what Clarence was saying about the coming election, and Sir Walter's chances of winning the day, as the youth walked chatting beside him. Harold was thoroughly discon- tented with himself and with everything around him. 62 THE ROSARY. The fact was that Harold had not come out as per- fectly unharmed from his first term in a public school as either his friends or he himself had expected. The new kind of life had, to a clever, ambitious youth, been full of temptations. As in an eclipse the shadow of the Earth gradually steals over and obscures the face of the moon, so a shade of worldliness, though he did not recog- nize it to be such, obscured Harold's light, which had once shone so brightly. Harold was a little intoxicated by popularity and success. It gratified his pride to find himself the favourite schoolmate of the heir to a duke- dom, large landed estates, and seventy thousand pounds a year. Nor was this all : Harold knew himself to be liked both by his masters for his talent and diligence in studies, and by his companions for beating every other boy of his age in the cricket-ground and the boat-race. Harold was aware that he was already looked upon as one of the most dashing fellows in the large public school which he had entered. Pride was Harold's beset- ting sin, and he had much with which to feed it. He once chanced to overhear an usher's remark, after he had given in a Greek exercise of unusual merit : " That boy Hartley will make his mark, though he is only a poor missionary's son." That his father was poor, Harold was constantly feeling to his annoyance. Was it not something like a charity subscription that had placed him at school ? Was not poverty curtailing his amuse- THE ROSARY. 63 ments, making him seem shabby, preventing his being- able to make returns for kindnesses shown to him by- wealthier friends ? It was a perpetual worry to Harold to have to economize in his dress — to be careful even not to wear out his boots too fast. He regarded his pocket-money as a " miserable pittance," though he knew that it much exceeded what he had received when he was a day-scholar at Foreham, and was as much as his friends could afford to give. Harold resolved that he would not always be " cribbed, cabined, and confined " by narrow means ; when he left school he would enter some arena in which he could distinguish himself, win medals and honours like the heroes to whom he looked up as the grandest of men, and perhaps a handsome fortune besides. Clive, Wellington himself — had they not been poor at the first, and had they not risen to wealth, and won for themselves undying glory ! Harold thought that the friendship of a young duke would help him to make his first start in life. " And my foot once fairly in the stirrup," thought the ambitious youth, " I shall soon fling myself into the saddle, and ride fast and far. I'll win my laurels like Outram, and make for myself at least a name, if I cannot make a fortune. Sir Harold Hartley, V.C. — it would not sound amiss, and my father would be proud of his son ! " Harold made the matter no subject of prayer ; indeed he was gradually neglecting private prayer, and some- 64 THE ROSARY. times forgot to read his Bible, or read it with mind in- tent on something else. Willowdale Lodge seemed chansred to him when he returned to his home : Harold had never before thought the rooms so small, the fur- niture so common ; the pretty garden appeared to have shrunk into contemptible dimensions. The presence of the heir to a dukedom greatly increased the discontent in the mind of young Hartley. What must the abundant but simple meals, he thought, appear to one accustomed, as Clarence was, to the luxuries of the Castle ? Harold was a little ashamed of the quiet life led by his family in a place where, as he said to himself, " one day is so horribly like another." Harold had heard from his com- panions a great deal of the world's amusements, and he was dissatisfied at not being able to enjoy them himself. This discontented state of mind disturbed Harold's peace, and, as we have seen, occasionally affected his temper. When Robin had had out his cry he rose from the grass. " I won't go near Harold again till he wants me," the boy muttered to himself ; " but if I return home now, and with my eyes so red, mother will be sure to ask me the reason of it, and I must tell her all, and perhaps she'll be vexed with Harold. I should not like that. I know what I'll do. I'll climb up a big tree not far from the place where Harold is fishing, and hide myself in the branches, and watch him. I'll go home before he goes, for I daresay that he'll be late for prayers as he was THE ROSARY. 65 yesterday. That Clarence knows nothing of the Bible ; it's not likely that he cares much about praying to God." Robin was not the only inmate of Willowdale Lodge who was to feel annoyance that morning. Lady Laurie, entering the drawing-room earlier than usual, was vexed to find Ida, instead of being occupied with her lessons, buried in contemplation of the painted and gilded pictures in an illuminated book of the legends of the saints. "That's not your English history," said Lady Laurie gravely. " No, it's something a thousand times more beautiful and interesting," said Ida. " Look at this lovely picture of St. Veronica, with the halo I'onnd her head and the holy handkerchief in her hand ! " "And what a lying legend it illustrates!" said Lady Laurie, who had seated herself bv her dauohter and taken the daintily-bound volume. " Where did you get this book, Ida ? " " Clarence lent it to me, — it was his sister Catherine's birthday gift to him," replied Ida, the colour on her cheek a little heightened. "And this?" inquired Lady Laurie, taking up what looked like a necklace of beads lying on the sofa. " It is a rosary — is it not pretty ? It is to remind us of prayer," said Ida. "It is a string of beads to enable Romanists to recite (39) 5 66 THE ROSARY. in Latin their Aves and Paternosters" observed her mother. "Hail, Mary! is to be repeated very often, and the Lord's Prayer comes in now and then, to vary the formal reiDctition. Oh, my child, recall to mind the solemn words of the Saviour : Wlten ye 'pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do : for they think that they shall he heard for their "much speaking. Be not ye there- fore like unto them. Do you not remember that Mr. Hartley, before he would baptize Prem Das, made him give up the necklace of prayer -beads which he wore round his neck ; and that the missionary told us that Mohammedans also count their vain repetitions of God's holy name by passing beads through their fingers ? Can you think it right that Christians should, like Hindoos or Mohammedans, thus make a mockery of prayer ? " " I don't mean to use this rosary to count my prayers," said Ida, looking annoyed. " It is only a little orna- ment, a keepsake — " ; she suddenly stopped short, and looked embarrassed. " I cannot allow you to have such keepsakes," said Lady Laurie firmly but mildly. " I shall return the rosary and the book to St. Clare. It was wrong in him to place in your hands things of which he knows that I would not approve." "Oh, don't say anything against Clarence!" exclaimed Ida Laurie. " He is so nice, so considerate ; he gives himself no airs; he has no pride, with everything to be THE ROSARY. 67 * proud of. And his sisters must be goodness itself ! They both visit amongst poor cottagers ; and as for Catherine St. Clare, Clarence says that she would rather starve than touch a piece of meat on Friday." " Some Hindoos would rather die than eat beef, some Mohammedans perish rather than eat pork. But where is the verse to be found in the Bible which commands us to abstain from meat on Fridays ? " " There is no such command in the Bible, I know that," murmured Ida. " But there is something bearing on the subject," said Lady Laurie, as opening the little Bible which she held in her hand she turned to the First Epistle to Timothy. Glancing first at the book of legends, she then read aloud from the Word of God, But refuse profane and old wives' fables, and exercise thyself rather unto godliness. For bodily exercise proflteth little ; but godliness is pro- fitahle unto all things. Ida, my Ida," continued the lady, fixing her earnest, anxious eyes on her daughter, " never let yourself drift away from the doctrine which is the test of a standing or falling Church, Justification by faith. It is not what the world teaches, or what the Church of Rome teaches, but it is taught in the Scriptures, which are able to make us wise unto salvation." Ida made no reply. She disliked the conversation, and did not wish to prolong it. The youthful maiden was exceedingly vexed at the rosary and the illuniinated 68 THE ROSARY. legends being taken away. Her displeasure did not take the form of anger. Ida's temptation was not, like that of the Hartleys, to show open, passionate self-will, but to indulge a passive stubbornness, which was more trying to her gentle mother. Ida rather prided herself on her own clear judgment, and she usually was a sensible girl ; but during the last two days her judgment had given place to a kind of romantic dreaming, which has a ten- dency to draw the mind towards Rome. Ida had taken to building castles in the air, very fanciful and baseless castles ; or rather she was mentally engaged in blowing bubbles, bright with all the colours of the rainbow. It was vexatious to the vain young girl to have her mother seeking to dissolve the castles, and break the bubbles by a touch. Ida would have been more vexed had she known what her mother was doing, after Lady Laurie had seated herself before her writing-table and opened her rosewood desk. The widowed lady was writing a note to her friend Mrs. Elwyn in London. She began her letter thus :■ — " Dear Mrs. Elwyn, — Your proved friendship makes me venture to ask of you a great favour. I am anxious that my Ida should be for a short time absent from home. If you could allow her — " Lady Laurie had ^^•ritten thus far when she was stopped by an exciting incident, of which an account will be given in the following chapter. CHAPTER VIII. ONE SLIP. In mournful mood poor Robin sat on his leafy perch, the branch of an elm, watching from a little distance the brother for whose return from school he had so waited and longed, the brother who had just driven him from his side. Robin felt neither indignant against Harold nor angry with him for his unkindness, as the boy would have been had the wrong come from any one else. Robin could bear anything from one whom he so fondly loved. It was Clarence, that bad boy, as he thought, who had turned away from him the heart of his only brother. It was Clarence who was preventing Harold from being a missionary ; Clarence, who had no Bible, and who had dared to call St. Peter a pope ! Robin ground his teeth fiercely as he looked at the graceful young heir to a peerage reclining at his ease by the river with his rod in his hand, sometimes turning his head to exchanoe words with Harold, who was fishing beside him. Robin Avas too far off to hear a word that was spoken, as the voices were not at all raised. 70 ONE SLIP. " The fish won't ri.se this morning," observed Harold, tired of vainly watching the float. " Let 's change our position," suggested Clarence ; " I've not had so much as one bite." " Let's cross to the other side of the stream," said Harold. " A fellow once told me that he had filled his basket with a jolly lot of trout just by yon willow." " There's no bridge to cross by," said Clarence. " That does not matter a straw ; there are stepping- stones right across. An old woman, with a basket of eggs on her arm, might get over without breaking a shell. I've gone over the ford a dozen times and not even wetted my socks." " All right," said Clarence, rising from his seat on the bank ; " but you go first to show me the way. I see a stone here and there, and the water is shallow ; but not knowing the place as well as you do, I would rather follow than lead." A little proud of his agility, Harold went lightly over the stepping-stones, and where one had been displaced by the current, sprang over the vacant space, and reached the other side easily, his only difficulty arising from the tangled brushwood which lined the opposite bank. "How these brambles have grown since last summer!" Harold exclaimed as he made an effort to push aside the thorny branches which had overgrown the little path seldom trodden by human foot. ONE SLIP. 71 Clarence followed his friend, but he was not quite so agile or light-footed as Harold. " Stupid fellow ! he doesn't know how to pick his way over the stones," laughed Robin from his perch. " There ! I knew he would — splash he goes — feet in water, head in brambles — " Robin suddenly stopped short, for a cry, almost a shriek, reached him, and the tone of agony told that the accident was no laughing matter to young St. Clare. " Harold looks dreadfully frightened and anxious ; he's lifting up Clarence; he's helping to disentangle him from the brambles. Clarence must be dreadfully hurt ; perhaps he has put out his eye. I think that he has. He's twisting about as if in horrid pain, and the blood is running down his face. One of the thorns must have gone into his poor eye. Oh, I'd better be off for the doctor." Far more quickly than he had climbed up, Robin scrambled down from the elm, quite careless of damage to his clothes or the skin of his hands, and he was on his way to the doctor before Harold had quite succeeded in freeing his companion from the imprisoning thorns, into which a stone's slipping from under his foot had thrown him with violent force. " My eye is gone— I am certain that it is gone ! " moaned Clarence, pressing his blood-stained handkerchief over the injured part. " Miserable that I am ! blinded — disfigured for life ! " 72 ONE SLIP. Harold was greatly distressed ; but he did not lose his presence of mind. " There may be a thorn in it ; let me examine the eye," he said. " Get me back to the house," cried Clarence impa- tiently ; " bungling would only make matters worse. You must send for a surgeon at once." The return to the house was not a very easy task to accomplish ; for whether Clarence had or had not lost one of his eyes, from blood, tears, and the pain caused by any attempt to sec, he was for the time virtually almost blind. There was no effort made to recross the stream by the slippery stepping-stones, and to go by the bridge which spanned the river higher up involved mak- ing a considerable round. Harold supported and guided his companion as well as he could ; but Clarence, in his darkened state, could not possibly go fast. It seemed to the youths as if Willowdale Lodge would never be reached. Clarence did not show all the fortitude and endurance which beseem the heir to a peerage. He was quite unaccustomed to physical pain, and the thought of what the permanent result of his accident might be un- nerved the gently nurtured youth. He could not refrain from Avishing aloud that he had gone to Leadenhall Street — Jericho — anywhere rather than to this most un- lucky place. Robin had made such good use of his legs, that the Foreham doctor met his patient at the door of Willow- ONE SLIP. 73 dale Lodge, to Harold's surprise as well as satis- faction. There is no need to describe minutely what followed : how the doctor examined and the patient winced, and Ida flew for a sponge and hot water, and how much re- lieved every one felt when the doctor, after removing with tweezers a bit of thorn which had forced its way deep into the under part of the eyelid, declared that he believed that no serious injury had been done to the eye itself. " Thank Heaven," murmured Harold, who felt a heavy weight removed from his heart. " But care will be needful," said the doctor as he wiped his instrument and replaced it in its case. " The young- gentleman must keep his right eye bandaged, and not attempt to write or read with the other, or inflammation may ensue. I will send a lotion, and call again in the evening." The medical man made his bow and departed. " How came the doctor to arrive just at the right moment ? " said Harold to Eobin. " I brought him," replied the boy ; " for I had climbed up into a tree, and saw what happened, so I ran for the doctor." " Robin, you're worth your weight in gold!" exclaimed Harold. " I hate myself for treating you so roughly to-day." Robin's reply was a most vehement hug, which was 74 ONE SLIP. warmly returned. The love between the brothers was warmer than ever. Clarence's accident had so taken up every one's atten- tion, that when letters were laid on the table by the maid they were at first almost unnoticed. Lady Laurie, however, observed that one was directed to Clarence St. Clare, and knowing that he was anxious for tidings from the Castle, she told him of its arrival. " Oh, pray open it and read it to me ; there will be no secrets," said the youth, " only a bulletin of poor Angelina." Lady Laurie broke open the envelope and read as follows : — " Dear Clarence, — Mamma is resting after two nights of vjatching, so I take up the pen to ivrite a few hasty lines. There is no great change in our poor dear Angel ; she is not decidedly worse. But, oh ! how sad to look at her once lovely face. You vjould not know her if you saw her. She is seldom sensible, so I regret less the unfortunate absence of Father O'Brien, for she is not able to confess. Sometimes Angy calls out for a book. I knoiu not tvhat book, unless it be the Legends of the Saints. She is terribly restless with fever. I have vowed, if my darling recover, to make an offering of all my pearls to the Blessed Virgin; and! have written to the Abbot to entreat him to intrust to us the precious ONE SLIP. lb relic of a piece of the true cross. I have the greatest faith in its poiuer to ivorh ivonders. " p « p " " Was not the Virgin Mary a good, kind woman ? " asked Robin thoughtfully, after the short note had been read aloud. " You little heretic ! can you doubt it ? " exclaimed St. Clare. " Then won't she make the poor sick lady well, if she can, without wanting pearls in return ? Mother never takes anything when she cures sick folk." " Yours is a very original way of looking at pious offerings to saints," said Clarence, who could not help smiling a little at Robin's practical view of the matter. " And I don't know what the Lord's mother could do with pearls in Heaven," continued Robin in his matter- of-fact way. " It is not our Lord's blessed mother, but priests and monks who want silver and gold and gems for her shrines," observed Lady Laurie. " In India the Brah- mins do the same. We hear of idols with precious jewels for eyes, and great treasures collected in their temples." " St. Peter said. Silver and gold have I none" observed Robin ; " that shows that he was not a pope, nor in the least bit like one," 76 ONE SLIP. " Well, I must own that our Church is sharp enough about collecting money," said Clarence ; and he added under his breath, " as I know to my cost." Clarence spoke feelingly. His father, though a duke's son, had had but a younger son's portion, and had never been very rich. Superstitious by nature, and completely in the power of the priests, especially when he lay on his deathbed. Lord Reginald had both given, and also willed away for religious uses, more money than his family well could spare. In order to build and endow a chapel in which masses should be per- petually said for his soul. Lord Reginald had greatly crippled his means. The nobleman had at one time led a very wild life, and when that life was approaching its close, he tried, by gifts to the Romish Church, to make all right between conscience and Heaven. Reginald would bribe a holy God to forgive his sins by donations to shrines, leaving his only son with means scarcely sufficient to give him a good education, and with abso- lutely nothing to start him in life ! It is true that Lord Reginald always counted upon Clarence's coming into early possession of seventy thousand pounds per annum, and this was the father's excuse for leaving almost all that the Church did not absorb to his wife and daughters. But his son had, as yet, entered into posses- sion of nothing, and could not help grudging the thou- sands of pounds expended on a fine chapel, built within ONE SLIP. 77 sight of a church, and in paying, as Clarence irreverently said, " lazy priests to chant dirges in Latin." " Is it actually a piece of the very cross on which our Saviour died that is to be sent to the Castle ? " said Ida. " I do not wonder at such a precious relic being prized. How it would bring the scene of the Crucifixion vividly before one's eyes, to be allowed to touch the very wood on which the Lord suflTered ! " " I should like to read to you a little about this ' True Cross,' " said Lady Laurie, taking up a very small book.* " The fable of the finding of the true cross at Jerusalem by the Empress Helena was an invention of the Chris- tians of Jerusalem (in the fourth century). After the disappearance of true miracles in the Church, the age of false miracles began. Miracles were said to be wrought by the reputed wood of the true cross, and religious worship to the crucifix followed after. The finding of the true cross has been repeated in the Roman Church, at Toulouse, and at Rome A.D. 1492." " In three different places ! How could all three be the real true cross ? " cried Robin. " And how came the cross on which Christ died at Jerusalem to be found at Rome at all ? " asked Harold. " I think that the finding of its supposed fragments in Rome at the end of the fifteenth century was very * "Facts and Dates," \)y the Rev. W. A. Darby, M.A. Published by J. Miller, Berners Street, London. 78 ONE SLIP. convenient for a peculiarly extravagant and wicked pope," replied Lady Laurie. " Doubtless Alexander VI. had his own reasons, and those anything but good ones, for maintaining the authenticity of what we cannot but regard as a fabulous legend." " Had we not better take breakfast ? we are so very late to-day," suggested Ida, wishing to change the con- versation. She saw a look of displeasure, almost dis- gust, on the face of Clarence, and she quite mistook its cause. The fact was that the youth was finding himself rather in the position of one who begins to suspect that an article which he has purchased as being of gold is only a piece of inferior metal skilfully gilded. The rest of the. day passed wearily to poor Clarence. Ida would have liked to have read, played, and sung for hours to the " interesting sufferer ; " but Lady Laurie took the unwilling girl with her to pay a round of visits, in cottages as well as villas. Ida had to be constantly at the side of her mother. The care of the blindfolded Clarence devolved on the Hartleys, and rather tiresome work they found it, for he had no mind to be amused. He M'ould not enter into the eager interest M^ith which Harold regarded the coming election ; Clarence said that politics were a bore. The most lively books in Lady Laurie's rather sober library were searched out, but Clarence found them all " dry as bones." He worried himself with anxiety now about his injured eye, then ONE SLIP. 79 about his sick sister. In the midst of conversation the mind of Clarence wandered into channels that would, had she known of them, have shocked Catherine St. Clare ; and if asked a question, the youth answered at random. No one was sorry when the long summer day had almost drawn to a close. CHAPTER IX. WALKING ON THE AVATER. Lady L. Simon had been first called to be a disciple, then an evangelist ; but a third and more special call remained for the fisherman and his eleven companions. They were to be Christ's apostles, witnesses to all the world of His resurrection. The Lord, by a night spent in solemn communion with His Heavenly Father, pre- pared for the important work of setting apart His chosen Twelve. READING. " And it came to pass in those days, that He went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God. And when it was day, He called unto Him His disciples ; and of them He chose twelve, whom also He named Apostles." Lady L. Thus, on that mountain, the Blessed Lord may be said to have laid the foundation of that Church which is built of living stones. — Ida, can you give us on this subject a quotation from St. Peter's own letter to the early Christians ? WALKING ON THE WATER. 81 Ida, Ye also, as lively stones, are built tip a sjnritual house, an holy loriesthood, to offer up spiritual sacri- fices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ (1 Peter ii. 5). Clarence. I never heard of that idea before. The saint could never have meant that all Christians, women included, are priests. Our priests are men solemnly- ordained by the Sacrament of Orders ; none but they can drink of the cup at High Mass, none can give abso- lution but they, none others can consecrate or pronounce absolution ; the priests come in a direct line from the apostles. Father O'Brien takes good care to impress that on us all. Ladyy L. We have higher authority than Father O'Brien's for calling all true Christians in one sense priests. I will read a verse from the first chapter of the Book of Revelation : " Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Father; to Him be glory and dominion for ever and ever." There is not the slightest reason for supposing that this word us does not include all Christians — men, women, and even children. To confirm this, I will turn to what St. Peter writes to Christians scattered in various lands : "Ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people." Women and their families must be included under the name of " strangers." (39) 82 WALKING ON THE WATER. Clarence. But priests are they who offer sacrifice ; what sacrifice can laymen offer ? Lady L. Harold, you can answer that question from St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans, twelfth chapter, first verse. EEADING. " I beseech you, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God." Lady L. This, with the sacrifice of praise and thanks- giving, is the only sacrifice which man can offer to Him who offered Himself as a sacrifice for man. Clarence. You forget the sacrifice of the Mass. Lady L. Of what you call by that name we shall have occasion to speak hereafter, when we come to the account of the Lord's last Supper. Let us now return to the twelve chosen apostles, who, after receiving in- struction from their Heavenly Master, were sent forth by Him to carry the gospel to others. READING FROM MARK VI. " And He called unto Him the twelve, and began to send them forth by two and two; and gave them power over unclean spirits ; and commanded them that they should take nothing for their journey, save a staff only ; no scrip, no bread, no money in their purse : but be shod with sandals ; and not put on two coats. WALKING ON THE WATER. 83 And He said unto them, In what place soever ye enter into an house, there abide till ye depart from that place." Robin. I am sure that Andrew went with Peter, and John went with James; the brothers would always keep together. But, mother, when missionaries go out now, is it wrong for them to take with them clothes and money ? My father has a big bag and two boxes, and a great many things are packed up in them, and he has at least three pairs of boots. I am sure that my father would not disobey the Lord Jesus, Lddy L. No, assuredly he would not, my boy. Mis- sionaries now go forth under different circumstances. Even the apostles at a later period were commanded to take with them what would be needed for food and pro- tection. Let us read the Lord's directions to them on the night before He died, in the twenty-second chapter of St. Luke. READING. " And He said unto them, When I sent you without purse, and scrip, and shoes, lacked ye any thing ? And they said. Nothing. Then said He unto them. But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip : and he that hath no sword, let him sell his gar- ment, and buy one." Rohin. Did the Lord mean that the apostles should fight their enemies, and kill them ? 84 WALKING ON THE WATER. Lady L. No ; St. Peter was expressly forbidden to use his sword thus. Bohin. Ah ! the apostles would want it if they were attacked by wolves or bears. Harold. The command to take swords may have been simply an intimation of commg danger. Lady L. When the apostles were first sent on a preaching tour they were amongst their own country- men, and endowed with miraculous power of healing, which made them welcome wherever they went. Go where they would they found a hospitable board spread, and a hearty welcome. They were ambassadors from the wonder-working King; and their credentials were the power to cast out devils, give healing to the sick, and sight to the blind. Robin. What a joyful preaching tour for the apostles — making every one happy wherever they went ! Harold. Exercising powers so grand ! Ida. And knowing that they were working for the Lord! Lady L. Add to all these sources of joy the bright hopes which the apostles cherished, hopes which it must have cost the Lord's tender heart much pain to destroy. The apostles never seem to have grasped the idea of their Master's coming death. They appear never to have pondered over the prophecies relating to His Inuniliation, rejection, and agony, the smiting, the piercing, the slaying. The simple fishermen and their WALKING ON THE WATER. 85 companions looked for a glorious temporal kingdom ; they expected to see their Messiah enthroned on Mount Zion, even the proud Romans, their foreign rulers, doing Him homage. The apostles looked forward to being themselves great men, as they were already distinguished above the other disciples. When their travelling was ended, their delightful mission closed for awhile, doubt- less the twelve returned with spirits exhilarated, as the seventy afterwards returned, exulting in the power which they could exercise over the spirits of darkness. The apostles were probably also told by the Lord to rejoice rather that their names were written in Heaven, — a privilege shared with them by the meanest slave who believed in and loved the Saviour. Clarence. Judas was one of the twelve apostles. Did Judas work miracles too ? Lady L. He assuredly did ; and Judas may have preached more eloquently than any of the other apostles of a Heaven which he himself was never to enter. Judas could cast out devils ; but, alas ! was to be pos- sessed by a devil himself. Oh, there may be canonized bigots and worshipped saints who will cry out at the last solemn day, " Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name, and m Thy name have cast out devils, and in Thy name done many wonderful works ? " to whom Christ will give the terrible reply, " I never knew you ; depart from me, ye that work iniquity 1 " 86 WALKING ON THE WATER. Lady Laurie spoke sadly and solemnly, and a silence fell over the little circle. The lady, after a pause, re- sumed the conversation in a more cheerful tone. " As we are reviewing the life of St. Peter, and not that of his Divine Master, we will, in reading the gospel, only dwell on the events in which the apostle took a prominent part. We know that after the re- turn of the twelve they were present at scenes of sur- passing interest; they were witnesses of some of Christ's most remarkable miracles. Peter sat down as a guest at the feast given by Matthew the publican, for we find him in close attendance on his Lord when Christ went to the house of Jairus. It was Peter who spoke of the pressing of the eager throng, whom he was probably trying to keep back with his strong arm, that the Master's movements might not be impeded. Peter was one of the three permitted to follow Christ into the chamber where lay the corpse of the ruler's child, and he beheld the first tint of life returning to the pale cheek of the little maiden ; he saw her eyes open, and witnessed her parents' wondering joy. When the Lord, on the shore of Galilee, showed His creative power by multiplying the loaves and fishes, Peter was one of those employed in the delightful task of carrying food to the hungry crowds, a bearer of plenty, a messenger of mercy, blessed in the act of blessing." itoh'in. How happy the apostles must have been then. WALKING ON THE WATER. 87 Lady L. And filled more than ever with expectations of earthly power and glory ; for the Jews, when they had seen the miracle wrought by Christ, said, " This is of a truth that Prophet that should come into the world ; " and they resolved to take Him by force and make Him a king. The enthusiasm aroused in the multitude must have been more than shared by the apostles, who intensely loved their glorious Master. They, too, as patriots, would be enraptured at the thought that One had come who could and would break the hated yoke of the Romans and make holy Jerusalem the glory of the whole earth. Here, they doubtless thought, is a Leader who will be triumphant like our heroes Gideon and David. One can picture Peter with kindling eye and glowing cheek repeating aloud the triumphant prophetic psalm descriptive of the Messiah : " Gird Thy sword upon Thy thigh, Most Mighty, with Thy glory and Thy majesty. And in Thy majesty ride prosperously, because of truth and meekness and right- eousness ; and Thy right hand shall teach Thee terrible things. Thine arrows are sharp in the heart of the King's enemies ; whereby the people fall under Thee." Harold. One can well understand such enthusiasm and such hopes. Any man, any patriot, would have felt them. Lad.y L. Then you can understand the surprise and distress of the apostles when, at this critical time, Christ gave command that they should, ivithout Illm, embark 88 WALKING ON THE WA TER. and cross the lake, He remaining- alone to send the eager multitudes away. Why should they be obliged to go at the very moment when their proud hopes seemed to be near realization ? Why should they be absent at a momentous crisis, when the fate of Judea, the success of Christianity itself, might depend on vigorous united action ? That there was not only surprise but expostu- lation on the part of the apostles seems to be indicated by the expression, "He constrained [compelled] His disciples to get into a ship, and to go before Him unto the other side." We can imagine one of the apostles earnestly urging the lateness of the hour, the threaten- ing aspect of the sky, as an excuse for remaining on shore. But the Saviour was firm as well as gentle ; then, as now. He brooks no disobedience to His com- mands, for disobedience shows want of faith. Ida. One would like to think that St. Peter or St. John had the grace to say to their companions as they unwillingly entered the ship, " Our Master is sure to know best." Robin. But why did the Lord send the apostles away when they did not like to go without Him ? Lady L. It is often impossible to fathom the mystery of God's dealings, and it might sometimes be pre- sumptuous even to guess at the reasons which intiu- cnced our Lord. But in the instance before us I do not think that it is difficult to imau'ine that Christ WALKING ON THE WATER. 89 longed to give Himself time for quiet prayer, and to free Himself, if but for a few hours, from the company of those who might have urged Him to yield Himself to the wishes of the crowd, and to become an earthly king. The Lord was on the morrow to disappoint these wishes, to crush the ambitious hopes of His followers. He was to speak at Capernaum of heavenly nourishment to those who desired earthly food ; He was to tell of His own flesh and blood beino- oiven for the life of the world. Christ's disciples and other Jews desired Him to reign as a king ; they were to be told that He was to be slain as a victim ! No wonder that before making such a disclosure the blessed Jesus sought the relief of closest communion with His Heavenly Father. READING. " And when He had sent the multitudes away, He went up into a mountain apart to pray : and when the evening was come, He was there alone. But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves : for the wind was contrary. And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit ; and they cried out for fear. But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying. Be of good cheer ; it is I ; be not afraid." Ida. The Lord was not long away from His disciples. 90 WALKING ON THE WATER. Lcuhj L. No ; His heart was with His weary, toiling servants, who were labouring against the opposing wind and the rolling waves, with the dreary darkness around them. It almost seems as if the sympathizing Saviour had been so impatient to help His disciples, that He would not wait for the boats which, St. John tells us, soon afterwards came from Tiberias. The Lord took the strangest but shortest way to reach those whom He loved; His feet trod the watery path which man had never trodden before. Robin. The night could not have been quite dark, or the disciples would not have seen the Lord walking on the rough sea. Lady L. The moon may have shed her light on His sacred form, or even by the gleam of starlight a white- robed figure may have been dimly visible to the disciples' wondering gaze. It was too dark for even the loving eyes of a Peter or a John to recognize the mysterious Being approaching towards them, but they heard a dear familiar voice bidding them be of good cheer. How often have those tossed on the waves of trouble or sore temptation been cheered by taking to themselves the comfort of these sweet words. It is I ; be not afraid! READING. "And Peter answered Him and said. Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water. And He WALKING ON THE WATER. 91 said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying. Lord, save me. And immedi- ately Jesus stretched forth His hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt ? And when they were come into the ship, the wind ceased. Then they that were in the ship came and worshipped Him, saying. Of a truth Thou art the Son of God." Robin. Oh, that is such a beautiful story ! I think if I had been in the ship, and had seen the Lord so near, I would have jumped out like Peter. Ida. And been drowned, as Peter nearly was drowned. Robin. Mother, was it wrong or foolish in St. Peter to jump into the sea ? You know that he asked the Lord's leave. Lady L. Whenever the Master says. Come ! we may fearlessly obey His word. St. Peter could not trust the power and the love of the Saviour too much. Harold. Then why did the apostle begin to sink, and cry out to be saved ? Lady L. I believe that St. Peter's mistake was this, that he not only trusted in the power of Christ, but that he relied on the strength of his ovjn faith. Peter was to be taught, as we often are taught by being left to ourselves, how our greatest strength is as weakness. " I 92 WALKING ON THE WATER. ain of .strong faitli," thought Peter. He may even have felt some pricks in doing what none of his companions would dare to do. " thou of little faith," said the Master. When we have had most self-confidence, and have sprung forward with eager zeal, ready to do or to dare all, our Heavenly King sometimes permits us to stumble, even to fall, though not to perish, that we may more thoroughly learn the Lord's lesson, " Without Me ye can do notldng." Lady Laurie chanced to glance at Harold as she closed the Bible, and saw on his face a grave, almost gloomy expression, which told of a mind not at ease. When she knelt down to pray, her prayer was more fervent than usual, that to none of the little circle the lesson might be taught in vain. CHAPTER X. THE BLESSED MARY. The young party at Willowdale Lodge had been for more than a week engaged to go to a feast, and display of a magic-lantern, at the house of Dr. Bullen, who had fixed on this Friday evening for his annual entertain- ment on the breaking up of his school for the holidays. A polite note from Mrs. Bullen on the preceding day had included Mr. St. Clare in the invitation. Clarence had been pleased at the idea of the break on the " hum- drum life " which he was leading at the Lodge which the party would make. But his accident in the morning prevented the possibility of St. Clare going out to an entertainment. Harold had volunteered to stay at home in order to keep Clarence company; but this Lady Laurie would not allow. " Dr. Bullen would be greatly hurt," she observed, " if you, an old scholar of his, should be absent on such an occasion. You know that he was vexed at your being removed from his school, and grieved at the circum- stances which made that removal needful." 94 THE BLESSED MARY. " I should not like to worry the poor doctor," said Harold, " though he gave me small cause to feel grateful towards him." " I would be quite pleased to stay away from the party," said Ida ; "I do not care for magic-lanterns at all." " No," said Lady Laurie, smiling ; " I have made up my mind to enjoy a quiet tete-d-tete with my young friend here. Clarence shall have music, reading, or talking, whichever he likes best ; and if he find the evening too lono; — " " Oh, mother ! " cried Robin, throwing his arms round her neck, " time never seems the least bit long when one is alone with you." The Hartleys and Ida started for Copley House ; and as soon as they had left. Lady Laurie's first care was to foment Clarence's eye, according to the directions left by the doctor. The eye was swollen and painful, and the youth, unaccustomed as he was to suffering, was indis- posed for any kind of amusement. He was, however, inclined to talk. During that day of compelled inaction, Clarence had been obliged to fall back a good deal on his own thoughts, and the Bible-reading had turned them in the direction of meditation on the difference between the religious views of his family in the Castle and those of his friends in Willowdale Lodge. Leaning back in the easy-chair, in which he sat with his face THE BLESSED MARY. 95 turned away from the lamp, Clarence abruptly remarked to Lady Laurie, who was knitting beside him, " I see that you Protestants think very little of saints." " That can hardly be," replied Lady Laurie, laying down her knitting, " as we believe that, when the Lord returns in His glory, none but saints will be permitted to meet Him in the clouds, and abide with Him for ever." " Oh, that's being very hard on the rest of mankind ! " cried Clarence. " If none but the saints can go to heaven, it will be a terribly empty place." " How many saints do you think that there are now in the world ? " asked Lady Laurie. " Who can say ? Not a great number," replied Clar- ence, rather surprised at the question. " There may have been scores in the olden times, — apostles, martyrs, and such like ; but in these modern days there are not many who care to leave the world altogether, and give themselves up to fasting and prayer. How many saints do you think that there are now in the world ? " " Exactly as many saints as there are true Christians/' was the reply, " That's a very original idea ! " exclaimed Clarence ; " I never heard it before." " Far from its being new, it is as old as the time of the apostles," said Lady Laurie. " Saint only means holy, and all God's people must be made holy. It is written, ' Follow peace with all men, and holiness, luithout 96 THE BLESSED MARY. ivMch no man shall see the Lord.' Again and again in the Epistles believers are called saints, without distinction of rank or age. ' Beloved of God, called, to be saints' is the beautiful description of Christian converts in St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans. If not a saint, then not a Christian ; if a Christian, then a saint of the Lord." Clarence was silent for several moments. He had always considered himself to be a Christian, but his conscience told him that he never had been a saint. He had often been told that Protestant heretics thought nothing of good works ; but he now began to see that they had a very, very high standard before them, which even a devout "Catholic" might find it difficult to reach. Monks and nuns ought to be holy, of course, but school- hoys ! — Clarence could not associate the idea of real holiness with himself or almost any of his companions, " I suppose," he said, after a pause, " that you make a wide distinction between great saints and little saints ? It would be downright blasphemy, for instance, for any being now upon earth to be regarded as standing on the same level as the blessed, immaculate Virgin." Clarence expected an emphatic " Of course it w^ould be blasphemy" as a reply; but instead of giving it. Lady Laurie opened her Bible at the third chapter of St. Mark and read aloud as follows: — " ' There came then His [Christ's] brethren and His mother, and, standing without, sent unto Him, calling THE BLESSED MARY. 97 Him. And the multitude sat about Him, and they said unto Him, Behold, Thy mother and Thy brethren without seek for Thee. And He answered them, saying, Who is My mother, or My brethren ? And He looked round about on them which sat about Him, and said. Behold My mother and My brethren ! For whosoever shall do the will of God, the same is My brother, and My sister, and mother.' " " Is that really written in the Gospel ? " exclaimed Clarence in surprise ; " I never heard such a passage before. The Virgin Mother standing without, and her Son not only not hastening to her, but putting common mortals on a footing with one whom the very angels may worship ! " Lady Laurie took no apparent notice of the young- Romanist's almost indignant remark, but turning to the twenty-seventh verse of the eleventh chapter of St. Luke, read a woman's fervent assertion of the blessed- ness of the Saviour's mother, and then the Lord's striking rejoinder : Yea rather, blessed are they that hear the luord of God, and keep it. " These new views are quite bewildering to me ! " cried Clarence, with a little impatience. " I am like a sailor who has a fine chart of some sea on which he is going to sail, and just as he is starting on his voyage some one comes and tells him that his chart is all wrong." (39) 7 98 THE BLESSED MARY. " And suppose that his chart is declared to be a copy made from an authenticated perfect one kept in a Government office to which the sailor has free access, what would be the wise course for him to take ? " " To go to the Government office, of course, and com- pare the copy with the original." " Any sensible man would do so," said Lady Laurie ; "and if he found a o-reat difference between the two charts, — if rocks and shoals were marked in the authentic Government one that were quite left out in the copy, and many islands put into the latter which in reality never existed, — would the sailor be content to navigate the dangerous sea with no better guide than his incorrect chart ? " " He would act like a madman if he did so," said Clarence ; " he might wreck his ship and lose his life upon some unseen shoal." "Now, my young friend, the Bible is the one authentic chart with which we should carefully compare every system of religion placed before us. If that system agree not with God's Word, is it wise to trust our safety for eternity to it ? Are we not, if we do so, in danger of losing our souls on some hidden quicksand ? " " You Protestants seem to me to insult the Blessed Virgin, by putting her on the same level as other women ! " cried Clarence — " she, the spotless, born without sin 1 " THE BLESSED MAR Y. 99 '■' Where is it written in the Scriptures that the Lord's mother was born without sin ? " inquired Lady Laurie. " She herself did not encourao-e such a view. On the contrary, in Mary's inspired song she cried, ' My spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.' Where no sin is, no Saviour is required ; the very name tells of need of salvation." " I thought that every one acknowledged the Virgin to be sinless," said Clarence. " I have heard that some — by no means all — Moham- medans do so," was the lady's reply. " Mohammedans — infidel Paynims — the enemies of the Cross ! " exclaimed Clarence. " It is curious to trace the many forms of resemblance between the Romanist and Mohammedan modes of wor- ship," observed Lady Laurie. " Both religions rose to power in the seventh century, about the same time. Both have called the sword to aid in spreading the faith. Both admit the Gospel to be the true Word of God, but both overlav it with traditions and leoends. Both the Romanist and Mohammedan teachers of religion set great value on works, prescribe long periodical fasts, enjoin much bowing and prostration of the body. Amongst the professors of both faiths the rosary is in use, and with many repetitions God's holy name is uttered. In the mosque as well as in the Romanist's church prayers arc heard in a language unknown to 100 THE BLESSED MARY. the common people. In both religions great reverence is paid to dead saints, shrines are visited, tombs adored, long pilgrimages bring great merit ; in short — " " Oh, Lady Laurie ! " interrupted Clarence, " one of my ancestors was a crusader, and was killed in trying to win back the Holy Sepulchre. Spare me any more comparisons between the heresies of the False Prophet and the faith of the Catholic Church." " Forgive me, if I have hurt your feelings, Clarence," said Lady Laurie ; " and let us converse on some subject less exciting." " I want you to satisfy my mind on just one thing," said Clarence. " You do not — -cannot — doubt that the Blessed Virgin, who was carried up into heaven, now pleads for those who devoutly seek her intercession with her Son ? " " There is nothing in the Bible concerning what you call 'the Assumption of the Virgin,'" replied Lady Laurie. "After the death of our Lord, His mother's name is mentioned but once, and that simply in con- nection with others who joined with her in humble devotion. The festival of the Assumption was not in- stituted in the times of early Christianity, but by a monk in 750 ; it was unknown in the Church for the first seven ages. Epiphanius, in 370 A.D., declared that Scripture was silent as to the death of the blessed Mary, and that ' her end is not known.' All the early THE BLESSED MAR Y. 101 fathers, and even the early popes, are silent upon the subject. And as regards the question of the Virgin's mediation, have you ever considered, Clarence, that to suppose that Mary can hear prayers addressed to her at the same moment from various parts of the world, is to invest a creature with the attribute of omnipresence, — filling all space, — an attribute belonging only to the Creator ? For me the blessed words of Scripture are enough : For there is one God, and one mediator be- tween God and men, the man Christ Jesus (1 Tim. ii. 5). Wherefore He is able also to save them to the utter- most that come unto God. by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them (Heb. vii. 2o). The Lord Jesus never bade us go to saints, or to His highly- favoured mother, when we seek for helji in time of need. To the weary and heavy-laden, to the sinful and sad. He gives one simple direction, one loving command, — " Come unto Me ! " CHAPTER XI. THE INDIAN MAIL. Clarence passed a disturbed night. He was of a nervous, sensitive temperament, and the uneasiness in his bandaged eye made him much more restless than it would have made one of the Hartleys. Clarence also thought something of his own personal appearance, and would have considered it to be no small trial had he to make his first appearance in the House of Peers with a damaged eye. In sleep he seemed to be perpetually wandering about gorgeous Continental cathedrals, with endless rows of images filling up every niche and corner ; priests were swinging censers of incense, and crowds prostrating themselves before the shrines. Then there flashed out in letters of fire on the wall the words which Robin had repeated, — Tltoii shalt not make unto thyself any graven image, thou shalt not hoiu down nor worship them. It was a weary night to Clarence St. Clare. He arose early, and appeared for the first time at morning prayers. THE INDIAN MAIL. 103 There was something impressive to the Romanist youth in the simple, devout manner in which family worship was conducted at Willowdale Lodge ; the ser- vice seeined so earnest, so real. When Clarence saw how carefully the children of Lady Laurie had been instructed in religious knowledge, he wondered to him- self why his own mother had taught him nothing. The lady had left all the religious training of her family to Father O'Brien, of whom Clarence was by no means particularly fond, though the priest exercised boundless influence over Catherine St. Clair. " How different from ours is this Protestant religion," thought Clarence ; " and how unlike the representation which Father O'Brien used to give of what he called ' the heretics' blasphemous faith.' In some points I think that the Protestants follow a more difficult path than we do. It is easier to ask, or buy, the help of saints than to become a saint one's self. It is easier to make over the care of one's conscience to a priest than to be perpetually using self-examination to see how far one's conduct falls short of the Scripture standard. That rough-headed little Robin knows a good deal more of the Bible than I do. I do think that prayers in English sound more as if comino; from the heart than prayers in Latin." After family worship was over, Robin's tongue was loosed, and he chatted away to his mother, eagerly de- 104 THE INDIAN MAIL. scribing to lier the last evening's entertainment, while she listened with smiling interest, as if she herself were a child. " It was so jolly ! " cried Kobin. " There were what they called ' dissolving views ' — I cannot think how they were managed. One saw on the wall the picture of a grand procession, — flags flying, men dressed like dukes — or rather duchesses, for men don't wear satin frocks and lace — people carrying crosses, some with peaked things on their heads — " " Mitres," said Ida Laurie. " I don't know the name, but all looked very grand. Presently all the dresses grew dim ; and one could see the gay flags just as if they were melting into air, and slowly, slowly I made out something like a sheep, and red colours faded into green, till at last where the grand show had been there was only a shepherd watching his flock, with little lambs playing at his feet 1 — Was it not strange ? " added Robin, turning towards Clarence. Clarence did not reply, but he thought, " My mind is something like the sheet with the dissolving view upon it. Old ideas are growing dim, old prejudices melting away. I wonder into what my.picture will settle at last." " And oh, mother, who do you think was there ? " continued Robin, after the party had seated themselves at the breakfast-table. " There was poor Miss Theresa Petty—" THE INDIAN MAIL. 105 " Looking ten years older than she did last summer," observed Harold. " Poor lady ! I fancy that she has had a hard time of it since her brother's death," observed Lady Laurie. " Yes," said Ida ; " I hear that the retired milliner, whose humble companion she is, has a horrid tem — ; " the girl stopped, for she met a reproving glance from her mother. " Miss Petty was so glad, so delighted, to hear of your coming," said Robin ; " and so very, very sorry to hear about your accident. I think that she must be your aunt." " My aunt ! " echoed Clarence, looking more astonished than pleased. " What makes you think that the milli- ner's humble companion has the slightest connection with me ? " " She knows all about your family — that there were two brothers, and the elder was a duke and married Miss Cobbs — no, no, it was the younger who married Miss Cobbs — and the duke married twice, — but I can't remember the names." " Remember your alphabet and multiplication-table," said Clarence, a little tartly. " Of course, Miss Petty has been studying the peerage," observed Ida, trying to silence Robin by a look, as she handed his cup of tea to Clarence. " Miss Petty is so anxious to see you, she said so over 106 THE INDIAN MAIL. and over; and — here she comes up the shrubbery walk ! " cried Eobin. " Oh, mother, don't let that dreadful creature come in here ! " exclaimed Ida, starting to her feet. " We can't have Miss Petty at breakfast," said Harold sternly. " She is in trouble^ — -humbled — poor : would the Mas- ter turn her away ? " said Lady Laurie. '' She's working for her bread honestly — you told us so," observed Robin. " There is no shame in working." There was a little tap at the breakfast-room door, and a " May I come in ? " to which, to the annoyance of some of the circle, Lady Laurie replied with a kindly "Pray, come in, Miss Petty." The widow lady rose from her seat and went to meet the self-invited guest with that Christian politeness which is "good-nature refined." " Oh, dearest Lady Laurie, I am so charmed to see you again ! " Miss Petty kissed her again and again. " You know I'm on a visit to my friends the Bullens • but my chief attraction to Foreham is here. I was so impatient that I really could not wait for the formal visiting hour." Lady Laurie endured the embraces of the vulgar, gaudily-dressed woman without showing the slightest sign of repugnance ; invited Miss Petty to stay to breakfast ; made her sit next to herself, and asked her THE INDIAN MAIL. 107 what she would take, as courteously as if the milliner's humble companion had been a lady of rank, " Mother is so unworldly," thought Harold. " Even in such a trifling matter as this the Christian lady is seen." " You must introduce me to your dear young friend, the future Duke of Framlingham," said Miss Petty, turning in her flattering way towards Clarence, who sat cold and stiflf as a marble sphinx. — " I am so grieved at the injury to your poor eye — sight is so precious. But I've brought with me an infallible ointment, which really works such wonders that — " Clarence was not courteous enough to wait for the end of the sentence. " I am quite satisfied with the doctor's remedies," he said coldly, and instantly turning away addressed his conversation to Ida, as if forgetful that any visitor was in the room. Poor Miss Petty felt mortified, but turned to Robin as the most sociable of the young people. " Ah, my dear little Robin, how you have grown ! I was so pleased to see you again at the Bullens'. Don't you remember what good friends you and I always were in old days ? " The question was a puzzling one to honest Robin, who certainly had no such remembrance. " I was very rude to you the last day you came here," he observed. " Mother obliged me to go and ask your pardon." 108 THE INDIAN MAIL. Miss Petty had made another unfortunate hit ; she was actually silent for nearly three minutes, trying to console herself with the buttered muiSns. She briijht- ened up at the arrival of the letters, having chosen her visiting time in regard to the postman's round. Robin, who had been on the watch, as this was the day for the Indian mail, brought in the despatches triumphantly, with the exclamation, " A letter from father ! " " Is there none for me ? " asked Clarence. " Yes — here ; I ought to have remembered that you were anxious about your sister ; but Indian letters put everything else out of my head." The boy handed a small note to Clarence, and a larger one, with foreign stamps, to Harold. " 7" am so anxious for news from the Castle," ex- claimed Miss Petty, fixing her little curious eyes on the note in the hands of St. Clare. Clarence rose abruptly, and saying, " We'll read our letters in the drawing-room," left the apartment, followed by the Hartleys and Ida. Lady Laurie did her best to make amends for the rudeness of the juniors, though it cost her something to do so. She too was eager to hear the news, but she could not in courtesy leave Miss Petty alone, and Miss Petty was in no haste to depart. For half-an-hour, on busy Saturday morning, the gentle lady listened as patiently as she could to the account of a long string THE INDIAN MAIL. 109 of grievances endured by the humble companion at the hands of the woman from whom she received her stipend. Lady Laurie kept silently repeating to herself St. Peter's admonition, Honour all men ; he lyitifid, he courteous ; and did her very utmost to obey it. It was, however, a real relief when Miss Petty rose at last with the exclamation, " I really must go away now, Mrs. Bullen will think that I am lost ; but I'll come again soon, my dearest Lady Laurie," And so the visitor went off in hei* usual hurried, bustling manner. Lady Laurie felt as if a valuable half-hour had been utterly wasted ; for she had not been able to give any Christian counsel to her voluble guest, who only wanted a listener. But had the time really been wasted ? No time is wasted in which, with humble obedience, we submit to the discipline of petty annoyances which help to train our characters. Lady Laurie would not have regretted that wearisome visit had she known the effect of her gentle patience on the mind of Clarence, who was closely watching her behaviour. The young Pomanist said to himself, " There is a woman who practises what she preaches, and does not read the Bible for nothing. Catherine is ready to dress the sores of beggars, but nothino: would have induced her to endure that vul- gar creature's embrace, or to remain to listen patiently to her tiresome 2:abl)l('. What makes the difference ? Catherine thinks that the dressing of sores is a merit — 110 THE INDIAN MAIL. a step towards Paradise ; she believes that future joy may be bought by present self-denial. Lady Laurie — well, 1 don't know exactly what she thiidvs ; but she seems to do kind things naturally, as water wells forth from a spring, and never dreams about merit in doing them. I suppose it is that she is a Christian, which, she says, is all the same as being a saint. Let Father O'Brien say what he will, something does come of all this Bible-reading. Protestant heretics may think nothing of their good works, but somehow or other they do them." A very different opinion had been formed of Clarence himself by the woman whom he had treated with such haughty disdain. When Mrs. Bullen inquired of Miss Petty, on her return, what she thought of the heir to the Framlingham dukedom, with a little toss of the head she replied, " He's a proud, impertinent, perked-up peacock ! T should like to clip his feathers, I should ! But pride must have a fall ! " Lady Laurie, in the meanwhile, hurried to the draw- ing-room, full of real interest in the news which the post had brought. Clarence gave the bulletin of his sister's state in the few words, " Much the same." Robin put his father's letter into the lady's hand, with a " Please read it aloud. I like to hear it again and again." The letter was as follows : — THE INDIAN MAIL. Ill ' ' Lahupoee, June 1858. " My beloved boys, — My last hurried lines told you of our safe arrival here. I had no time to give you any description of the missionary station which I left last year under circumstances so painful. I cannot tell you what I feel on seeing the desolation around me. My bungalow has been burned down ; only charred timbers and ruined walls mark your birth-place, my once happy home. I startled a jackal from the jungle of weeds which has overgrown my study ; and birds have built in the wreck of the roof under which my little ones played. But deeply thankful am I that no sacrilegious hand touched the little cemetery ; only a growth of weeds half hides the stone which marks where your sweet mother's form rests in hope of a blessed resurrection. I have given orders to have the spot cleared, and as soon as rain falls I will plant flower-seeds round the tomb ; but at present it seems as if the earth were iron and the heavens brass. I can give vou no idea of the heat. " My valued catechist, of whom I have so often spoken to you, has been called to his better home. What he suffered at the time of the Mutiny broke down his health, and he gradually sank. I look upon him as a martyr, for he never denied his faith. But I must not make my letter too sad. I have unnumbered blessings for which to be thankful; amongst them not the least 112 THE INDIAN MAIL. is the kindly reception I have met with even from the heathen, and the joyous welcome from my own little flock. Some people call the natives ungrateful ; I have never found them so. I have been almost overwhelmed with little gifts of inilk, rice, vegetables, and mangoes; and I am now, till I can rebuild my house, putting up at that of a native, not a Christian. May the Lord reward him for his kindness by opening his eyes to the true light ! " I am sure that you, especially Robin, ^\'ill wish to hear of your friend Prem Das. His conduct during the voyage, and land journey, has been all that I could desire — showing the prompt obedience of the servant, with the loving reverence of the child. Our dear con- vert has made good progress in learning to read and write ; his delight is in his Bible. And yet, thankful as I am for the grace bestowed on him, Prem Dd,s is to me at present a source of great anxiety. On the day after my arrival at Lahupore, he came to me with a face radiant with joy, exclaiming in broken English, ' Oh, sahib, my village near — father, mother, brotherhood — let me go and see them.' " On inquiry I found that the ' near ' meant a journey of sixty miles by rail, and a walk of nine or ten miles at the end of it. " ' Prem Das,' I replied, ' it is natural and right that you should wish to go and see your relations ; but I do THE INDIAN MAIL. 113 not wish you to do so till I am able to accompany you, to protect you. Your family is Hindu, and you are now a Christian. Your change of religion will probably grieve your relations, and they will do all in their power to turn you away from Christ.' " ' Oh, sahib, I must go; I must tell them of the blessed Saviour. He saved me, and He will save them.' " The poor fellow spoke with tears in his eyes, and the palms of his hands pressed together. " ' You do not know as well as I know,' said I, ' what bitter persecution you may have to endure. Remember the Lord's warning, " Brother shall rise against brother." You may be reviled and beaten ; nay, your very life may be in danger.' " ' The Lord will take care of me,' replied Prem Das with child-like faith. " ' But you will be throwing yourself into great temptation. The entreaties of a father, the tears of a mother, may be harder to bear than blows. Stay awhile here, and as soon as it is possible to do so I will go with you myself.' " ' Oh, sahib, me cannot wait. Heart pulls, I must go to village ; the Lord will bear me through.' " Persuasions were useless, and commands would only have tempted Prem Das to disobedience, I had no idea before of this gentle native's strength of will. With all his mildness Prem D^s was obstinate in his own way. (39) 8 114 THE INDIAN MAIL. " ' One day going, one day coming back, one day stay- ing,' he said, counting the time on his fingers ; ' I will be back in three. Oh, sahib, stay me not !' There was earnest entreaty in his tone. " ' Think over the matter,' I began, when I was inter- rupted (as I have been half a dozen times whilst writing this letter). Prem Das's thinking was acting ; when I called him a few hours afterwards, I found that he had started already for Purian." " Oh, it is just like Peter throwing himself into the sea !" exclaimed Robin. " But he won't be drowned ; — mother, you don't think that he will be drowned ? " exclaimed the little boy, grasping his mother's arm, and looking up anxiously into her face. " If poor Prem Das does begin to sink — I mean if he is ever so badly tempted — he'll cry out like Peter, ' Lord, save me I' and we know that the Lord is always close by." CHAPTER XII. PETERS CONFESSION. Lady L. I spoke yesterday of the painful day which our Lord was to pass at Capernaum, on that succeeding the night when the Saviour trod the rude waves of the Lake of Tiberias. For an account of that trying day we will turn to the sixth chapter of St. John, beginning at the twenty-second verse. This portion of Scripture was accordingly read, verse by verse alternately, as far as the fifty-seventh verse. Clarence. This is a difficult part of the Gospel. Lady X. So deep in its spiritual teaching that probably few if any who heard the Lord's words grasped their full meaning. But enough was understood to give deep offence to a covetous people. It seems clear that the sign which the Jews desired when they followed the Lord from Tiberias was a miraculous and continued supply of food. " What sign shewest Thou, that we may see and believe ? Our fathers did eat manna in the desert ; as it is written, He gave th(Mn bread from 116 PETER'S CONFESSION. heaven." The earthly, sensual desire was met by tlie Lord's declaration that the true bread from heaven was Himself. The disciples were to feed on Him by faith, through Him receive spiritual nourishment for their souls, and thus live for ever. Clarence. One can imagine that disappointment would arise in worldly minds. Harold. Yes, and anger too, in those of men who did not believe that the Lord was divine. His words would seem to such not only mysterious, but presumptuous. Lady L. We see the immediate effect of the Lord's declaration. Many even of His disciples said, " This is an hard saying; who can hear it?" We are told that " from that time many of His disciples went back, and walked no more with Him." Robin. What a great sorrow that must have been to the Lord, after He had fed them, and made their sick well, and loved them so. Lady L. It must have been a very deep sorrow indeed, for Christ knew that to leave Him was to leave the only path to life and salvation. His tender heart must have bled when He thought that for such backsliders even His precious blood would be shed in vain. In His grief the Lord turned to His chosen apostles with that most touching question, Will ye also go aiuay ? Lda. And the loving, faithful Peter gave answer, " Lord, to whom shall we fjo ? Thou hast the words PETER'S confession: 117 of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that Thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God." Lady L. Or, as it is more correctly translated, " the Holy One of God." We are soon to consider the fuller and more glorious confession of faith made by the same apostle. But let us pau.se a few moments to think over St. Peter's question. To ivhom shall lue go i Not to martyr or saint, not to priest or pope on earth, or inter- cessor in heaven, save Him whose words are eternal life, who is Himself the Way and the Truth. Is Christ not sufficient for our souls ? Then to whom can we go ? If we need a Saviour from sin, He is one; if we need an Advocate with God, He is one ; if we need a spotless Example, He is one. Christ is our Prophet, Priest, and King ; and, as St. Paul wrote to the Colossians (ii. 9, 10), "in Him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily; and ye are corn'plete in Him." Robin. I don't see why people should wish to go to any one beside the dear Lord, when He says. Come unto Me. Lady L. The still grander confession of St. Peter was made some time after that of which we have been read- ing, after he had beheld yet more miracles worked by his Master, and listened to yet more words of power and love. We will turn to the sixteenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, as that evangelist gives a fuller account of this remarkable transaction than we find in St. Mark's. Let us read aloud from the thirteenth verse. 118 PETER'S CONFESSION. READING. " When Jesus came into the coasts of Ca^sarea Philijipi, He asked His disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am ? And they said, Some say that Thou art John the Baptist ; some, Elias ; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets. He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am ? And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God. And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona : for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but My Father which is in heaven. And I say also unto thee. That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build My church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." Clarence (triumphantly). Then even heretics — I mean Protestants — own that that grant of power is recorded in the Bible ; that St. Peter has the gift of the keys so that he can shut people out of heaven ; that he is the prince of the apostles. Then if Protestants own all this, they must own that the pope, St. Peter's successor, has also the power of the keys, and power in heaven and earth. Give us this and you give us all ! PETER'S CONFESSION. 119 Lady L. Softly, my young friend; let us talk over the matter quietly, that, by God's help, we may come to a right conclusion. First, let us take separately and in their proper order the various points of the question which you confuse together. First. What is meant by " the kingdom of heaven " ? Secondly. What amount of power was actually granted by Christ to St. Peter ( Thirdly. Was St. Peter regarded by Christ and His disciples as the prince and head of the apostles ? Fourthly. Had Peter's position, whatever it might be, the slightest connection with that of the popes of Rome ? Now let us examine first what is meant here by the expression, " the kingdom of heaven." Clarence. Surely heaven is the abode of the saints. Lady L. In many places in the Gospel, and I doubt not that this is one of them, the kingdom of heaven means the visible Church upon earth. Let us look at the thirteenth chapter of St. Matthew. There we read : " The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field." " The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took and sowed in his field." " The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven, Avhich a woman took and hid in three measures of meal." " The kingdom of heaven is like unto a net which was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind." It goes to reason that in not one of these 120 PETER'S CONFESSION. parables does the kingdom of heaven mean the place or the state of glory ; it means the visible Church on earth. Harold. Now for the second question : What power was actually given to Peter ? Lady L. Peter was the honoured means of opening the door of the Church on Pentecost to three thousand believers ; he was the honoured means of admitting by baptism the first convert from the Gentile world. Ida. And St. Peter did shut out Ananias and Sapphira. Robin. He only spoke, and they both fell down dead ! Clarence. You admit, then, that St. Peter had great power given to him by Christ, though not all power in heaven and hell. Lady L. All power is reserved for Christ alone. He saith of Himself, and of no mortal, fallible man, All poiver in given unto Me in heaven and in earth (Matt, xxviii. 18). "T am alive for evermore; and have the keys of hell and of death" (Rev. i. 18). Clarence. Let us pass on, then, to the third question. I think that every Christian allows that St. Peter was the prince and head of the apostles. Lady L. Doubtless he was a prominent one amongst them ; partly from the eager vehemence of his character, which made him usually the first to speak, the foremost to lead. But as regards the position of chief, which in PETER'S CONFESSION. 121 no place in his letters does he claim for himself, let me read to you a short extract from this little book :* — " The first thing to observe is, that neither the other apostles, nor even our Lord Himself, seem to have had the slightest idea that St. Peter had been made head of the Church, for they asked Christ more than once who amongst them was to have the highest rank, and He refused to make any distinction amongst them ; while it is especially noteworthy that the last of these occasions was the very night on which Christ made His dying- address to them at the Last Supper. The next thing which is worthy of note is, that whereas it is generally agreed that Mark's Gospel was written at St. Peter's dictation, St. Mark, though repeating the rest of the conversation between our Lord and the apostles recorded in St. MattheAv, leaves out entirely the passage about the rock and the grant of the keys ; whence it is clear that St. Peter himself did not reo-ard that as essential for every one to know... Next, we shall look in vain for any act of authority or jurisdiction exercised by St. Peter over the other apostles ... In the Council of Jeru- salem St. Peter is onlv one of the debaters, whilst the presidency and the final decision belong to St. James. Nor is there one passage through St. Peter's own writ- ings wherein he makes a claim of special authority for himself, thouoh it would liave been his duty to do so * "Claims of Hr' Clnirch of Rome." Publisliud 1)V the S. 1'. ('. K. 122 PETER'S CONFESSION. if lie had been divinely appointed as head ot" the Church." Harold. If St. Peter had been the acknowledged chief, how could John, and James his brother, have asked to sit next to Christ in His kingdom ? Clarence. Peter was not, perhaps, head of the Church, but the Lord's own words show that he was its founda- tion : On this rock will I build My Church. Protest- ants cannot deny that. Lady Laurie. St. Peter, in making his glorious con- fession of faith, was the spokesman for his brethren. He answered for them all when replying to the question, "Whom say ye that I am?" From other parts of Scripture we see that the foundation, the first part built of the Church, was not merely one but all of the twelve. Thus in Ephesians ii. 20 occurs this striking- text in relation to the early Christians, " Built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief corner stone." In Revelation xxi. 14 we read of the heavenly Jerusalem, "The wall of the city had twelve foundations, and in them the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb." There is no mention here of precedence given to any one apostle. I cannot forbear quoting one other most striking verse, which .shows that the real rock on which the Church stands, the real support of the whole building, is not apostle or prophet, but Christ Himself 1 Cor. iii. 11 -For other PETER'S CONFESSION. 123 foundation can no man lay titan that is laid, luhich is Jesus Christ. Clarence looked unusually thoughtful for a few moments, then observed, " Granted that what you say is true, still those to whom St. Peter's power has descended must occupy a very high position in the Church." Lady L. Your observation, my young friend, brings us to the fourth question : Had St. Peter's position the slightest connection with that of the popes of Rome ? Where is there a word in the Bible to show that the apostle's special powers descended to any one on earth. No priest, bi.shop, or pope dares to lay claim to power to raise the dead. No one now could change, as did the apostles, the day on which to keep holy the Sabbath. No one's letters could now be added to the Bible as a portion of the inspired word of God. It has been re- marked that the apostles had in such matters something resembling a life-peerage. These powers died with those who were chosen to be the first stones laid in the Church. Harold. No one now is allowed to strike an offender dead for lying. Clarence. Popes now have the weapons of excommuni- cation and spiritual censure, though they cannot do all that St. Peter, the first Pope of Rome, did. Lady L. Forgive me for saying that there is not the slightest foundation on which to rest the belief that St. 124 PETER'S CONFESSION. Peter was ever a pope. It is even doubtful whether he ever visited Rome, though it is probalile that he did so. Let me read to you again from this Httle book : — " We can be quite sure that there is no truth in the story of St. Peter being Pope of Rome from a.d. 42 to A.D. 47, for his imprisonment at Jerusalem by Herod must have been in A.D. 44, as that is the year of Herod's death, mentioned in the same chapter of the Acts as hap- pening shortly after. And St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans was written about a.d. 58, and not only says nothing about St. Peter being at Rome, but uses language which must mean that no apostle had ever been there, and that he himself would be the first to do the special work of an apostle in that city. And when he did reach it, the Jews of Rome told him that they knew nothing about the new Christian sect — clearly an iinpossihle matter if St. Peter had been working amongst them for twenty- one years. Further ; four, if not five, of St. Paul's epistles were written from Rome, and come down to the very eve of his martyrdom, but there is not a hint about St. Peter in any of them. Thus there is no certainty that St. Peter was even so much as in Rome, though this is rather more probable than not. There is no sugges- tion that he was Bishop of Rome (except in one work rejected by the Church of Rome as a heretical forgery) mitil the middle of the third century, nearly two hundred years later than the asserted fact, and there- PETER'S CONFESSION. 125 fore of no value as evidence, while actually contradicting the earliest extant statement, that of St. Iren?eus (a.d. 202), who tells us that Linus was first Bishop of Rome, appointed by St. Peter and St. Paul jointly. And not the smallest scrap of evidence is producible to show that St. Peter made any grant of his privilege to the bishops of Rome, or that any one thought that he did, till the story was invented some centuries after his death, by Roman writers." Clarence. These views seem to make all that we Catholics believe regarding the pope melt away like the procession in the dissolving views, or the famous Rus- sian palace built of ice. Lady L. Because the ponderous structure which inter- ested monks have built, not on the w^ords of Scripture, but the credulity of men, cannot bear the warm, search- ing beams of truth. But we must now close our books ; our reading has been much longer than usual, and Robin has fallen asleep. Let us now pray that God may make His own light shine around us, so that we may never be suffered to believe in a lie, or to rest our hopes of salvation on anything short of the merits and death of our spotless Redeemer. CHAPTER XIIL PURGATORY. Lady Laurie did not allow her letters to bo delivered on Sundays, both to save the postman a lengthened walk, and also because she wished her own mind and the minds of her household to be undisturbed by earthly cares on the daj^ of rest. If any letters of special im- portance were expected, they could be sent for. On this Sunday Harold had offered to go to the post-office for Clarence, and Robin was delighted to accompany his brother. " The first good walk you and 1 will have had to- getlier for ever so long," the boy was saying to Harold, when Clarence joined them at the porch, and said, " I am impatient for news — it was thought that the crisis of my sister's illness was near — I will go with you." Clarence's eye was no longer bandaged, his pain was gone, and though some trace of his accident remained, it was evident that even that would soon disappear. His fear of lastins: disfijjurement was not to be realized. PURGATORY. 127 Lady Laurie delayed breakfast a little on account of the absence of the three boys. " I hope that to -day's post will put Clarence's mind quite at ease," observed Lady Laurie to Ida. " One has felt such sympathy for poor dear Clarence," said Ida. " Angelina is quite his favourite sister, and it would be so sad, so dreadfully sad, if she were to be taken away in her youth and beauty, and just before the time fixed on for her wedding !" Ida went to the window to look out for the return of the three who had gone to the post-office. " Here they are, mamma : they are all walking silently, and even Robin is looking so grave. Oh, can it be that bad news has come from the Castle !" Slowly the boys came up the shrubbery walk, and entered the porch. Lady Laurie and Ida went to meet them in the hall ; but Clarence passed them quickly without saying a word, and went straight upstairs to his room. Robin ran up to Lady Laurie, his eyes mois- tened with tears, for he had a very tender heart. " Mother — she's gone — she's dead ! " he exclaimed in a low, subdued voice. " I know no particulars," said Harold, in reply to a question from Ida. " Clarence read his own letter, turned pale, and just said, ' All is over !' I could not trouble him with inquiries — I hate to be talked to when I am in sorrow — so we just returned home directly." 128 PURGATORY. "Is not Clarence dreadfully cut up?" asked Ida, ready to shed tears of sympathy with the bereaved brother. " How can I tell ? — one cannot read a fellow's heart ; of course he feels his loss, perhaps all the more because he says little about it." The family had been seated but a few minutes at the breakfast-table, when, rather to their surprise, they were joined by Clarence. Lady Laurie had been preparing to take up his breakfast to him in his own room. Clar- ence looked quiet and grave, and was more silent than usual, but otherwise gave little outward sign of distress. His appetite did not appear to have greatly suffered. The family could not but contrast his composure with the agony of grief with which Harold had received, in the preceding year, false tidings of the death of his father. Clarence's nature w^as less sensitive than that of his friend, and his affections less deep ; but this was partly owing to the self-indulgent life which from in- fancy he had led, as the idol of a weak mother, and the only male scion of his generation in a family of high rank. Clarence's pride had been fostered : almost as soon as he could run alone, he had been taught to look upon himself as a personage of importance; and this had tended to form a crust of selfishness over a nature by no means devoid of good, and even noble qualities. The unstirred pool naturally becomes covered with a green, PURGATORY. 120 slimy mantle, which prevents its sparkling, as it would otherwise do, in the sun. Great expectations had been a disadvantage to Clarence St. Clare. Even Harold's eyes were now opening to this fact. He felt disap- pointed in his friend, and his spirit rebounded from unreasonable over-estimation to unreasonable deprecia- tion of St. Clare. Robin, who had never been particu- larly partial to his brother's comj)anion, but had watched him closely, thought to himself, " Clarence does not seem to feel half so sorry about his sister's dying as he did about the hurt to his eye. Harold would rather lose both his eyes than any one whom he loved." Clarence disappeared after breakfast, and conversation, which had been checked by his presence, resumed its usual flow. Robin went off" to his pigeons, for it was not yet time to start for church. " Mother, shall we sit together in the shrubbery, under the lilacs, and have a talk, as we used to have on Sun- day mornings ?" said Harold. The proposal greatly pleased Lady Laurie, as this was the first time since his return from the public school that Harold had sought a quiet conversation with his mother. Linking her arm in his, Lady Laurie went forth with Harold into the garden, bending her steps towards the seat half hidden by flowering shrubs which was the favourite retreat when any of the family wished to be alone. But Harold and his mother were not to (39) 9 130 PURGATORY. be alone; they found Clarence in the little verdant bower before them. " Oh, Lady Laurie, pray don't go away," exclaimed Clarence, hastily rising, as he saw her about to retreat. " I want — I much want to show you this miserable letter." Clarence spoke in an agitated tone, and there were now signs of emotion on his face. Lady Laurie sat down beside Clarence. Harold with- drew in silence, without requiring a hint to do so. Clar- ence had a letter open in his hand ; he placed it in that of Lady Laurie, with the words — " Read it to yourself, and then — then tell me what you think." Lady Laurie perused with interest the following letter, written in a hand that betrayed excitement and agitation, from Catherine St. Clare. In two places a word was blurred, as if by a tear falling upon it : — " Oh, what wretched news I have to give you : she is dead — dead. The frightful blow has fallen, and under circumstances that make it doubly terrible. I told you how much her mind wandered. Angy talked a good deal in delirium, and asked again and again for ' the book.' I knew not then what book she meant ; now I can guess but too well. A little before Angy left us she opened her eyes, and I saw that she could under- stand me ; all delirium was gone. ' Darling,' I said through my tears, ' you are very ill : I am sure that PURGATORY. 131 you would wish to confess, and receive absolution and the last rites of the Church.' I could hardly bring out the words, with those dear dying eyes fixed upon me. ' Father O'Brien has been telegraphed for again and again,' I continued. ' He is still detained by illness, but you will see some other priest. There is one now in the Castle ; would you not like him to come V " Angy shook her head ; I thought that she disliked the thought of confessing to a comparative stranger, and that she did not realize how little time there might be for delay. I told her of the precious relic, the piece of the true cross, which had been brought to the Castle ; but Angy did not seem to care even about this. I brought the crucifix which hangs opposite to her bed, and put it close to her lips ; but she did not kiss it. I thought of my own beautiful image of the Blessed Vir- gin, and brought it in haste from my room ; but Angy looked higher, as if she saw something above it. She said something faintly, so faintly that I could not tell what it was, till I stooped down and caught the words, ' only Jesus.' " ' Darling,' I said, ' do you wish to send any message to Clarence, or to Montague ?' Angy roused up a little at the name of her betrothed, and seemed as if strug- gling to speak, then with earnestness again uttered the two words, ' only Jesus' with such a wistful, yearning expression on her face, that I was cut to the heart. 132 PURGATORY. Presently I saw a change coming over her countenance like the shadow of death. I rushed into the next room to call our mother, who was snatching some sleep, being utterly exhausted. ' Mamma, mamma, come at once,' I cried ; ' I fear that our Angel is passing .away.' I re- turned to the sick-room, supporting poor mami:{ia, who had hardly power to walk. The first glance at the form on the bed showed me that all was over : Angy had departed in solitude, unconfessed, unabsolved, with- out extreme unction ! Oh, the agony of that moment ! " But my misery was increased when, with two nuns who had come to help in nursing, I prepared the bed for the laying out of the dear remains, and in doing so came upon a little book hidden under the pillow. I opened it and saw — a New Testament ! Our mother's maiden name was upon the title-page, and a date which showed that it had been given to lier when she was quite a little child. How such a dangerous book came into our poor Angy's possession I cannot imagine. It was marked, and double-marked too, in many places ; but of course I dared not read it. This discovery made me more wretched than anything else. Oh, if our poor sister's faith in holy Church had been shaken ! if there had been some secret reason for her fearing to confess to a priest ! It is too dreadful — too dreadful to think of ! Perhaps at this moment our darlino- is endurins' the torment of purgatorial fires ! But she shall not suffer PURGATORY. 133 long if my prayers to the Blessed Virgin, my tears, my fasts, can shorten the time. I am resolved to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of our Lady of Loretto. — Your disconsolate sister, C. St. C. " P.8. — Poor mamma is in a terrible state. She has taken it into her head that Angy's death, as well as the deaths of two baby-brothers of ours many years ago, is a punishment for her sins. She is almost wild with grief. I said to her a little while ago, ' Of course Clarence will come home for the funeral.' Mamma replied, sob- bing, ' Do not urge him to do so ; he might take the infection. I have lost three of my children by small- pox ; Clarence is my only son left. But oh, how my heart yearns to see him !' I give mamma's words just as she spoke them. You must judge if it would be well to run the risk — no great risk now, alas !" Lady Laurie with some difficulty read the long epistle, especially parts which were crossed. Clarence had not at first perused nearly all of it ; he had seen in the first page that he had lost his sister, and had shrunk from reading all the painful particulars till he could do so quietly in the garden. " Lady Laurie, tell me, do yow think that my good, beautiful sister is in purgatory now ?" said Clarence, with stronger emotion than he had hitherto betrayed. 134 PURGATORY. " I do not believe in purgatory," was the lady's quiet reply. "You astonish me!" cried Clarence. "Was not that terrible parable of the rich man being in torment read yesterday at morning prayer ?" " The Romanist idea of purgatory is of a place where souls are purged, purified by penal sufferings. Where do you gather from the parable that the miserable Dives was only enduring pain for a time, that his pain would purge away his sins, and that after he had suffered enough he would be received into bliss ?" "There is nothing to make us think that," replied Clarence, after pausing a moment in thought. " But it seems to go to reason that there are a great many Chris- tians not good enough to go to paradise yet, and yet they are not bad enough for hell. They must need a place for purging." " And so you think that the sacrifice of the Lord Christ was not sufficient to save all who are in Him ?" asked Lady Laurie. " Do you not see that the doctrine of purgatory disparages the Saviour's work, and contra- dicts His own blessed words ?" " I do not see that," replied Clarence. "Christ cried on the cross. It is finished. The monk says, ' The work of salvation was not finished ; our suf- ferings must be added to those of Christ.' The scrip- ture declares that there is therefore now no condemna- PURGATORY. 135 tion to them luhick are in Cltvlst Jesus (Rom. viii. 1). The monk says there is condemnation to purgatorial fires. God's Word declares that the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth from all sin (1 John i. 7). ' No/ says the monk ; ' not from all.' I could give you many more quotations to show that whom the Lord saves He saves freely, fully, that the Christian may cry with Hezekiah, Thou, hast cast my sins behind Thy bach.'' "Then, according to this comfortable doctrine," said Clarence, " people once baptized may live as they please ; there is no punishment after death." " There is eternal punishment for the impenitent," said Lady Laurie sadly. " The promises of pardon, sal- vation, and glory, are to those who are in Christ, and those only, those ivho walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit (Rom. viii. 4). There are very solemn warn- ings in Scripture to nominal Christians, who choose to live for self and sin, and rest their vain hope on the fact that they have been baptized. // any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His (Rom. viii. 9). We must live in Christ if we would die in Christ. If we are washed, we must be sanctified also." " I am sure that Angelina deserved heaven if any of us do," said Clarence, who felt uncomfortably aware that he himself was not " living in Christ." " Deserts we have none to entitle us to heaven," said his friend. " But your sweet sister seems to have de- 136 PURGATORY. parted in faith, looking to Jesus, and to Jesus only. I doubt not but that, washed in His blood, she is now rejoicing in His presence." " If the doctrine of purgatory be a lie, how shame- fully have we been deceived — and cheated too !" cried Clarence with bitterness. " My poor father for the last year of his life lived in perpetual dread of purgatorial pains, and paid well beforehand to escape them. But is not the belief in purgatory very ancient indeed ?" " Very ancient," replied Lady Laurie ; " older than even the Acts of the Apostles. It is an old pagan fahle, referred to by classic writers. But into the Chris- tian Church it was first introduced by Origen, A.D, 230. His views were condemned by the Council of Constan- tinople, A.D. 553. But it is not at all difficult to ima- gine why such a doctrine should again be revived." " Not difficult at all," said Clarence gloomily. " Be- lief in that doctrine has built many a cathedral, and founded many an abbey." The conversation was here interrupted by the sound of the church bells summoning to morning service. Lady Laurie left Clarence to his reflections. They were pain- ful enough. The most painful was not any doubt as to the safety of his sister's soul, but as to that of his own. Clarence was not a saint, and he knew it. If Lady Laurie's views were correct, and all were founded on Scripture, a youth leading a careless, self-indulgent life, PURGATORY. 137 was in clanger of something worse even than purgatory, something from which no offerings could buy him out, no prayers for the dead could save him. To get rid of such depressing thoughts, Clarence, as soon as the family had started for church, went to the bookcase. As his eye was still weak, he chose out a volume in large, bold type, apparently as full of pictures as it was of stories, Harold had avoided reading from it to his guest, lest it should give offence, for the volume was Fox's " Book of Martyrs." Clarence reclined on the sofa and read till his cheek flushed, and all that was generous and noble in his nature recoiled from the story of tyranny and cruelty — the story of how the Romish Church estab- lished her power by blood and fire ; how she committed to the flames both the Word of God and the living- bodies of multitudes of those v/hose only crime was that they loved and obeyed it. Clarence read of the horrors of Smithfield, and his soul sickened over the record. He closed the volume at length with the indignant ex- clamation, " Is it to such a Church as this that we are told to yield blind obedience !" Clarence put the volume back in its place, that it might not be noticed that he had read it. He paced the shrubbery walk rapidly, as if quickness of motion could give relief from painful thought. Clarence then re-read Catherine's letter, especially pondering over the postscript. His repugnance to returning now to the 138 PURGATORY. Castle was greatly increased by the ehano-e in many of his views regarding the religion in which he had been brought up. " I can't play the hypocrite !" he muttered. " It would be intolerable to me in my present state of mind to join in monkish mummeries ; to pretend to be pray- ing for the salvation of one whom from my soul I be- lieve to be saved ; to prostrate myself before what I begin to look upon as an idol, and kiss a bit of wood which has been consecrated by a lie ! And Catherine would watch me closely ; I should be certain to come into collision with her on some question which she would consider vital. Catherine would be indignant if I did not join in her penances and prayers, and esteem me unnatural and heartless if I did but take my usual food ! No, no ; I could not return to the Castle now. And yet when I think of my poor, poor mother, I feel as if I must go." Here Clarence's reflections were interrupted by the return of the family from church. Miss Petty had joined Lady Laurie at the church- door, lying in wait for her as she came out. Very little to the satisfaction of the lady, who liked to deepen any impression left on the minds of her children by the sermon, by conversation on its subject during the home- ward walk. Miss Petty had joined herself to the Laurie party, accompanying them all the way to the Lodge. Of course she knew of the death of Miss St. Clare, for PURGATORY. 139 Miss Petty prided herself on always being the first to receive any piece of news ; but she was thirsting for particulars. " You must have heard how the dear creature died ; I long to hear all about it !" cried Miss Petty, eager curiosity in her small keen eyes. " I suppose that the Castle was full of priests, nuns, cardinals, and the rest ; and that the poor soul had confession and absolution, extreme unction, and no one knows what." Miss Petty peered into Lady Laurie's grave face, as if to read an answer there. " I believe that Miss St. Clare died like a Christian," was Lady Laurie's guarded reply. " Oh, but do tell me all about it ! Was her brother very much cut up by the news ; or did he keep that cold, proud look, which is really quite forbidding ? Did his mother, Lady Reginald, write, or his sister?" And so flowed on the stream of idle questions, which made Lady Laurie quicken her pace a little, though Miss Petty was evidently inclined to linger on her way. Even this forward woman had not the courage to force herself again into the presence of Clarence ; in a dis- satisfied state of mind she had to leave the Lauries at the porch of Willow dale Lodge. During afternoon service Clarence was once more left alone ; and again, by a kind of fascination, he was drawn to read the " Book of Martyrs." 140 PURGATORY. " How boldly those heretics, men and women too, faced death .' " said St. Clare to himself, as he replaced the volume on its shelf. " To me death seems a black, horrible thing ; and all the more so since I have come to this dreary Willowdale Lodge. Formerly I never let my thoughts dwell much upon it. There would be everything to force the hateful subject on my mind at the Castle now. I remember my father's funeral. Black hangings, nodding plumes, dreary chants for the dead, mourners swathed in crape. Oh, what a contrast the coming funeral will be to the gay bridal which we were expecting ! Then, if I were to catch the small- pox infection ! I am not so fit to die as was our poor Angelina. ' No saint then no Christian,' says Lady Laurie ; at least that seemed to be her meaning." Clar- ence heaved a weary sigh. " I am utterly tired of this lonesome country place, where one has so much time for thinking, and thinking is so painful. I shall run up to-morrow to London, and see about suitable mourning. I could not, of course, go to any place of amusement at present, and shall certainly keep at a safe distance from Leadenhall Street and my uncle Cobbs. I think that I shall take a day-ticket, and return in the evening." CHAPTER XIV. ST. Peter's presumption. The family reassembled at sunset. Lady L. We have now come to a portion of Scrip- ture which proves that St. Peter was assuredly not in- fallible. It is probable that the apostle was somewhat puffed up by the loving praise which he had received from his Master. Peter felt that to him was assigned a post of peculiar honour and trust. He, the simple fisherman of Bethsaida, was to be one of the strong stones on which should rest the edifice of that Church against which the gates of hell should never prevail. Peter, the stone, must have gloried in the name propheti- cally bestowed on him by Christ, the Son of the Blessed. Let us now read from the sixteenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, beginning at the twenty-first verse. reading. " From that time forth began Jesus to shew unto His disciples, how that He must go unto Jerusalem, and 142 ST. PETER'S PRESUMPTION. suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day." Lady L. Notice how tenderly the Lord breaks to His disciples the terrible truth. His coming fate is not at once revealed in all its horrors. The Lord mentions, indeed, his approaching death by violence, but its being on a cross is not yet disclosed. It was later on, when the fatal journey to Jerusalem was actually about to be undertaken, that the destined Victim described the scourging and spitting, the shame and agony which He was about to endure. But the prophecy, even in its milder form, was more than St. Peter could bear. READING. " Then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him, saying. Be it far from Thee, Lord : this shall not be unto Thee." Lady L. The marginal reading of St. Peter's exclama- tion is, " Pity Thyself." The more exact translation, I have heard, is, " God be merciful to Thee !" It was a cry bursting from a loving heart, wrung at the thought of the coming death of a Master so dear. Rohin. But was it wrong in St. Peter to cry out so ? It was so very natural that he should not like his dear Master to die. Lady L. It was natural, Robin; but the exclamation showed want of faith, not only in the words of Christ, ST. PETER REBUKED. ST. PETER'S PRESUMPTION. 143 but in the prophecies in Scripture regarding His death. Let me read what St. Peter himself wrote, when he was more fully enlightened, and better understood what had been predicted of old. READING. " Of which salvation the prophets have enquired and searched diligently, who prophesied of the grace that should come unto you : searching what, or what manner of time, the Spirit of Christ which was in them did signify, ivhen it testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should follow" (1 Peter i. 10, 11). Ida. If St. Peter remembered these prophecies, he certainly showed a great want of submission to God's will. Lady L. And a presumption which called forth the sternest rebuke given by the meek and lowly Saviour to any of His disciples. READING. " But He turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind Me, Satan : thou art an offence unto Me : for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men." Robin. How dreadful it was to be called a devil by the Lord ! Lady L. Christ's expression would hardly convey so 144 ST. PETER'S PRESUMPTION. hard a meaning, dear Robin. " Satan " signifies an ad- versary. The Lord meant that Peter was acting the part of an adversary ; trying, just as Satan had done before, to tempt Him to leave the path of duty. Harold. And what did Christ mean by an offence ? Lady L. A " stumbling-block," as the words are more literally translated. Here was probably a reference to the name, the honourable name, which the Lord had bestowed on St. Peter. He was a stone, a foundation- stone. But if such a stone be out of its place — if it be laid in the path, instead of in the position designed for it by the builder — it becomes a stone of stumbling. Peter was utterly out of his place when he dared to rebuke his Lord, and oppose himself to the counsels of the Most High. Ida. With what mortification and shame must the poor apostle have retired amongst his companions, after receiving such a rebuke ! Lady L. We may believe that St. Peter was in a more suitable frame of mind to receive the solemn words of instruction which followed, words which should sink down deeply in the hearts of us all. READING. " Then said Jesus unto His disciples, If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me." ST. PETER'S presumption: 145 Clarence. What do you think is meant by taking up the cross ? I know well enough what Catherine thinks, and what many of her favourite saints have thought. Taking up the cross is leaving the world altogether, going barefoot on long pilgrimages, wearing sackcloth next the skin, using a scourge, observing long silence, fasting almost to the point of starvation. I see no signs of such austerities in this house ; you Protestants seem to think it no sin to be comfortable, no crime to be cheerful. Lady Laurie, what is it to take up the cross ? Lady L. Resolutely, habitually, and prayerfully to prefer God's ivill to our oivn ; in little things as well as in great things to seek to follow in the footsteps of Christ. We are not to make our oiun crosses — this is the ascetic's idea — but humbly to take up whatever cross our God may appoint. In the case of those to whom the Lord spoke, and in the case of many disciples now, to do this may involve the sacrifice of ease, com- fort, family ties, nay, sometimes of liberty and life itself. But be the cross light or heavy, visible or invisible to bystanders, it must be taken up by the Christian. " Thy will, not mine," must be his motto ; for Faith assures him that what Infinite Wisdom wills must be wise, what Infinite Goodness commands must be good. There was a little pause in the conversation, and then Robin observed with a little sio-h, — " I once did wrons; just like Peter." (39) 10 146 ST. PETER'S PRESUMPTION. Clarence. When was that, little man ? Robin. It was when father first told us that he was going back to India, the very place where cruel men wanted to kill him, and nearly did. I begged, and cried, and prayed father not to go back till we — or at least Harold, who is so strong — should be old enough to go out and take care of him. I held father's arm tightly, and said that he must not go, or our hearts would break. Father did not say, " Get thee behind me !" but he said sadly, " My child, you distress me." Then I stopped begging, but I did not stop crying. I did not say, " God's will be done," though I knew that it was God's will that father should go and preach to the poor Hindoos. Lady L. Oh, how often is the selfish love of relatives a stumbling-block in the way of those who would con- secrate themselves to the work of the Lord ! Robin. Mother, if Harold and I wished to go out as missionaries, would you give us leave to go ? " Yes, my dear boy," was the reply. Robin looked earnestly into the lady's face, and laid his little sun-burned hand on hers as he said, " Even if you knew that we should be martyrs would you give leave ?" The tears rose to Lady Laurie's eyes as she looked down fondly on her Robin, but " Yes, my dear boy," was again the reply. ST. PETER'S PRESUMPTION. 147 Here the evening meeting closed with prayer. Lady Laurie had purposely made it short, for she felt intui- tively that her words had given pain. She avoided looking at Harold. It was true that Harold had felt pain, for a very sensitive point in his conscience had been touched. Not a year had elapsed since, as has been mentioned, he had joyfully, with all the zeal of a young crusader, resolved to take up the missionary's cross. It seemed to him then that the Master Himself had called him to do so, and had even given to him a pledge of future success in the conversion of the Hindoo Prem Das. But of late Harold's thoughts and desires had been turned into a different channel. A passion for military glory had taken possession of his proud, impetuous nature. Harold longed to emulate the heroes whose exploits were thrilling the heart of England — those who, in the dark Mutiny days, had stood in the breach, had fought, had conquered, had bled ! Harold would not be " only a missionary." Clarence had told his friend that he had no doubt that through the Framling- ham interest a cadetship could be procured (those were the days when the East India Company dispensed such nominations). " And if you once get into the saddle," said Clarence to Harold, " you're not the one to draw rein till you reach such a goal as Lawrence, Havelock, or Outram have gained. We'll see you Sir Harold 148 ST. PETER'S PRESUMPTION: Hartley, with half-a-dozen medals on your breast, the Victoria Cross amongst them," If the subject of taking up the Christian's cross had pained Harold, it had also left an uncomfortable feeling in the mind of his friend. Clarence had never taken up such a cross during the whole of his easy, self-in- dulgent life. He had, indeed, when at the Castle, abstained from eating meat on Fridays ; but this was merely to avoid giving offence to his family, and espe- cially to his sister Catherine, of whom, though he would not have owned it, Clarence stood a little in awe. Clar- ence had made up for the loss of the meat by taking an extra quantity of lighter dainties. But now a very practical way of taking up the cross was full in his view. " Perhaps," he reflected to himself, " taking up the cross means my going to the Castle, now the most gloomy, miserable place in the world, with the brightest one of the family lying dead in her coflBn, and the air poisoned with infection. It is certainly not my will to go there. This place is dull enough as regards amuse- ment ; but here is no gloom, no confessional, no pen- ance ; no need to watch half the night and weep half the day, or be thought a monster or a heretic ! Yet my poor mother is yearning to see me ! She won't find much comfort in Catherine, even if my sister does not hurry off to Loretto. Ought I to go home at once ? I'll talk to Harold about it." CHAPTER XV. OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. After the family circle had broken up for the night, Clarence drew Harold into his room with the words, " I want to consult you, Hartley." When the door had been closed, and the two friends had sat down, Clarence continued : " You know that I am going up to town by the early train. I can come back by the afternoon one, for except going to the tailor, I've nothing to do in London. But read this." Clarence placed Catherine's postscript in Harold's hand ; it chanced to be written on a different sheet from the rest of the letter. Harold read it with a strong feeling of sympathy for the mourners in the Castle. " Now, if you were in my place, what would you do ?" asked Clarence. "Do!" exclaimed Harold, surprised at the question; " of course I'd be off to my mother at once." " Oh, you're such an impetuous fellow, you never look at both sides of the question," said Clarence, a little 150 OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. annoyed at a reply so prompt and decided. " You see there's some risk." "Who cares for risk at such a time!" cried Harold, the expression on his face giving more force to his words. " I've not only myself to consider," said Clarence, who was not aware that he was, in fact, only consulting his own safety and ease. " I am not in a position to justify my running any unnecessary risk. I am (after my sickly uncle) the only male in the family. If anything happened to me, why, — the title would drop, the Fram- lingham estates revert to the Crown." "You are desperately far-sighted and prudent," ob- served Harold, with something approaching to a sneer. " I don't think I should go," said Clarence. " Then why do you consult me if you've made up your mind ?" cried Harold. " I've not made up my mind," replied Clarence fret- fully. " I don't know whether I shall return here in the afternoon, or go on to the Castle." " You'll do just as you like," said Harold ; and with a cold " good night," he quitted St. Clare's apartment, muttering to himself, " Weak, vacillating, heartless," as he mounted the attic stair. Though Harold came down early on the Monday morning to accompany Clarence to the station, there was no cordiality between the two school-fellows who had OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. 151 been lately such intimate friends ; and this was noticed by Ida, as she was wrapping up some delicately-prepared sandwiches in pink paper for the breakfast of the de- parting guest. The train started so early that Harold returned be- fore morning prayers. He found only Ida in the room. " Is Clarence coming back to-day ? " asked the young- girl with interest. " I don't know, and I don't care," replied Harold, throwing himself on a chair. " Harold, how changeable you are ! A few days ago you thought no one like Clarence St. Clare," said Ida, with something like anger, " and now you are unkind to your friend. You don't seem to feel for him in the least." " He feels so much for himself, that it would be waste of sympathy to make myself uneasy about him," was the sarcastic reply. " You're ungenerous and unjust to Clarence," began Ida, with heightened colour and indignant eyes. Had not Lady Laurie, happily, entered with Robin at that moment, there might have been very sharp words ex- changed. The last sentence which she heard as she opened the door annoyed Lady Laurie not a little. She did not care to have Ida appearing as the champion of St. Clare, and secretly hoped that he would not return, or that the post might bring a favourable answer from 152 OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. Mrs. Elvvyn. The post, when it came in, however, brought nothing but a note very deeply bordered with black for Clarence. " Mrs. Elwyn must be absent from home," thought the lady. The annoyance of Lady Laurie would have been in- creased could she have heard the gossiping conversation going on at the breakfast-table at Copley House. The little circle there consisted but of the portly school- master Dr. Bullen, his thin prim-looking wife, and Miss Petty, elaborately dressed ; for her salary, as the humble companion of a retired milliner, was partly paid in cast- off finery. " I was at the station early," said Miss Petty, who usually took up more than three-fourths of the conver- sation, especially when the schoolmaster was engaged with eggs and grilled bacon. " I often take my early walk in that direction. One likes to know who's going and coming, though in this deadly-lively place there's seldom a new face to be seen. It will be different at the coming election ; I guess you'll be gay enough then. But to return to what I saw to-day at the station. There I saw the duke-to-be, and Harold Hartley — only the former took a ticket for London. Harold touched his cap when he caught sight of me; but the ill-mannered peacock turned away without vouchsafing so much as a look." '• Young St. Clare has just lost his sister," observed OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. 153 Mrs. Bullen, " and probably wished to avoid seeing strangers." " Oh, that may be a present excuse," said Miss Petty, " but he had none for his former way of treating a lady." " I suppose that St. Clare is leaving Foreham for good," remarked the doctor. " The Lauries will hardly let him go so soon ; and I noticed that he had not his portmanteau with him," said the observant Miss Petty. " Mr. Clarence St. Clare is a mighty favourite at Willowdale Lodge. When I joined the Lauries yesterday on their way back from church, I did but remark in a kindly way (it was right, I felt, to give a word of warning), ' Take care ; Harold's school-fellow is a Papist, I fear,' when Miss Ida took on herself to say quite sharply, ' Mr. St. Clare never ob- trudes his religion on any one, nor his advice either — unasked !' She's a pert young minx, is Ida." " She's a remarkably pretty one," remarked the doctor. " Ida is almost as tall now as her mother, and promises to be as lovely." " / don't see it," said Miss Petty, stirring her tea vigorously, as if the sugar refused to be melted. " But she thinks herself pretty ; there's no doubt about that. You must have noticed how careful Miss Ida has lately grown about her dress, and she gives herself fine-lady airs. Depend on't, the girl practises for an hour before 154 OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. the looking-glass, and fancies how Leconiing a duchess's coronet would look on her flaxen hair. But she'll never wear one," continued the gossip with a malicious little laugh. " Young dukes look rather higher." " And Lady Laurie would never permit any connec- tion with a Romanist family," observed Mrs. Bullen, " she is so clear in her Protestant views." " Then why does she allow a Papist sprig of quality to stay in her house ?" said Miss Petty with a smile which bordered on a sneer. " Lady Laurie is the best of women, and my very particular friend ; but it is won- derful to see how elastic even good people's consciences grow. This Clarence's own mother belonged to the stanchest of Protestant families ; but when Lord Regi- nald, next heir to a dukedom and a fabulous fortune, cam-e into the field, pretty Miss Cobbs found out sud- denly that the Pope was the greatest saint alive, and changed her religion as easily as I would change my shoes ! But she missed her mark, for Lord Reginald, strong as he was, was taken before his elder brother ; and the duke, who has been dying by inches for twenty years, may in very spite live on for twenty more. ' It's ill standing in dead men's shoes.' " But why put down more of a conversation so full of gossip and malice ? Would that such were never heard in professedly Christian circles ! Would that those who speak behind their neighbours' l)acks what they would OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. 155 not dare to say before their faces, would remember that not only for oaths and curses, but for silly, idle words of gossip, men and women must give an account at the judgment-day. Clarence's movements, except perhaps with a silly girl, were not the uppermost subject of interest at Wil- lowdale Lodge. The thoughts of the family often turned towards India, and poor Prem Das was remembered in daily prayer. Robin thought it very hard to have to wait till the following Saturday before he could hear again, A week is a very long space of time to the mind of an eager child. But to Robin this Monday was the happiest day which he had spent since Harold's return from school, for he scarcely quitted the side of his brother. Harold contrasted the frank spirit, the loving nature of the boy, with what he considered to be the calculating coldness, almost amounting to cowardice, of one whom he had once proudly called his friend. But Harold, in his hasty judgment, was somewhat unjust to Clarence St. Clare. Young Hartley would have been less severe upon his school-companion had he known all the reasons for Clarence's aversion to returning to his home. There was in the youth's spirit an honourable shrinking from playing the hypocrite. Since commg to Willowdale Lodge, Clarence's faitli in the Church of Rome had been greatly shaken. He had seen her doc- trines contrasted with those tausht in the written Word 156 OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. of God, he had read an account of the martyrdoms of those who had dared to oppose her, and a deep and painful impression had been left on his mind. Clarence knew that he was no longer what his family believed and wished him to be ; he could not but be aware that his opinions now widely differed from those professed in the Castle. To hide the change which he had under- gone would be rank hjrpocrisy ; to avow it at such a time would be to bring confusion and discord into the house of mourning, and to make his mother more wretched by dissensions between her two surviving children than from her sorrow for the departed. In addition to these reasons for delaying his return home, Clarence had that of not feeling himself at all ready to take an open, decided part. He had not the strength, or rather the grace, for so painful a struggle. Clarence was not armed for the battle, and therefore felt it wiser to keep out of the field. It is possible that under the same circumstances even Harold might have done the same. How often we would judge others more tenderly if we had more perfect knowledge of the secret springs by which they are moved ! All speculations as to whether Clarence would or would not return on that Monday evening were removed by his reappearance at Willowdale Lodge. He looked heated, tired, and thorouglily out of spirits. " The noise, heat, and bustle of London are intoler- OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. 157 able ! " Clarence exclaimed, wearily throwing himself on a chair. "Any letters for me ?" The letter which had come by post was placed in his hand. It was from Catherine St. Clair, and enclosed a few lines from her mother. Clarence read the latter first, his brows knit with an expression of pain. " It will be on Friday," he said with a sigh. Then, as Clarence read the letter from Catherine, the look of sorrow darkened into one of displeasure. It was evi- dent, even to Robin, that Clarence did not like its con- tents. Of course no questions were asked, but the reader may know what was in the letter though the Willow- dale family did not. The part on which Clarence's eyes rested longest was as follows : — " You know that by our father's will the portion of either of his daughters who might die unmarried must go to the other, the son's prospects being so brilliant that he would require nothing. I have solemnly vowed not myself to touch a shilling of what has come to me in a way so unspeakably sad. All shall be sent to Rome, to be devoted to sacred uses, that so the soul of my poor lost sister may be delivered from purgatorial pains." " Brilliant prospects indeed!" thought Clarence bitterly. " If things go on as they are doing, in another year's time / shall not have one shilling to rub against another, whilst Catherine, to feed fat monks, is depriving herself 158 OF THE EARTH, EARTHLY. of the means of helping her only brother. Not that 1 would endure to be dependent on her, or a drag on my mother." It was a relief to the harassed lad to be carried for a while from perplexing doubts and worldly cares into the purer, holier atmosphere, which he seemed to breathe when the little family gathered round the table at sun- set, and the Bibles were opened. The noises, the dis- tractions of the world seemed shut out. The simplicity of the gospel contrasted with the complicated ritual of a religion which had overlaid truth with superstition. To Clarence, Christianity was beginning to appear like a tree, erect and fair, but overgrown and almost hidden under a huge creeper, whose blossoms breathed out the odour of idolatry, and whose fruit had the flavour of falsehood. CHAPTER XVI. THE TRANSFIGURATION. Lady L. We have come to a very interesting passage in the history of St. Peter ; but it is one in which we almost lose sight of the apostle in the transcendent glory of his Lord. In thought following the blessed Redeemer with Peter and his two friends, we ascend the holy mountain, to be by faith, as they were by sight, witnesses of Christ's transfiguration. Ida. I suppose that the exact mountain is known, and that generations after generations of pious people have made pilgrimages to the spot. Lady L. Mount Tabor was long supposed to be the actual scene of this wondrous event. Three churches and a monastery have been built on that mountain, and from east and west, north and south, pilgrims have resorted thither to prostrate themselves and adore the Saviour in the place where His form was glorified. But now very strong reasons are given for thinking that Tabor is not really the mountain where the transfigura- 160 THE TRANSFIGURATION. tion occurred. Tabor was most probably, when our Lord dwelt on earth, an inhabited and fortified hill. Josephus, the Jewish historian, wrote less than thirty years after the event of the strengthening of a fortress on Tabor. It is utterly unlikely that the Lord would choose for the scene of His transfiguration a spot where it might be witnessed by unbelieving Jews or idolatrous Roman soldiers. Harold. Unlikely indeed. Lady L. Besides, Mount Tabor is in Galilee, and St. Mark expressly tells us that the Lord did not pass through Galilee till after the wondrous event. Beauti- ful snow-capped Hermon, " the holy mount," is most probably the place where, for once upon earth, the Sav- iour was clothed with some of that glory which had been His before the foundation of the world. Robin. So the poor pilgrims who take such trouble to go to the other mount are all making a great mistake. Lady L. A mistake by no means confined to pilgrims to Tabor. It is almost certain that the world-famed Church of the Holy Sepulchre has been built on a wrong site. Thus countless offerings have been made, bitter sufferings endured, pilgrims have fainted and Crusaders have bled for a spot where the body of the blessed Saviour never did lie. Harold. The Greek and the Roman Churches have THE TRANSFIGURATION. 161 made a good many mistakes. It is not likely that God would suffer the real site of the Lord's sepulchre to be profaned by fierce squabbles between rival Churches, idolatry, and the false miracle of fire coming down from heaven. Ida glanced uneasily at Clarence, but he did not look angry at words which his confessor would have regarded as most heretical. He even remarked that he had felt it difficult to believe that the house in Loretto to which so many devotees made pilgrimages could be the iden- tical one in which the Virgin lived at Nazareth. Lady L. Let us now read the account of the Trans- figuration given by St. Mark. READING. "And after six days Jesus taketh with Him Peter, and James, and John, and leadeth them up into an high mountain apart by themselves : and He was transfigured before them. And His raiment became shining, exceed- ing white as snow ; so as no fuller on earth can white them. And there appeared unto them Elias with Moses : and they were talking with Jesus." Robin. I wish that St. Mark had told us what thej^ said. Lady L. The words spoken at that wondrous conver- sation are not recorded, but St. Luke tells us its subject. The glorified saints who were permitted thus to hold (39) 11 162 THE TEANSFIGUBATION. communion with the Lord " spake of His decease which He should accomplish at Jerusalem." Robin. And they did not say, " Be it far from Thee, Lord." Lady L. Oh, no ! Rather can we imagine these glori- fied saints, who were themselves only saved on account of the coming Sacrifice on Calvary, anticipating the song of the blessed, and crying, " O Thou Who hast loved us, and hast washed us from our sins in Thine own blood, unto Thee be praise, and honour, and glory, for ever and ever \ " Robin. But, mother, the Lord had not died then. How could He wash Moses and Elijah in His blood ? I thought that these prophets went to heaven because they were so good. Lady L. The prophets were saved by faith iii the great Sacrifice, just as you are or I, dear Robin. Robin. I do not understand that at all. Lady L. Can you not understand that if a man were about to be thrown into prison for debt, and I gave him a cheque on a banker to the amount of his debt, he would be set free in exactly the same way as if I had paid down the money in cash ? The man, and his creditor too, would believe that the cheque was sufficient, even if unaljlc to read it. Harold. But if the debtor did not believe, and threw your cheque away, he would be in exactly the same THE TRANSFIGURATION. 1()3 danger of being sent to prison as if he had never received your gift. Lady L. Do you quite understand this, Eobin ? Robin. No. I don't understand how the Lord could save people by His death before He died. Lady L. Do you not remember that many sacrifices were offered by holy men of old ? that such sacrifices were commanded by the law ? Can we imagine that the great God took pleasure in the slaughter of thou- sands of animals ? Nay. It is written in Hebrews x. : It is not iiossihle that the blood of bulls and of goats should take aicay sins. Wherefore, then, was it shed ? We find the answer in Scripture. The offerings before Christ's death were but shadows — types of the great Offering to come. They were as the cheque, which is in itself but paper, but becomes valuable as being a pledge or promise that money luill be paid. Do you understand me now ? Robin. I think that I do — a little. Abel was not saved because he killed a lamb, but because he believed that the creature was a sign that a Lamb of God would come upon earth to cleanse away sin. Lady L. Surely the mysterious conversation with Moses and Elias took place not merely to strengthen the faith of three apostles, but to refresh the spirit of the blessed Jesus in His path of suffering and woe. After enduring the mockery of enemies, the misapprehension 1(J4 THE TRANSFIGURATION. of friends, with the fearful cross ever in His view, how delightful to Him must have been those sacred moments spent on the mount with purified beings — the first- fruits, as it were, of the innumerable nmltitude which He should redeem by His blood ! Rohin. And how delightful to Moses and Elijah to be near the Lord ! Ida. Moses had prayed to see the Lord's glory, and was told that no man could see God's face and live. Moses had prayed to enter Canaan, and his prayer had seemed to be denied. Here, on the mount, the holy man had botli his prayers granted at once ; he saw the Lord's glory, he looked on Christ's face, and that in the very land which Moses had so longed to enter ! READING. '• And Peter answered and said to Jesus, Master, it is good for us to be here : and let us make three taber- nacles; one for Thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias. For he wist not what to say, for they were sore afraid." Ida. St. Luke writes something in addition. His Gospel tells us that Peter and the other disciples were heavy with sleep. How could they be sleepy at su€h a time ? Lady L. It is very easy to imagine that on the mount, as afterwards on a sadder occasion, the three dis- ciples fell asleep whilst the Saviour was praying; but THE TRANSFIGURATION. 165 now they were startled from their slumbers by a glorious light shining on their closed eyelids. They awoke, not to behold their Lord as a Man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, but as a Divine Being, clothed with majesty and mantled with glory. As the poet says — ■ " Whose native vesture bright Was the unapproached light, The sandal of whose feet the rapid hurricane." Robin. And that is how we shall see the Lord, mother, when the Lord comes again in the clouds. READING. " And there was a cloud that overshadowed them : and a voice came out of the cloud, saying. This is my be- loved Son : hear Him. And suddenly, when they had looked round about, they saw no man any more, save Jesus only with themselves." Lady L. In the last words read we sum up the special lesson taught by this wonderful scene. The apostles, as Jews, regarded their great lawgiver and their mighty prophet with the deepest reverence. They had looked up from childhood to Moses and Elijah as men specially appointed by God to teach and command His people. Peter's words may even seem to imply something of an equality between Christ, Moses, and Elijah, for whom three tabernacles should be built. But the voice which reached him from heaven spake not of three but of One, 1()G TllK TnANSFiaURATION. and that One in whose transcendent glory all other glory disappeared, as stars in the light of the sun. The law and the prophets were fulfilled in Jesus only. Moses and Elijah were servants of God; Christ is His eternal Son. Not to saints on earth or saints in heaven must we look for redemption, holiness, glory ; not to ancient types or to modern services — their only value is to fix our thoughts and our hearts on Jesus only ! " Jesus only !- — my sister's dying words," thought Clarence, as he sat silently shading his eyes with his hand. A deeper impression was made by the Bible- readino- that evenins^ on the mind of St. Clare than on that of any one else present, though the Hartleys imagined that he was hardly attending at all. But these words, Jesus only, remained ringing in the ears of Clarence, associated with the thought of the still, sad room, in which lay stretched the remains of the once lovely Angelina St. Clare. Her brother's last waking thought on that night was this, — " I am certain of her salvation ; would that I were equally certain of my own. Ange- lina rested her hopes on Jesus only." CHAPTER XVII. UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. A FEELING of coldness towards his former friend was increasing in the mind of Harold. Young Hartley had been disappointed in Clarence, and the feelings of a strong, vehement nature, when they strike against the wall of disappointment, are very liable to rebound. A short conversation held with Robin on the following morning made Harold bitterly regret that he had com- mitted the folly of bringing St. Clare to Willowdale Lodije. Robin came running up to his brother, who was engaged in reading a book. " Harold," he said, " I met Miss Petty and Mrs. Bullen when I was out before break- fast." " No very remarkable event," observed Harold smiling. " I suppose that you said ' Good morning,' and went on your way." " I am sure that I did not want to stop to say more," answered Robin ; " but Miss Petty just caught me, and 168 UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. wanted to say more tluin ' Good morning.' She had her eager, curious look — don't you know it ^ " " Rather too well," replied Harold, looking down acjain at his book. " What do you think Miss Petty said ? " " I really don't care to guess," replied Harold, without glancing up from his page. Miss Petty's conversation was hardly likely to be worth repeating, but Robin evidently wished to speak about it. " Miss Petty said, ' What is in all of your minds just now ? ' So I answered at once, ' Prem Dd,s,' for we are very anxious about him. Well, Miss Petty looked sur- prised, as if she did not consider the ' black nigger,' as she chooses to call him, worth thinking about at all. She asked another question directly, keeping her hand on my shoulder, so that I could not get away without being quite rude. She said, ' Why did the heir to the Fram- lingham dukedom come back yesterday to the Lodge ? ' " " And what did you say ? " asked Harold. " I should have liked to say, ' What is that to you ? ' but mother would not have thought that polite, so I an- swered, 'I suppose that he came back because he liked it.'" " ' And some one else liked it,' said Miss Petty ; and she laughed, though I did not think that there was anything funny to laugh at. Then I tried to get away, but she squeezed my shoulder, and would not let me go." Harold muttered something under his breath, which UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. 169 would not have gratitied Miss Petty could she have heard it. " What other impertinent questions did she ask ? " he said aloud. " I don't remember exactly, for I did not quite under- stand it, but it was something about Ida and Clarence sing- ing duets. Then Miss Petty went off to talk about fishing, and I do remember that, for it sounded so funny. She said, not to me but to Mrs. Bullen, ' They think they have got the big fish in their net.' So I cried, ' We don't fish with nets, we fish with a hook'; and then both the ladies burst out in fits of laughing, as if they had never heard of a fish-hook before. I did not quite like it, for they might be laughing at me ; so I pulled my- self away from Miss Petty 's hand, and ran home so fast that she could not catch me again. — Harold, are you angry ? " cried the boy, for he saw the brow of his brother darken. " Angry ! yes ; not with you, Robin, but with a med- dling, mischief -making woman, — and with myself." Har- old spoke in broken sentences, for he did not choose to betray to his little brother the cause of the annoyance which he showed. " Go to your pigeons, or the chickens, Robin. I'm not in a mood for chattinQ-. I would rather be left alone." Robin obeyed at once ; and Harold strode up and down the room in anything but an amiable temper of mind. 170 UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. " She'll make us the talk of all Foreham, and then carry her mischievous gossip to London. Why did I bring Clarence here ? and why does he stay here now where no one wants him, when his poor mother is yearning to see him? One can't just say to a fellow, 'Be off!' But I'll show him that / won't dance attendance upon him, just because he happens to be the heir to a duke- dom." Harold strode into the next room, where he knew that he should find Ida at her studies with Lady Laurie. " Mother, I'm off to Stanby Hall," he said abruptly. " I want to see the preparations for next Monday's election. Jack Palgrave asked me to go there, to be introduced to his uncle, our candidate, Sir Walter. It will be very amusing and exciting. I daresay that there will be capital speechifying, as a preparation for Monday, when all Foreham will be mad with the fun. They're beginning to put up the polling-booth here already." " Stanby Hall is a long way off — at least six miles from here," observed 'Lady Laurie in a by no means encouraging tone. " Six miles ! that's nothing. I would not mind six- teen ; and I'll have a good rest at the Hall. Don't wait dinner for me ; I'm sure to be a.sked to luncheon." " It is rather like deserting poor Clarence," observed Lady Laurie. " But for his recent bereavement he UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. 171 would doubtless have gone with you ; but he cannot join any party whilst his sister lies unburied." " I can't be tied to Clarence," replied Harold. " You yourself would not allow me last week to stay away from the Bullens' entertainment on his account." " The circumstances were quite different. Miss St. Clare was still living, and your old schoolmaster would have been hurt by your absence. No one will be so at Stanby Hall." " It would be quite unnatural to desert poor Clarence in his affliction," exclaimed Ida warmly. Her enthusiasm added strength to Harold's self-will. He looked upon Ida as a silly girl, whose vanity was giving some ground for a report which represented his unworldly mother and himself as mean, ambitious schemers. "His affliction !" he repeated satirically ; and then exclaimed in a louder tone, " Clarence loves no one on earth but himself." Harold saw a startled, shocked expression on the face of Ida, who chanced to be looking out of the window. " He's there, walking in the shrubbery. Oh, if he should have overheard these cruel words ! " she ex- claimed in accents of pain and reproach. Harold was a little vexed with himself, but muttered as he quitted the room, " It would do him no great harm to hear the truth for once." The few loudly-spoken words had indeed reached the 172 UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. car of Clarence, who, absorbed in painful thoughts, had unconsciously sauntered near the open window. He instantly walked in another direction, for he was far too honourable to play the eaves-dropper. The sentence startled him, like an unexpected slap on the face. Clar- ence had felt hurt and annoyed by Harold's manner on the preceding evening, and now he suddenly discovered why his former friend's enthusiastic affection for him had lately changed into coldness. " Clarence loves no one on earth but himself ! " Could the reproach be a just one ? St. Clare had never before seen himself, as it were, with the eyes of another person. He had been unconscious how his whole nature had been crusted over with the mould of selfishness, fostered by over-indul- gence at home, and the assurance which had been his from early childhood, that he was born to a high place amongst the nobility of England. A mirror had been unexpectedly held up before the eyes of Clarence, and he was mortified and pained by the reflection. " Can this be true ? Am I indeed a selfish being, caring for nothing but my own pleasure and self-grati- fication ? " thought Clarence, as he walked rapidly up and down a path at the end of the grounds the farthest from the house, " Harold, who shows such dutiful affection to one who, after all, is not his mother, is dis- gusted at my disregard of the wishes of mine. He thinks me cold-hearted because I have not mourned for my UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. 173 sister as he would have mourned had he been her only brother. There he goes, hurrying off to Stanby Hall, without so much as bidding me good-bye, or apologizing for leaving me alone. A week ago, Harold would have fired up at any insult addressed to me — I believe that he would have been ready to have defended my life at hazard of his own. I had not a warmer champion in the world ; indeed, Harold first made me know what it is to have a friend — I had only flatterers before. Does he care for me less because he knows me better, or is he simply fickle and changeable like the rest of the world ? " The bitter reflections had acted as a goad ; but now the pace of Clarence slackened, as his thoughts turned in another direction. " I have found myself here in such an utterly differ- ent atmosphere from that in which I have been brought up, that I feel as if I too were changing. I would leave this place if I could, but at present whither could I go ? I shrink from returning to the Castle ; Leaden- hall Street I abhor ; and I cannot throw myself into lively society while my poor darling Angelina is not even laid in the grave." Clarence found his eyes wet with unwonted tears. He felt more keenly at that moment than he had done on first receivincc the news of her death how much he had lost in his sister. " I will be in nobody's way to-daj^ I will take a 174 UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. book and shut myself up in n\y own room. 1 will write to my poor, dear mother, though I cannot, or rather will not, explain to her my chief reason for keep- ing away from the Castle." Clarence returned to the drawing-room. He knew that he should find it empty, for he had seen Lady Laurie, accompanied by Ida and Robin, start for cottage- visiting. St. Clare walked up to the bookcase to select a volume for readino-. Ag-ain he chose the illustrated book in bold type whose terrible stories had so fastened on his imagination. He carried the volume upstairs to his own room, for he did not choose to be seen reading Fox's " Book of Martyrs," a work assuredly condemned by the Pope and all the College of Cardinals. There was another large-type volume in Clarence's room, a New Testament, placed on the mantel-piece by Lady Laurie, not without silent prayer. Clarence had not yet opened the book, but on that day he did so. After writing an affectionate letter to his mother, Clarence read first from Fox's book, and then from the Word of God, till his eyes, still weak from the hurt inflicted by the bramble, became thoroughly tired. Then Clarence leant back on his chair and reflected. " Mother," said Robin, after his return from his walk, " what can have become of the big book with the pictures of martyrs ?" The boy's quick eye had detected the gap in the neat line of volumes. UNPLEASANT TRUTHS. 175 " I do not know where it is," replied Lady Laurie, " I am sure that it was in its place when I dusted the books before breakfast. Perhaps," she added with a smile, " our guest has carried it off." " Oh, mother," exclaimed Kobin joyfully, " if Clarence reads that, he can't be a Pope's man long. He'll be like dear Prem Das, and leave off bowing to images or praying to any one but God." After early dinner, Lady Laurie devoted herself to her young guest, after apologizing to him for having been away all the morning. " I did not find the time tedious," said Clarence. " I was rather surprised when I heard the dinner-bell ring." " You will have Harold back soon," said Robin. But Harold did not return soon. He was absent the whole of the day, and had not come back when the hour for the Bible-reading arrived. CHAPTER XVIII. TRIBUTE-MONEY. Lady L. Of the next occasion on which St. Peter took a prominent part we shall read in the seventeenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel. READING. " And when they were come to Capernaum, they that received tribute money came to Peter, and said. Doth not your Master pay tribute ? He saith, Yes. And when he was come into the house, Jesus prevented him, saying. What thinkest thou, Simon? of whom do the kings of the earth take custom or tribute ? of their own chil- dren, or of strangers ? Peter saith unto Him, Of strangers. Jesus saith unto him. Then are the children free." Ida. I do not quite understand this, mamma. I thouglit that the Lord commanded us to pay tribute to Csesar ; and when He gave a command, did He not also set an example ? Lady L. On the occasion of which we are reading TRIBUTE-MONEY. 177 there was no question raised about paying tribute to the Roman government ; the money was collected for the expenses of God's holy temple. From ancient times there had been a precedent of thus taking from every Jew who had reached the age of twenty a tax of half a shekel, about fifteen pence of our money, as a ransom for his soul. Whether rich or poor, the Jews all paid alike. Now cannot you see the force of the Saviour's question to Peter ? Rohin. I see it, mother. The Lord was God's own Son, who came to ransom every one, and did not need to be ransomed Himself, The temple was the house of the Lord's own Father. Lady L. And yet, though Christ needed not to pay the tax, He avoided the appearance of not being willing to give. But so poor, so very poor was He who had all the treasures of earth and heaven at His disposal, that. without working a miracle, He had not fifteen pence at His command. A miracle was required to pay even so trifling a sum. Let us continue to read the reply of the Lord to St. Peter. READING. " Notwithstanding, lest we should offend them, go thou to the sea, and cast an hook, and take up the fish that first cometh up ; and when thou hast opened his mouth, thou shalt find a piece of money : that take, and give unto them for Me and thee." (39) yy 178 TRIBUTE-MONEY. Clarence. This seems to me to be one of the most sin- gular of all the miracles recorded. Did Christ create the coin ? or if the fish had picked up one which had been accidentally dropped into the water, how was he made to bring it at the exact moment when Peter threw in his hook ? Lady L. If the first idea be correct, it would show the Lord's creative power ; if the second, it would prove His omniscience, His divine knowledge of what was passing even in the depths of the sea. The Lord was able then, as He is able now, to make all things work for good to them that love Him. Ida. But such miracles are never wrought now. Lady L. Not exactly the same kind of miracles as the one of which we have been reading ; and yet it is marvellous how God now providentially supplies the needs of His people. In thousands and thousands of instances saints have been fed in very unlikely ways. One instance of modern times recurs to my mind. If to Elijah help was sent by means of birds of the air, to St, Peter by means of a fish, the good missionary Krapf has his wants supplied by the means of a lion. Robin. Oh • please mother, tell us the story. Lady L. Dr. Krapf went to Africa to carry to its poor, ignorant, idolatrous natives the knowledge of sal- vation through Christ. Travelling in parts hitherto unexplored — desert wilds, and jungles never before TRIBUTE-MONEY. 179 trodden by white man's foot — the missionary was some- times in danger of dying of hunger. On one of Dr. Krapf's long journeys he found himself without food, and without any apparent means of procuring it. Rohin. I daresay that he prayed very hard to God, Give me tliis day my daily bread. Lady L. At a little distance from Dr. Krapf was a thicket, and above it he noticed birds flying up and down, as is the way with vultures if they see some car- cass below. The hungry missionary thought, " Perhaps some dead creature is lying there, which the birds see though I cannot ;" and he resolved to make his way to the spot, with a faint hope of finding something which he might himself be able to eat. As Dr. Krapf pro- ceeded, what a startling sight met his gaze ! Robin. What was it, mother, what was it ? Lady L. The footprints of a lion upon the earth ! Lda. What a thrill of horror that must have caused ! Did the poor missionary not turn and fly ? Robin. There would not be much use in flying from a lion ; he could go much faster than you could run, and spring upon you with a bound. It would be better to face him. Lady L. Yes, Robin, it is much better to face what comes against us, whether it be a danger or a doubt. Clarence was struck by the words " a danger or a doubt;" they often afterwards recurred to his mind. 180 TRIBUTE-MONEY. Rohin. Oh, please go on with the story. Did the missionary still try to get to the place where the birds were Hying up and down ? Lady L. He did, and he reached it too. There he beheld, not the fierce eyes of a lion glaring at him from behind a bush, but part of an antelope lying upon the ground. The lion had indeed been there, had seized and killed an antelope, and devoured half of his prey, then left the other half, which provided a plentiful meal for the weary missionary. Thus God spread a table in the wilderness for His faithful servant by means of a lion. Rohin. That is a capital story. I like it so much, because it is true. Idci. To return to St. Peter: do you think, mamma, that it was wrong in him to say at once that his Master would pay the half-shekel without first inquiring the will of Christ ? Lady L. I think that his doing so was another in- stance that shows us the quick, impetuous nature of the apostle, which led him on various occasions rather to act than to consider. The fisherman had a prompt hand, a warm heart, and a ready tongue, but appears to have been wanting in the power of calm reflection. Rohin. I like people who do things quickly, without always stopping to think. Lady L. But these are the people who often do what TRIBUTE-MONEY. 181 they have afterwards cause to regret. The character of St. Peter is a very instructive study, especially for im- petuous people like my own little boy. The quick, energetic Martha, received less praise from the Lord than the thoughtful Mary, who sat at Christ's feet, listened to His words, and treasured them in her heart. CHAPTER XIX. POLITICS. Harold did not come back from Stanby Hall till the stars were glimmering in the sky, and Lady Laurie was beginning to feel a little uneasy at his prolonged ab- sence. Hartley came home in almost boisterous spirits, full of the delightful and exciting day which he had spent at the Hall. He had been introduced to the can- didate, Sir Walter Palgrave, himself, and had been much taken with his noble appearance and the charm of his gracious manner. " We are all just mad for him," cried Harold with enthusiasm, "and I'm much mistaken if he does not carry all before him. We may have a hard tussle though, for great efforts are being made by the Reds, and they had it all their own way at the last election. But we'd no gallant Sir Walter then to hold the field." Robin, as usual, caught tlie infection of his brother's enthusiasm, and was as eager for the triumph of the POLITICS. 183 Blue over the Red as if he were as familiar with poli- tics as he was with pigeons. Harold monopolized almost all the conversation that evening. He described the scene at the luncheon table — the toasts, the vociferous cheering ; and when he told of an exciting speech made to the company by one of Sir Walter's supporters, Hartley sprang on a chair, and repeated it with animated gestures, stamping and wav- ing his arms, whilst Robin did the laughing and cheer- ing, drumming on the table with all his might. The Hartleys had the mirth and excitement pretty well to themselves. Lady Laurie looked a little anxious and uneasy ; Ida still kept her displeasure, and thought it very unseemly in Harold to be so noisy and gay in the presence of the bereaved St. Clare. Clarence him- self kept perfectly silent, shading his eyes with his hands, hardly conscious of what was passing around. " See Clarence's aristocratic pride ! " thought Harold. " He imagines that he will so soon be in the Upper House himself, that what concerns the Lower House of Parliament is scarcely worth his attention." Again Harold did Clarence injustice. The shadow of his loss was upon St. Clare, and the noisy mirth of the Hartleys jarred on his spirit. Besides this, Clar- ence was facing the doubt which perplexed him — doubt as to whether the religion which his forefathers had held, the faith in which his father had died, the creed in 184 POLITICS. which he had been brought up from childhood, were not a tissue of perilous errors. Clarence's mind was too much pre-occupicd by such thoughts to have much room for the politics of the day. Lady Laurie was not sorry when the hour came for the family to separate for the night. " I shall go canvassing Foreham to-morrow," said Harold, " and see whether I can't win a vote or two for Sir Walter. — Ida, I want you to make me a stunning blue bow out of some of your ribbon." " I shall certamly do no such thing ; your new friends may supply you," said Ida, as she quitted the room. After about quarter of an hour had elapsed. Lady Laurie went up the attic stairs as usual to bid Harold and Robin a second good-night. " I must tell Harold not to keep his little brother awake with his exciting talk about the election," said the lady to herself ; " it is not good for my Robin." But Harold was excited no longer. He had been sobered by reading, as was his wont, a portion of Scrip- ture before rctirint:; to rest. " Come in, mother," he said, at the sound of her well- known tap at the door. — " Now, Robin, go for two min- utes into the little room, for I've something to say to mother which I don't just want you to hear." The child instantly obeyed, and shut the door be- tween the rooms, though it left himself in darkness. POLITICS. 185 " For I've sharp ears, and might hear sometliing," he said to himself. Harold placed a chair for Lady- Laurie, and then seated himself on his bed. Lady Laurie felt intuitively that something like a confession was coming. " Mother," said Harold after a pause, " I don't like to hide anything from you. I have done what I know that you and my father would not have liked me to do. There was a great deal of drinking of healths at the Hall to-day ; the bottles went round very fast. I refused at first to take any wine, but every one said that I Tnust pledge Sir Walter in a bumper, and I did ; and — and my glass was filled up again. I didn't feel the worse for it, mother, only a little excited." " I suspected this," said Lady Laurie, not angrily, but with a soft sigh, which grieved Harold more than re- proachful words would have done. " I knew that it was wrong," said Harold ; " but I have never taken the pledge, so drinking was breaking- no promise." " I wish that you would take the pledge, and with- out delay," said Lady Laurie. " Next week will be a time of dangerous excitement. Would that any place but Foreham were to be the scene of the county elec- tion!" " Oh, mother, you would not really wish me to lose the only amusement and fun which I am likely to have 186 POLITICS. durintj the whole of the lone; vacation. But 1 will never drink anythinq; exciting again, you may trust me." " Do not trust yourself, Harold," said Lady Laurie earnestly. " Robin, you may come back again ! " called out Harold, who was desirous to close the conversation. Robin lost not a moment in availing himself of the permission ; he was longing not only to return to the light, but to talk. " Mother," said Robin, seating himself on the floor close by Lady Laurie's feet, " do you know what I heard this morning ? I wonder that I forgot to tell you about it when I came home, but Miss Petty 's funny talk about fishing put everything else out of my head. Sir Walter has hired the big public-house, the White Hart, for the time of the election, and all the voters — the Blues, I mean — may go and get refreshment, and have not a penny to pay ! Do you think that Sir Walter has told the landlord to give the people tea and coffee instead of beer and gin ?" Harold laughed. " Not a bad notion of yours, little Robin ; but if Sir Walter acted on it, I'm afraid that he'd have precious few voters." " Do you mean that he'll let the Blues drink as much spirits as they choose ? " asked Robin, looking very gravely into the face of his brother. POLITICS. 187 " Well, I suppose that it can't be helped at an elec- tion. You'll have to do the same if you ever stand for Parliament, my boy." "I'll never stand for Parliament!" said Robin with decision ; " I mean to go out to India and be a mis- sionary, like my father." CHAPTER XX. NEWS. Morning prayer at Willowdale Lodge on the Wednesday morninof was both a little later and a little lonofer than usual ; too long for the impatience of one who was waiting outside and peeping in at the window, trying to conceal herself behind the clusterino; roses as well as she could. Miss Petty would not have escaped Robin's quick eyes had they not been covered by his hands as he knelt in devotion. " I declare ! — Clarence St. Clare at prayers with the rest of them, just as if he were not a double-dyed Papist! I suppose that he carries the Jesuit principle into practice, 'Do at Rome as the Romans do'; only the case is reversed. Dear, dear ; I am terrified lest the postman should come before I have time to give the news. I have run half the way to make sure of being first, and luckily he has always a round to make, the Lodge is so out of the way. There ! — I see the postman coming down the hill in the distance ! But the prayers are over at last !" and Miss JYi:ws. 189 Petty rapidly retreated from the window, ran through the porch, and then, a little breathless from her eager- ness, entered the breakfast-room before Robin had had time even to put the large Bible back into its place. " I hope I don't intrude," cried Miss Petty as she en- tered, newspaper in hand, " but I really could not refrain from being the first to carry news, great news, to your young friend here." She fixed her keen little eyes upon Clarence, who met them with a look of inquiry. " News from the Castle ? " said he. " No ; I mean news from Paris." The colour rose a little upon Clarence's cheek. " My uncle ? " " Yes ; your uncle, the Duke of Framlingham, who has been ailing so long, he is — ." Miss Petty paused to enjoy the sensation of keeping every one on the tiptoe of expectation. " Dead, I suppose," said Clarence. " He is the happy father of twin boys ! " If Miss Petty had expected Clarence to utter a loud exclamation, or to clap his hand to his forehead, or to stagger back and sink into a chair at the sudden collapse of his ambitious hopes, she was much disappointed. The youth had too much high-bred self-command to betray to this impertinent woman any emotions which he might feel on hearino- the startling announcement. Clarence merely .said, with cold courtesy, " Will you allow me to H)0 NEWS. look at your paper?" and on Miss Petty's doing so, he read aloud with a calm voice the announcement which headed the column of births: "July — , at Paris, Her Grace the Duchess of Framlinghain of twin sons." " Of course vou'll write at once, Mr. St. Clare, to con- gratulate your uncle on such a joyful event," said Miss Petty ; adding maliciously, " and tell him how delighted you feel." Clarence's only reply was quietly returning the paper. It would have been a triumph to Miss Petty had " the peacock," as she had termed him, ruffled his plumes or uttered any passionate sound. But Clarence did not give her that triumph. " He has a stronger character than I jjave him credit for," thought Lady Laurie. " He has borne the news bravely," said Ida to herself. The letter from the Castle which almost immediately arrived by the postman confirmed the news announced in the papers. The letter was from Catherine St. Clare, written in rather a bitter spirit, and containing the further information that the (to her) unwelcome new arrivals were said to be strong healthy boys, and that the family were coming to Framlingham Hall as soon as the duchess could undertake the journey. Miss Petty did not hear the letter, though she intensely longed to do so. Lady Laurie quietly took her visitor a little aside and JVEWS. 191 saicl, " I cannot ask any one to share our meals until after the funeral of the sister of my poor young guest. To do so would be to disregard his feelings." " Oh, certainly, certainly," said the disappointed in- truder ; " Mr. St. Clare's feelings are so remarkably keen;" and she very reluctantly took her departure. Clarence forced himself to enter into general conversa- tion at breakfast. He talked about the coming election, and showed something like interest in the success of Sir Walter. But it was noticed that the food on his plate lay almost untouched ; and as soon as the meal was over St. Clare retired to his room. " I suppose that the new babies will have the straw- berry leaves," observed Robin when Clarence had left. " Poor Clarence ! " exclaimed Harold. " He was talk- ing to prevent himself from thinking, or to make us suppose him above caring for the change in his fortunes. He is well-nigh penniless now ; and Clarence is not one to like to make a struggle to earn his own living. He never expected to have to work, nor has he studied enough to enable him easily to do so." " How bravely he bears his unexpected trial!" cried Ida. " Yes; I'm sorry I've judged him hardly," said Harold. " I'll go and see if I can do anything for the poor fellow. It must be startling to find yourself nobody after expect- ing to be a duke." Clarence's door was locked. In answer to Harold's 192 NEWS. kindly question, " Shall we have a talk together ? " St. Clare, without unfastening the door, replied, " I am busy, and would rather be left alone. Go to your canvassing, Harold ; I do not want a companion." " If there had been the same tie between us that there was a week ago," thought Harold, " Clarence would have liked to have had me by his side, and would have opened his heart to his friend. But he has taken offence at my words or manner on Sunday evening. As I am not wanted here, I shall go on my canvassing round." Clarence knew that Lady Laurie's mornings were always fully occupied with the education of her children, house- hold arrangements, and care of her poorer neighbours. As soon as he saw from his window that Harold had quitted the Lodge, Clarence himself started on the longest solitary walk that he had ever taken in his life ; walking at first rapidly, as if to escape from his own reflections, then slackening his pace, and even at times standing still, as thoughts crowded on his mind. " So here I have before me the battle of life, unarmed, undisciplined, unprepared as I am for the struggle. I must earn my bread, like the son of any penniless curate, — I, who all my life have looked forward to holding a position of wealth, dignity, and ease ! It is a bitter trial, a very bitter trial. And what profession could I possibly enter ? " Clarence in his mind reviewed over and over again NEWS. 193 every occupation that he thought it possible for a gentle- man to engage in, and, one after another, put away from his mind the idea of each. "A commission in the army? Men enter the Guards to spend money and not to earn it. I should be soon hopelessly in debt. — The law ? The bar is overcrowded, and to have even the chance of a brief would involve plodding night and day through heaps of dusty papers. — I am too old for the navy. — India ? The climate I could not endure. — A clerkship at the bank ? Bah ! 1 hope that wherever the current of misfortune may draw me it may not land me in Leadenhall Street, at the mercy of my vulgar puritanical old uncle." If Clarence's review of his worldly position was any- thing but cheering, his spirits were yet more oppressed when his thoughts turned to his spiritual state. Here St. Clare was indeed like the dove without rest for the sole of her foot. Neither a Protestant nor a Papist, utterly dissatisfied with one religion, yet afraid to em- brace the other, Clarence was full of distressing per- plexities and doubts. He felt that he had been on a wrong path all his life, a path of selfish indulgence, of idle neglect of the studies which would have prepared him for this world, and of the religious duties which would have made him more ready for the next. " Clarence loves no one Ijut himself." The youth's newly awakened conscience did not repel this accusation m 13 194 ]}fEWS. brought against him by one who had been once his chosen friend. Clarence thought of his bereaved mother, of his dead sister. Never had he before so reproached himself for the poor return which he had made for all their affection. He had loved them to a certain degree, but self had always come first. He had never sacrificed a wish of his own to gratify theirs. Years ago he had drawn tears from Angelina's lovely eyes by riding oflp with her pony, or at another time trampling over her bed of heart's-ease. The remembrance of those tears, though so long since dried, stung the lad as, seeking the most unfrequented paths, he pursued his way along- lonely lanes or through fields of ripening corn. The reflections of Clarence took a deeper shade still. If he had been wanting in steady application at school, and in loving-kindness at home, what had been his con- duct in relation to his God ? It was not without receiv- ing a strong impression on his mind that Clarence had been pondering over stories of martyrs who had not counted life itself dear in comparison of love for the truth. It was not without effect that he had listened, evening after evening, to the pure Word of God, to him previously almost a sealed book. It was not in vain that the young Romanist had watched the daily life of a quiet self-denying Christian, whose piety differed in many points from what he had been taught to believe the perfection of devotion. The combined effect of what NEWS. 195 Clarence had read, heard, and seen was to make him utterly disgusted with himself ; he felt a humiliation of spirit which is often one of the first signs that a Divine Power is stirring within the soul. The shutters of the once darkened chamber have been thrown back, and light pours in ; the windows have been flung open, and in streams the freshening air. But the chamber itself is seen to be bare and unclean, and the breeze stirs up the accumulated dust of years of neglect. Clarence St. Clare returned from that long ramble utterly tired both in body and spirit ; but it had been no unprofitable time that he had spent alone with his conscience. The youth was still in a condition of most painful indecision : he had not actually resolved to turn his back on his former life and resolutely begin a new one ; he had not yet cast himself at his Master's feet ; but Clarence's eyes had opened to the fact that his old life had been a mistake, and that it is a blessed thing, as regards happiness here, as well as hereafter, to be a fol- lower of the Saviour of men. CHAPTER XXI. ST. Peter's two questions. Lady L. Two questions asked by St. Peter on different subjects claim our attention this evening. In each case the Lord followed up His instruction by a parable, illus- trative of the subject of the question. The first question we find in the eighteenth chapter of the Gospel accord- ing to St. Matthew, beginning at the twenty-first verse. READING. " Then came Peter to Him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him ? till seven times ? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee. Until seven times ; but. Until seventy times seven." Rohin. I do not think that one could count up so many. Lady L. The Lord does not intend us to count up the times that we forgive wrongs ; He wishes our mercies to our fellow-creatures to be countless, even as are His own. Rohin. I don't understand you, mother. ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTION'S. 197 Lady L. Are we not taught to pray, " Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us " ? Now if we resolve, after forgiving a man seventy times, that we will foro-ive him no more, how can we dare to offer up that prayer ? Were God to forgive us only seven times, or even seventy times seven, and then to destroy us in His displeasure, how terrible would be the danger to the most holy man upon eartli. Rohin. I am only a little boy, but I have been naughty more than seventy times seven times. The Lord has to forgive us something every day of our lives. Lady L. The Lord teaches us this in His beautiful parable of the unmerciful servant, by the enormous sum by which He describes the debt owed to the master. Harold. Enormous indeed, for it has been calculated that the ten thousand talents mentioned in the parable represent tivo million four hundred pounds of our money ; and that merely to count them would take a man forty-six days if he went steadily on counting at the rate of sixty pounds a minute for twelve hours every day, and leave more than fifteen thousand pounds un- counted still. Robin uttered an exclamation of wonder, and Clarence looked greatly surprised. Ida. But, mamma, is it possible that any servant could be allowed to run up so tremendous a debt ? Lady L. Remember that the Lord was uttering a 198 ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTIONS. parable, not rclatin<;- a historical fact. The Saviour was representing under the figure of a debt to an earthly master the incalculable number of times that we have needed forgiveness. If for evei^y idle ivord (Matt. xii. 36) we must give account, if the thought of foolishness be sin (Prov. xxiv. 9), as the Scripture clearly tells us, can we count up the immense number of times that each of us has transgressed in a single year ? Clarence. I don't like this sort of calculation ; I don't care to find myself w^eighed down under such a moun- tain of debt. Robin. But we need not be weighed down. The lord of the servant frankly forgave him all. Lady L. That was the lord in the parable, and wonder- ful mercy he showed ; but the Lord of Life showed in- finitely more. Christ took on Himself the debt, yea, the accumulated, incalculable debt, of every one who truly believes, and paid it, not in gold, but in blood. There was for some moments silence in the little circle; then Harold said, " Where shall we find St. Peter's second question ? " Lady L. In the succeeding chapter. To understand what led to that question we must begin at the sixteenth verse. READING. " And, behold, one came and said unto Him, Good Master, what good thing shall I do, that I may have ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTIONS. 199 eternal life ? And He said iinto him, Why callest thou Me good ? there is none good but one, that is, God." Robin. But, mother, the Lord could not mean to say that He Himself was not good. Lady L. By no means, my son. The Saviour is good, for He is God. The Lord never denied either His own divinity or His perfection ; but this young ruler came in ignorance of the first, and quite misunderstanding the nature of the second. He made the two great mistakes of thinking that heaven could be won by man's good- ness, and that his own was so nearly perfect that, with a little addition, it might entitle him to eternal life. Robin. The young ruler quite forgot his great debt of sin ; for I suppose that he had a great debt like every one else. Ida. I think that the young man was like one who should hope to climb up to heaven by a ladder, and he came to the Lord to ask, " How many rounds must I add to this ladder to make it reach to the sky ? " Lady L. Christ did not utter to the young ruler the deep truths which He revealed to Nicodemus about the new birth. It has been well observed that Christ sends the proud to the law, the humble to the gospel. The Lord simply proved to the youth who thought that he could be saved by his obedience, that even that obedience was utterly incomplete and imperfect. Christ showed him that his ladder was not only too short, but that it 200 ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTIONS. was rotten. With this view the Lord said, " If thou wilt enter into Hfe, keep the commandments." READING. " He saith unto Him, Which ? Jesus said, Thou shalt do no murder, Thou shalt not commit adultery, Thou shalt not steal, Thou shalt not bear false witness. Honour thy father and thy mother : and, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. The young man saith unto him. All these things have I kept from my youth up : what lack I yet ?" Harold. The ruler did not know his own heart. Lady L. Doubtless he spoke in sincerity, knowing that, compared with the conduct of others* his life had been free from outward stain ; for St. Mark adds, that " Jesus, beholding him, loved him." But then came the test of his vaunted obedience, to open the young man's eyes as to the real state of his heart. HEADING. " Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven : and come and follow Me. But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful : for he had great possessions." Clarence. I hope that I shall not shock you. Lady ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTIONS. 201 Laurie, but was not that rather too hard a task ? He was told to give up all ! Lady L. It was a necessary test, for how could the immediate followers of One who was to be crucified have kept earthly possessions ? And it was a suitable test, for it showed the ruler that in the very virtue of obedience on which he had prided himself, he was not perfect at all. Robin. How sad that he should go away ! Mother, don't you hope that the young man came back again to the Lord ? Lady L. We cannot but hope it, though Scripture tells us nothing to encourage that hope. READING. " Then said Jesus unto His disciples. Verily I say unto you, That a rich man shall hardly enter into the king- dom of heaven. And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." Robin. This seems very hard, for it is quite impossible for a big creature like a camel to pass through so tiny a hole. Lady L. The " eye of a needle " is the name given in some parts of the East to the small side-door which is not intended for vehicles, but for foot-passengers. A camel might perhaps with difficulty squeeze through, but unloaded and on its knees. 202 ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTIONS, Harold. An emblem of the way in which this noble- man could ii'et throuoh the gate leadino- unto eternal life, with liis gold laid down and his proud spirit humbled. READING. " When His disciples heard it, they were exceedingly amazed, saying, Who then can be saved ? But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is im- possible ; but with God all things are possible." Lady L. St. Mark gives us the Lord's words more fully : " Jesus answereth again, and saith unto them. Children, how hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of .God ! " Thus we see that it is the state of the heart, rather than the heaviness of the purse, that constitutes danger. Job, Abraham, Joseph, Daniel, Nehemiah, all were rich, but they trusted not in their riches. W^hat they had received from God they held for God ; and if they lost earthly wealth, they still could say, " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away : blessed be the name of the Lord." READING. " Then answered Peter and said unto Him, Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed Thee ; what shall we have therefore ? And Jesus said unto them. Verily I say unto you, That ye which have followed Me, in the regeneration when the Son of man shall sit in the throne ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTIONS. 203 of His glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judg- ing the twelve tribes of Israel. And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for ]\Iy name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit ever- lasting life." Robin. Mother, was not Peter a little bit boastful ? Did he not seem to say, " We are a great deal better than that young man : he goes away, but we stay be- hind ; he won't give up everything, but we have given up all." You know Peter had not nearly so much to leave for Christ; perhaps only his boat and nets, and the ruler had great possessions. Lady L. Perhaps the Lord did not quite like St. Peter's spirit, Robin ; for immediately there followed the parable of the vineyard labourers — those who were called first, and laboured through the heat of the day, expecting a higher reward than others, and finding that the last called received as much as themselves. Ida. But the Lord gave no open rebuke then to Peter, only a very grand promise. Lady L. Perhaps the gracious Saviour's thoughts rested less on what Peter had actually done than on what the Lord foresaw that Peter would do for His sake. The apostle remembered his boat and nets ; the Master's prophetic eye beheld bonds, and stripes, and a cross beyond them. The past sacrifice made by love 204 ST. PETER'S TWO QUESTIONS. might be small, but a great one was to come. St. Peter never gave up great wealth, for he had never possessed it, but he was at last to give up life itself for his Master. Clarence. People are, happily, not called on now to make these terrible sacrifices, either of property or life. Robin. Oh, Clarence, how can you say so ? Do you for- get the Mutiny martyrs only last year ? Even poor Prem Das has had to give up father and mother, and wife, and brothers, and perhaps — but, oh ! I hope not — perhaps he will be killed by the cruel Hindoos. If he is, I think that in heaven he will sit on a throne as well as St. Peter. CHAPTER XXII. PERPLEXITIES. " Mother, don't you think that Clarence may be some- thing like the young man whom we read about yester- day ? " said Robin on the following morning just before the family assembled for prayers. " I think, mother, that he must be coming nearer to the Lord Jesus. Clarence is quite different from what he was at first : he never calls St. Peter a pope now ; and yesterday he was listening so earnestly to \vhat was being read. Per- haps Clarence will soon be crying out like the jailer, ' What must I do to be saved ? ' " " God grant it !" said Lady Laurie softly. " Not a day has passed since he entered my house on which I have not remembered my young guest in prayer. Poor Clar- ence has had a good deal of trial since he came to Wil- lowdale Lodge." " Yes, trials upon trials," said Robin. " First, poor Clarence nearly lost his eye, and it looks very w^eak still ; but perhaps he's been crying for his sister in 206 PERPLEXITIES. secret, when none of us could see him. Then came the letter from the Castle about his sister dying, and his poor mother being in such trouble. Then yesterday — well, it was good news for the duke, the coming of the twins, but perhaps not such very good news for Clar- ence. Do you not think that the Lord may have sent these babies because He did not wish Clarence to be like a loaded camel that won't kneel down ? May not the Lord have known that it would be harder for Clarence to enter the kingdom of heaven if he had the strawberry leaves and heaps upon heaps of money ? " Lady Laurie only smiled in reply. It was curious to her to see how her little boy's mind unconsciously re- flected the ideas that had formed themselves in her own. The entrance of the rest of the partj^ prevented fur- ther conversation on the subject. Clarence's position was rendered more like that of the rich young ruler, called upon to make a sacrifice to con- science, by a letter, enclosing one from the Duke of Framlingham, which he received that morning from his mother. He glanced over the epistles rapidly and silently at the breakfast-table, mentioning their contents to no one ; but Clarence afterwards pondered over them in his own room, till he could have almost repeated both of the letters by heart. We will give the duke's first. PERPLEXITIES. 207 — it was read first, — it was addressed to Ancfelina's bereaved mother : — " My dear Sister, — Since writing my last letter to you, announcing the birth of my sons, I have been thinking a good deal about the position and prospects of my nephew, Clarence St. Clare. The happiness which, by the favour of the blessed Mary, has been granted to us, necessarily alters the position of your son. I feel myself therefore bound to consider what arrangement can be made for his advantage. Clarence is now, I think, at least sixteen, and I do not think it desirable that he should remain longer at a public school, where there is always some danger of a Catholic youth's im- bibing some of the poison of heresy. My own health being wonderfully improved, I intend now to reside a good deal on my Framlingham estate ; I feel a tenfold interest in it now that I can transmit it to a son. A plan that I would now suggest to you is this, — that Clarence should make Framlingham his home. His private tutor would be my chaplain, Padri Benito, a highly educated and gentlemanly man. If agreeable to you, Clarence would pass his winters at the Castle. I should make Clarence a liberal allowance. He could invite his friends, hunt, shoot,^in short enjoy all the pleasures which at his age are naturally prized. When Clarence is old enough to enter either the diplomatic or 208 PERPLEXITIES. political arena, I pledge myself to exert all my influence to give him a good start in life. I feel no doubt that a brilliant career is before my nephew. — Your affectionate brother, Framlingham." Lady Reginald's brief note ran thus :— " My darling Son, — The enclosed speaks for itself. It has removed a weight of care from my heart. It is very kind of the duke to think of you thus. I have answered the letter at once, saying that I have no doubt of your glad acceptance of your uncle's offer ; indeed, I do not see what else you could do. I can hardly make my income meet my expenses. Catherine thinks of nothing but giving to the Church. On Friday, as soon as the sad, sad service is over, she starts with two nuns on a pilgrimage to Loretto, for the special benefit of her sister's soul. I feel terribly lonely ; and since I heard of the birth of the twins, extreme anxiety as regards your prospects has been added to the other griefs of your loving Mother." " A fortnight ago this would have set my mind at ease," reflected Clarence, as with the duke's letter in his hand ho paced up and down his apartment, "I have always got on well with Padri Benito ; though a Jesuit, he is a perfect man of the world, and he has helped to PERPLEXITIES. 209 make my visits to Framlingham exceedingly pleasant. He is not in the least like Father O'Brien, whom from childhood I never liked. It would be delightful to have the run of my uncle's estate for hunting and shooting, and to enjoy the luxury and gaiety of a princely estab- lishment, with the prospect of some capital appointment at last. My uncle has always treated me with great liberality : two fine hunters have been at my command whenever I visited Framlingham ; whenever I went there I found myself in clover. Why should I not ac- cept the kindly offer at once ? " Clarence paused in his rapid walk, and stood looking out of the window, but without noticing a single one of the objects on which his eyes were apparently fixed. " If I go I must go to a Catholic uncle as a Catholic nephew ; there would be no toleration of heretical views at Framlingham Hall. If I go I must play the hypocrite ; — pray to the Virgin Mary, when I believe that there is no mediator but her Son ; I must aflTect reverence for what I now regard as impos- tures ; I must stifle my honest convictions, and hazard — perhaps lose — my soul. It is Satan who is placing a glittering bribe in my way. But let me consider the alternative closely. If I decline the duke's offer, if I undeceive my family as regards my religious views, what must I expect ? The resentment, anger, contempt of some of my nearest relations ; the grief of my mother ; a life-long struggle with poverty — hard, plodding work, (39) J 4 210 PERPLEXITIES. which I detest ! I cannot face such a future of toil and misery ! Is it required of me that I should ? " During the remainder of that day the unhappy youth endured a mental struggle such as he had never known before, and which occasioned him acute distress. In the heart of Clarence St. Clare the " strong man armed " had hitherto held his goods in peace, ruling not in the form of violent passions, but that of the all-engrossing selfish- ness which is perhaps the special temptation of youths who have been brought up in luxurious ease. Clarence was the only surviving son of a mother who had made him her idol, and had never denied him any indulgence on which he had set his heart. He had always been looked upon as the heir to a dukedom, and had con- sequently been regarded by others, as well as by him- self, as a person of considerable importance. Clarence had taken religion very easily ; he had, indeed, observed some of its outward forms, especially when he was at the Castle, or at Framlingham Hall, but had hardly ever given even a thought to the state of his heart before God. Now everything was altered. Clarence was in the world merely as one of the numerous competitors in a race where he felt conscious that he would be dis- tanced by many on whom he had hitherto looked down with contempt. Clarence, secure in his own elevation, had viewed with rather scornful pity the plodders who had to elbow their way through the crowd, whilst he sat PERPLEXITIES. 2 1 1 mounted, as it were, on his stately courser of hereditary rank ; now he must dismount, to try his strength, per- haps vainly, against theirs ! But the most distressing part of Clarence's trial was connected with a spiritual awakening. Selfishness, the sleepy demon who had held undisputed sway in his soul, had been suddenly startled by loud knocking at the gate. Pain, sorrow, disappoint- ment, in quick succession, had given an imperative sum- mons ; but they were merely as messengers, shaking the gate which they by themselves had no power to break open. But another and a more mighty Power was sum- moning the awakened garrison to surrender. Selfishness was making desperate efforts to bar, bolt, and blockade the gate against the entrance of the rightful Master. On the issue of that struggle between good and evil the soul's state throughout eternity might depend ! Clarence knew this, felt this, and inwardly trembled, but could not make up his mind to sacrifice earth for heaven ! The misery felt within only betrayed itself outwardly by peevishness, and an abstracted manner, which bor- dered on rudeness, when he mixed with the family circle. Clarence hardly took in a word of the conversation at the dinner-table, even when it was addressed to himself. When he had to hand a plate of soup to Ida, Clarence set it down before himself, to the young lady's no small surprise. Clarence answered questions at random, and looked annoyed at being asked any. When Harold, after 2 1 2 PERPLEXITIES. an animated account of his canvass for the Blues, asked liis schoolfellow whether he did not think victory cer- tain, Clarence's sullen reply was only, " I don't know, and I don't care." When Robin inquired whether Clar- ence did not like the martyr-book very much, he was vouchsafed no answer at all. The Hartleys thought their guest very disagreeable, and even Ida's admiration for his " perfect manners " was considerably cooled. And yet Clarence was more worthy of pity than of blame. His irritability was like that caused by painful sickness. His illness was that of the spirit, Clarence had never before been in such need of sympathy, or so deserving of kind indulgence. In the afternoon Clarence shut himself up in his room to perform the necessary task of writing to his mother and the duke. But the task was more than, in his un- decided frame of mind, the unhappy youth could per- form. Thrice was the pen taken up, thrice were a few lines traced on the black-bordered paper ; as often was the pen thrown down, and the paper torn into frag- ments. " I can't write ! — I don't know what to say ! " mut- tered Clarence to himself in despair. Harold, in the garden below, was giving his little brother the enjoy- ment of a good swing on a rope suspended between two trees. The sound of the Hartleys' merry voices, as Robin shouted, " Higher ! higher ! " almost distracted Clarence. PERPLEXITIES. 213 He went to the open window at last, and calling out, " Have done with that noise ! can't one have a moment's quiet in this place ? " violently shut down the window. " I say," cried Robin, looking up angrily, " Clarence is just as cross as a bear to-day ! " " He's not lord and master here," said Harold ; " I've no mind to obey his commands ! " and he laid his hands on the ropes. " Perhaps we'd better stop," observed Robin, getting down rather reluctantly from the swing ; " I daresay that Clarence is sad because his sister is to be buried to- morrow. I don't wonder that he does not like to hear us laughing so loudly." " You're a good-natured little chap ! " cried Harold. " You shall have a romp with me in the hay-field in- stead." There was now no outward sound to disturb Clarence in his writing, and yet he was unable to write. He had but commenced for the fourth time, when Lady Laurie tapped at the door. " I am sending to the post, Clarence," she said ; " I have waited till the last minute for the letter which you said that you must positively send to your mother. I hope that it is ready, or you will not be able to forward it by this day's post." " It is not ready^ — I can't write till to-morrow," re- plied Clarence without opening the door. He heard 214 PERPLEXITIES. Lady Laurie's light footsteps and the rustle of her dress as she descended the stair. " She will think me a fool, or a brute ; I could call myself both ! " cried Clarence bitterly, as he threw aside his pen. " My poor mother will be impatiently expect- ing my answer ; and on the sad, sad day, when she will need every comfort that I can give her, when she is left alone in the evening to weep over her loss, she will think her only son utterly heartless ! But how can I in one day make up my mind as regards what must affect my whole course through life ? I never before found my- self plunged into such a sea of perplexity and misery t I could almost wish myself as my angel sister is, with all the world's troubles ended ; only I am not ready to die ! I am a weak, wavering, wretched creature, unfit either for this world or the next ! " It was in this state of self -disgust that Clarence, find- ing solitude intolerable, at last joined the circle assem- bled in the lower room for the Scripture reading. Clarence was not the only one who brought to that meeting an anxious, burdened heart. Lady Laurie had, as we have seen, observed with pain that Harold's first love, his fervent love towards his Divine Master, appeared to be waxing cold. The youth over whom she had yearned, and prayed, and rejoiced, appeared engrossed with earthly interests, so absorbed in the excitement of a political contest that he hardly cared for anything else. PEBPLEXITIES. 215 One painful symptom of decline was the more than cold- ness which there was now between Harold and Ida. It was only Lady Laurie's presence which prevented an open quarrel between her only daughter and the son of her adoption. Especially on this day had the widow lady been distressed by a dispute regarding some trifle, which showed that her home was no longer the abode of family love. Robin had, as usual, sided with his brother. There had been bitter remark and angry re- tort ; and though to a less vigilant and loving parent the dispute might have seemed a very small matter, to Lady Laurie it was painful evidence that the tempter was busy amongst her flock. With very fervent prayer for guidance and help did Lady Laurie enter the room where the rest of the party were assembled. CHAPTER XXIII. ST, Peter's feet washed. Lady L. It is an Oriental custom to put the shoes, or sandals, off from the feet, and leave them at the threshold, before entering the presence of a superior. Let us, as we enter on a most deeply solemn and touching subject, lay aside, as it were, all that has touched the earth — our earthly wishes, hopes, fears, and passions. Let us with lowly reverence follow the steps of the blessed Saviour and His apostles as they ascend the stair to an upper room in a house in Jerusalem. It is in that room that the Lord will partake of His last supper, before making that awful sacrifice of His life on which a world's salvation depends. And here I would pause to bring before your minds a few of the surroundings of the scene, that you may better realize it. The expression " furnished " must not mislead us, nor must we imagine the chamber in the least like the representations made by artists who have never been in the East. The furniture probably con- ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. 217 sisted of a mat, over which large cushions were placed, on which the guests could lean in a half -reclining pos- ture, the left arm resting on the cushion, while the right hand was used for taking food. If there were any table, it would be a very low one ; but with Orientals the mat spread on the floor often takes the place of a table. The vessels used would probably be of brass, for of glass or china there would be none. Harold. I thought that the Passover feast was to be eaten standing ; the first Passover in Egypt certainly was so. Lady L. But not the commemoration Passovers in Palestine. There the meal was partaken of in a reclin- ing posture. Robin. How sad the Lord must have felt when He thought, " This is the very last time, before I die, that I shall eat with My friends ! " Lady L. We can have but a faint idea of the feelings which on that occasion possessed the soul of the blessed Saviour, save as we gather them from His own words. The terrible shadow of the cross was falling upon Him ; He knew that the sun would rise on a scene of terrible trial, and that before that sun should set tortures would have to be endured which it is beyond our power to conceive. The Lord Jesus stood, as it were, on the brink of an awful precipice, at the bottom of which were the very horrors of hell. From the descent 218 ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. Christ's human nature shrank, though His divine love was stronger than death. At such an hour as this, how- it must have added to the bitterness of Christ's trials when He found that even amongst the chosen and cher- ished friends whom He had gathered around Him there had been jealousy and dissension ! Instead of concen- trating all their thoughts upon the Master from whom they were so soon to be parted, the apostles were actually disputing amongst themselves as to which of them was the greatest ! Harold. That very dispute shows that St. Peter was not the acknowledged head of the apostles. Ida. It is strange that at such a time there should be any disputing. Do we at all know its cause ? Lady L. It may have been about the chief seat — the seat most close to the Lord. Another suggestion has been put forth. The dispute may have been the result of a question arising as to which of the party should perform the slave's office of washing the feet of the rest. Feet- washing, as we know from other parts of Scripture, was a common custom amongst the Jews. When the Lord said to the Pharisee, " Thou gavest Me no water to wash My feet," He showed that not to offer this needful re- freshment was a breach of hospitality. If there had been any dispute amongst the apostles as to which of them should fill the brass basin with water, and kneel down to wash the feet of his brethren, how wonderfully ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. 219 expressive was the silent, touching rebuke conveyed by their Master in the action of which we are going to read ! READING FROM JOHN XIII. " Now before the feast of the passover, when Jesus knew that His hour was come that He should depart out of this world unto the Father, having loved His own which were in the world. He loved them unto the end. And supper being ended,* the devil having now put into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray Him ; Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into His hands, and that He was come from God, and went to God ; He riseth from supper, and laid aside His garments ; and took a towel, and girded Himsel£ After that He poureth water into a bason, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith He was girded." Clarence. It is almost inconceivable that the King of glory should so abase Himself before fisher- men ! Harold. The Creator kneeling at the feet of the creature ! Robin. I think that the angels would wonder more at this than at any of the Lord's miracles. They would not wonder at the Son of God raising the dead, or mak- ing the wind and the sea obey Him ; but to see Him * The more correct translation is, — in the midst of supper. 220 ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. kneelino; to wash men's feet would make them look down quite silent with wonder. Lady L. The more we realize the exceedingly great dignity of our Divine Lord, the majesty of His power, the glory of His person, the more we marvel at the depth of humility to which He descended when He bent His knees and washed the feet of poor mortals. Re- member the orlowino- words of Isaiah rerardinfj Him : (Do & O " Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand, and meted out heaven with the span... Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things, that bringeth out their host by number... for that He is strong in power ; not one faileth." Yes ; it is He who keeps the sun in his course who in a hor- roived chamber, for He had none of His own, stooped to act the part of a slave ! In the view of such humility, what is human pride ? The highest rank appears like the elevation of an ant on his hillock : the greatest talent, like the flickering spark of a fire-fly ; the greatest power, like the strength of an insect's wing. If there be one thing on earth which angels must view with pitying scorn, it is human pride. READING. " Then cometh He to Simon Peter : and Peter saith unto Him, Lord, dost Thou wash my feet ? Jesus answered and said unto him, What I do thou knowest > s H X W n r w 11 w M H ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. 221 not now ; but thou shalt know hereafter. Peter saith unto Him, Thou shalt never wash my feet." Robin. I should have cried out, just like Peter. How could the fisherman sit still and let his Master kneel before him ? Lady L. Two characteristics of Peter are shown in this incident, — a feeling of his own unworthiness, which we admire, with something of the presumption which made him, on other occasions, appear to think that he knew better than his Lord. Peter opposed because he did not understand. READING. " Jesus answered him. If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with Me. Simon Peter saith unto Him, Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head. Jesus saith to him. He that is washed needeth not save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit : and ye are clean, but not all." Clarence. This is a difficult saying. How can wash- ing a man's feet make him clean every whit ? Lady L. We must regard the feet-washing of the apostles not only as a lesson of humility and love, but as a symbolical action — a kind of acted parable. Robin. I do not understand what that is. Lady L. Outward washing with water is a type, a sign of inward washing of the soul. Without our souls being washed in the blood of the Lamb, we are utterly 222 ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. unclean, and can in no wise enter the kingdom of heaven. If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with Me, are weighty words of Christ, declaring a truth which is for all generations of men. Clarence. But why did the Lord say that it was needful to wash the feet ? Lady L. There is deep meaning in His words. When the apostles first believed and left all to follow Christ, except the secret traitor Judas, they were pardoned, sanctified, and cleansed. The head, the seat of thought and knowledge, was washed ; so were the hands, the symbols of action. But in Scripture the feet denote our daily lualh. As the bare or sandalled foot constantly gets dusty and soil-stained, so even the best Christians find every day something of the world and sin clinging to them still. Let us arise in the morninsf with ever such good resolutions, we shall need at night the prayer, " Forgive us our trespasses," taught by the Lord Himself. Clarence. This makes the symbol of washing the feet clearer. Lady L. And now let us meditate on another special lesson conveyed to us by this wonderful act of Christ. We have looked on it already as the very perfection of humility, and also as a symbol of that purity without which no man can see the Lord. But the Saviour meant the apostles to learn something besides humility and purity when He deigned to wash their feet. ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. 223 Robin. Mother, you must mean love. Lady L. Let us read on from the thirteenth verse. READING. " Ye call Me Master and Lord : and ye say well ; for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you." Robin. Oh, do you believe that the Lord washed even Judas's feet ? Lady L. Yes, even the feet of Judas, the feet of the hypocrite who should betray Him. Even for such a reprobate the blessed Saviour stooped to perform this menial office. If we have had the example of the deepest humility set before us, we have also that of the highest love — the love that sufFereth long and is kind, the love that beareth all thino-s and endureth all thing's. If the sight of Christ's humility should lay our pride in the dust, how should the example of His love awake in us bitter sorrow for our own unkind thoughts, our sharp words, our dissensions about mere trifles ! Love one another, as T have loved you, was the Saviour's dying command — alas ! how often broken ! how often for- gotten ! If we had no other sin on our conscience, how guilty we should stand before God regarding this ! How we should implore for the gift of the Holy Spirit, whose 224 ST. PETER'S FEET WASHED. fruit is love ; and repent, from the depths of our hearts, for our own grievous shortcomings ! Lady Laurie sank on her knees, and poured out in prayer the trouble which weighed on her soul. Her voice faltered from the intensity of her feelings, and when she rose her eye-lashes were wet, and traces of tears were on her cheeks. There were two present who felt that those tears had specially flowed for them. CHAPTER XXIV. NEW LIFE. It was an encouragement to Lady Laurie to find that during the remainder of the evening there was a marked improvement in the manner of the members of her family towards each other. No satirical remarks were made, no angry looks exchanged ; and when the circle broke up at night, a kindly "Good -night" was ex- changed between Harold and Ida ; and Robin said as he kissed his mother, " We're all going to love one another." But the widowed lady would have felt deeper joy had she known what had been the eftect of reading this por- tion of Scripture on the mind of Clarence St. Clare. To him it came as the still, small voice after the earth- quake and fire. During the evening, whilst conversa- tion on common topics was going on around him, Clar- ence sat quiet and grave. Nobody wondered at this, for all knew that the funeral of his sister was to take place on the following day. The truth was that Clar- ence heard actually nothing of what was said. The (39) 15 226 NEW LIFE. talk about the coming election, the expected letter from India, or the probable fate of Prem Dds, fell as unmean- ing sounds on his ear. The thoughts of Clarence were in the upper chamber in Jerusalem ; the image before his mind's eye was that of the Lord of life and glory kneeling at Peter the fisherman's feet. After he had retired to his own room, Clarence fell on his knees in such a frame of mind as he had never known before. The once proud, selfish, cold-hearted youth was casting himself as entirely on the mercy of Christ as did the penitent thief on the cross. " I have never yet been washed ; I come in my sin. I have never done a good deed, or even thought a good thought ; I have lived for self, only for self. I have never really loved Thee, O my Saviour ! I have heard of Thy sufferings, and cared not ; I have slighted Thy mercy ; I have known of Thy sacrifice for me, and yet have given Thee no place in my heart. Oh, take me as I am, worthless and lifeless ; wash me — my head and hands and feet, for nothing, nothing is clean. Give to me, the proud and selfish, the spirit of humility and love. Make me pure, make me holy, make me Thy lowly follower. And oh, give to me strength to do Thy will, whatever obedience may cost me ; make me shrink from no sacrifice for Him who gave life itself for my sake." Clarence had little sleep on the following night, and NEW LIFE. 227 yet that night was remembered by him as the most blessed one that he ever had known, for after his sinful wanderings he had been found by the Shepherd at last. Clarence awoke in the morning with the sense of having undergone a great change, of a new life having been begun. He was to live no more unto self, but unto Him who had died to save him from the bondage as well as the punishment of sin. Clarence thought much of what was to pass that day at the Castle ; and he thought with a tenderness of spirit new to him, for true Christianity softens the heart. His sweet, beautiful sister's form was on that day to be laid in the tomb ; but Clarence thanked God for the hope that her ransomed spirit was now where superstition could never dim its brightness, — that she might at that moment be rejoicing with the angels over her penitent brother. Catherine, with her ardent though mistaken zeal, was remembered affectionately by Clarence in prayer, with a feeling that there was about to be a parting between them more painful than that caused by death. But it was specially to his mother — his half broken-hearted mother — that the thoughts of Clarence recurred. On that day — the day of the burial of her first-born — Lady Reginald would not even have the sup- port of the presence of her son ; she would not even receive a line from him to comfort her in her sorrow. " WHiat a wretched return T have made to my mother 228 NEW LIFE. for all her love ! " Clarence murmured to himself with a bittoi- pang of remorse. " And now I may be on the point of forfeiting that love which I never prized or deserved or returned as I ought to have done. Now I feel that I would more readily part with anything else upon earth." Every one noticed a change in Clarence's appearance and manner when he joined the family assembled for morning prayers. He was more gentle and subdued ; all trace of irritability was gone. Clarence said in a low tone to Robin that he was sorry for having spoken so roughly to him on the preceding day. " It was very wrong in me to make such a noise just under your window, dear Clarence," said Robin peni- tently. He had never before called Clarence " dear." After breakfast was over, Clarence said to Lady Laurie as she was about to quit the room, " Might I ask for a few minutes of private conversation ? I want so much to consult you." " Certainly," replied the lady, and she led the way to the drawing-room. Clarence followed her, entered and closed the door. Both sat down near the window, and Clarence drew from his breast-pocket the letters written by his mother and his uncle. " Will you read these," he said, " and tell me how, in your opinion, I ought to reply?" Lady Laurie perused the two letters in silence, and NEW LIFE. 229 felt a little surprised that the young Romanist should hesitate at all as to accepting so kind and advantageous an offer as that made by the duke. " It is possible," she thought, " that the pride of Clarence recoils from the idea of living as a dependant in a mansion where he has been accustomed to be received as an heir. But such pride should be discouraged." " I suppose that you will feel it best to do what your mother evidently wishes you to do," said Lady Laurie, returning the letters. " You can have no conscientious scruple, as, like your uncle, you hold the Roman Catholic faith." "What if I do not hold it?" said Clarence slowly, looking down on the floor as he spoke. " What — can you mean- — ." Lady Laurie did not finish the question that trembled on her lips. Clarence looked up, and his eyes met those of the lady, earnestly, eagerly fixed upon him. He answered in words their inquiring gaze. " I am not a Roman Catholic," said Clarence St. Clare. " I cannot remain a member of a Church tainted with idolatry and stained with the blood of martyrs." The heart of Lady Laurie bounded with joy, for the tone of her guest expressed quiet decision. She took the hand of Clarence and pressed it within both her own, whilst tears rose to her eyes, and she silently thanked God for answering her prayers. 230 NEW LIFE. " Now that you know my position, tell me what I should do," said Clarence ; " no one can advise me so well as yourself. You now see why I felt unable yesterday to write to my mother ; and yet I bitterly reproach myself for not having done so." Lady Laurie paused for a few moments in silent thought and prayer for guidance, then said aloud, " I think that you should, with grateful thanks, decline your uncle's offer, and tell him your reason for doing so. To accept it would not only be putting yourself into a position of great temptation; it would, with your altered views, be acting in a not straightforward manner." " But what other resource have I, if I throw this away?" said Clarence sadly. " I have had a good enough education perhaps, for one who is to live the life of a gentleman at ease, but I am hardly prepared for the struggle necessary for entering most professions; and, to speak frankly, I am almost penniless now, and shall soon be entirely dependent on my mother. The position would be painful enough, even if I still professed her religion; — but to oblige her to make sacrifices for one whom she would look upon as a renegade, this would be simply intolerable." " Have you no other relative who might help you in gaining honourable independence ?" asked Lady Laurie ; and she added in a hesitating tone, " I think that you have a Protestant uncle." NEW LIFE. 231 " Oh ! pray don't speak of him. I could endure any- thing sooner than asking his help," exclaimed Clarence, as memory called up to his mind the image of a stout, vulgar-looking man, dressed in a snuff-brown suit, living in dingy city apartments. To Clarence " old Uncle Cobbs " was the impersonification of a coarse parvenu, a sour Puritan, a grocer in appearance, and in manner a bear. All St. Clare's aristocratic prejudices were in arms against his uncle in Leadenhall Street. Lady Laurie again reflected, and then said, " It seems to me that the first thing to be done is to consult your mother. She has a right to your confidence. Cost what it may, you should lay open to her your heart. You could do so more fully could you converse personally with her ; — but perhaps you still fear infection at the Castle." "I do not think about infection," cried Clarence; "my mother will be only too careful to guard me from the shadow of a risk. Yes, I will instantly be off for the Castle ; " and he rose from his seat as he spoke. " Stay ; the morning train went hours ago — " " And the afternoon train does not meet that which would take me home ; I should have to pass the night in London," said Clarence. " I fear that I must wait till to-morrow." " But you can telegraph at once to say that you are coming," observed Lady Laurie. " Your mother will be 232 NEW LIFE. comforted to-day by the thought that to-morrow even- ing you will be with her." " Thanks for the suojo-estion!" cried Clarence. " I will send a telegraph now, and be off to-morrow at daybreak." " We will all accompany you to the station," said Lady Laurie ; " shall I engage a carriage ? " " No, thanks," replied Clarence St. Clare ; " I must throw away no money now ; I would rather walk to the station. And think me not unmindful of your kindness, dear Lady Laurie, if I own that I would prefer walking alone. I have so much to think of — such a meeting, such a confession before me." " I quite understand," said the lady with kindly sym- pathy. " I will arrange that the carrier's cart, which goes early to the station, should carry your portmanteau, if you will leave it outside your door, and you shall have your quiet, solitary walk to yourself. I know, dear Clarence, that there are times when we feel it most soothing and helpful to be left alone with our God." Clarence went off at once to forward his telegram. Harold and Robin were outside the porch, fastening up some straggling branches of clematis by which it was mantled, and talking to each other as they did so. The house-door being open they did not hear the approach of St. Clare, and he could not avoid catching the sound of a few words which fell from Robin. " But if Clarence prays to the Virgin —" IfEW LIFE. 233 " Clarence will never pray to saint or Virgin again," interrupted St. Clare, as he passed forth into the bright open daylight. " He wants no Saviour nor Intercessor save One. His watchword from this day henceforth shall be her dying words — Jesus only ! " Robin, beaming with joy, ran into the house to carry the good news to his mother, and found her thanking and praising God. " Is it not glorious ?" cried Robin. " Mother, I'm thinking that Clarence has no Bible — may I not give him mine ? It is such a beauty ; it has references, and maps, and gilt edges besides." " But what would my little boy do without a Bible ? " asked Lady Laurie. " I could not do without a Bible," replied Robin gravely ; " but I am sure that Harold would let me have his old school one. He never uses that now, for he has one so very much better." " Why not give the old school one to Clarence ?" said Lady Laurie, wishing to hear what the child would reply. Robin's honest face expressed dissent before he was able to put his reason for it into words. " You see, mother, Clarence is accustomed to have everything about him nice, and even grand, so perhaps if he had such a very shabby Bible he might not just prize it so much. May I not give him mine ?" Lady Laurie was going to say, " I will present him 234 I^EIV LIFE. witli a new one," when the thought occurred to her mind, " What right have I to keep from my darling boy the blessing which follows self-denial ? Robin will pray more heartily for Clarence if he has given up something for the sake of the lad." Lady Laurie stooped down and kissed Robin's glowing cheek fondly, and said, " Do as you please, my child ; give your beautiful Bible, and ask God to make it Clarence's guide through life, and his dearest treasure on earth." If there was one of the family at Willowdale Lodge whose pleasure at St. Clare's conversion was not quite unmixed with pain, that one was Harold Hartley. He had been Clarence's special friend, they had spent much time together, and had conversed on various subjects; but Harold had done nothing, had said nothing, to draw his school companion to Christ. Harold would have been the person whom Clarence would naturally have consulted on any perplexing question ; but Hartley felt that he had, by his own fault, forfeited the confidence which once he had enjoyed. It was Lady Laurie to whom St. Clare had opened his heart ; it was to Robin that a frank avowal had been made. Harold owned to himself that he had shown little thoughtful kindness or friendship to Clarence during the latter part of his visit. Absorbed in preparations for the coming election, pro- voked at St. Clare's presence in the Lodge being made a subject of gossip, and forming a hasty and harsh judg- NEW LIFE. 235 ment regarding his former friend, Harold had neglected and slighted Clarence. Harold had given his companion no help in the painful struggle which had freed him from the bonds of superstition which had inthralled him from childhood. Hartley was somewhat in the position of an officer who, having loitered on his way to a post assigned him, finds that a glorious battle has been fought and won in his absence. Such a soldier can scarcely share the joy of the victors, because of the painful regret brought by the thought, " Oh ! why was I not there ?" Lady Laurie gave a good deal of thought to prepara- tion for the evening reading, it being the last that Clarence was likely to attend. She felt anxiety regard- ing so young a convert, who would be suddenly thrown into the midst of temptations for which she could not think him fully prepared. How could the youth stand firm with all his family against him ; how resist the tears of his mother, the arguments of Komanist priests, the sophistry of smooth-tongued Jesuits ? Lady Laurie had not given Clarence credit for possessing much of the mettle of which heroes are made. His habits of self- indulgence, his indolent nature, his love of ease, early associations, and present difficulties, all seemed to lessen the probability of St. Clare's being resolute in giving up his earthly happiness for conscience' sake. Harold had far more of the spirit and resolution which help to form 236 JSTEW LIFE. a strong character; and yet Harold had in some measure disappointed the hopes of his mother. She had not had the least reason to doubt of the reality of his conversion before he went to the public school — she would have as soon doubted her own; yet she could not shut her eyes to the fact that her adopted son had not now the fervour of his first love. What then could be expected from St. Clare, whose advantages had been so much fewer, whose knowledge of the Bible was not a tenth part of that possessed by Harold when a mere child ? Lady Laurie searched not only in the Scriptures, but in such books as were within her reach, for spiritual armour for the young convert. She took pains to write down for him answers to arguments that might be brought forward to perplex and confuse him. She resolved to bring into the evening reading, as far as she could, reasons for rejecting some of the most dangerous errors of Rome. After all, the lady's best resource was prayer. She entreated the Lord Himself to cover the head of His young soldier in the perilous time of battle. As there was no longer any necessity to keep Ida from the risk of imbibing doctrinal error by conversation with a Romanist, Lady Laurie did not prevent her daughter's taking a little walk in the garden with her guest. Clarence talked of his mother and Angelina with sub- dued sorrow to one who sympathized with him as a sister might have done. As the two paced the gravel NEW LIFE. 237 walk together, whilst Robin worked in his little garden near them, they were observed by Miss Petty, who came to pay a good-bye visit to Lady Laurie. " I am so distressed at having to leave Foreham with- out seeing more of you, dearest Lady Laurie," cried the not very welcome visitor, as she interrupted her friend in the midst of researches into a volume of Church history ; " but it is simply impossible for me to be longer spared." Then followed a very long and tedious account of the reasons which made it an imperative duty incumbent on Miss Petty to return to London on the following day. Lady Laurie endured the visit for an hour, but not all the curiosity of Miss Petty could draw from her friend a word regarding Mr. St. Clare's future prospects or plans, beyond his intention to go to his mother. Miss Petty left Willowdale Lodge at last, and returned to Copley House to give the most ill-natured account that she could of what she had chanced to see in the garden. " Flirting on the very day of his poor sister's funeral — I could not have believed it ! " she exclaimed, in the presence not only of the Bullens, but of the servant waiting at table, who was, like his master, strong in the interests of the Red party. The family affairs of the quiet, saintly lady of Willowdale Lodge, were talked of with coarse jest and rude mirth over tankards of ale in low public-houses in Foreham. CHAPTER XXV. THE MASS. Clarence. I suppose that we shall read of the Holy Eucharist to-day. Before we begin I very much wish that you, Lady Laurie, would make clear to me what view Protestants hold on the subject of the Mass. You know that our priests tell us, and all Catholics — I mean Romanists — are bound to believe that the wafer and wine used in the Eucharist (the Sacrament) are actually changed into the body and blood of Christ the Lord ; but I have seen in the " Book of Martyrs " that holy men — bishops amongst them — were willing to be burned alive rather than agree to such a doctrine. Lady L. I know that Romanists receive this doctrine, which is called Transubstantiation. Clarence. I never thought of doubting it till I read the martyrs' book. Did not Christ say when He broke the bread, This is My body? and must not every word wliich He spoke be true ? Lady L. Assuredly every word must be true tvhen THE MASS. 239 taken in the sense in ivliicli the Lord intended it to he taken. You must remember that Christ was in the habit of speaking in parables ; it is even written that He spake to the people only in parables. The Lord said, / am the vine, I am the door ; but no one could take such words literally. Christ said, referring to the manna eaten many hundreds of years before by the children of Israel, / am the bread tuhich came down from heaven (John vi. 41). Now it is impossible that the Lord could mean that He was actually that manna, of which any portion, if kept beyond a day, became corrupt and loathsome. Harold. Any child can see that in these cases the Saviour meant — The vine is a type of Me. The door is a type of Me. The manna is a type of My flesh. And so, This is My body, tuhich I will give for the life of the world, must have meant, This bread is a type of My body. Lady L. The outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. Ida. The Lord was in the body Himself when He said. This is My body. Lady L. In the mysterious sixth chapter of St. John's Gospel we see how carefully the Saviour guarded the Jews from the mistake of taking literally His declara- tion, Exce^Dt ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink His blood, ye have no life in you. The unbe- 240 THE MASS. lievino- Jews, like superstitious Romanists, took his words literally, and the Lord corrected the error of their carnal minds by declaring. It is the Spirit that quick- eneth; the fiesh profiteth nothing : the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life. Clarence. I think that I see your meaning. The Sacrament is a spiritual feast ; it is the soul that is fed by the body of Christ, as our earthly forms are fed by the typical bread. Lady L. And only by such souls as by faith feed on the Lord is any nourishment, any profit received. I will give you another striking example from Scripture of the way of speaking in parables. It shall be an example where no one can doubt that the meaning is purely and solely spiritual. You all remember that Moses in the desert smote a rock, out of which waters gushed forth. St. Paul positively affirms, That rock luas Christ (1 Cor. x. 4). His meaning most clearly is this — That rock was a type of Christ smitten for our sakes, from whose wounded side flowed the healing tide from which comes eternal life. Clarence. I shall regard differently now the sacrifice of the Mass. Lady L. The sacrifice of the Mass! That word sacrifice tells of another mistake, a grievous mistake, made by Rome in regard to Holy Communion. The priests a.ssert that Christ's body is actually sacrificed THE MASS. 241 afresh every time of Celebration of High Mass. Now this is directly contrary to Scripture, which declares that Christ, when He died on the cross, offered up one full, perfect, and all-sufficient sacrifice for the sins of mankind. Christ cried out, It is finished ! Rome avers it was not finished. The work must, by the hands of priests, be carried on to the end of the world. Harold. A blasphemous contradiction. Lady L. In Hebrews, tenth chapter, tenth verse, we read, " We are sanctified by the oflfering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all ;" and again in the twelfth verse, " This man, after He had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right hand of God.'' Ida. Can Rome explain away words so distinct as these ? Lady L. I must tell you of an old monk in the year 1528, to whom the falseness of the Romish idea of the sacrifice of the Mass seemed to be suddenly revealed, as by a flash of light from heaven. The old man stood dressed in the gaudy robes which Rome thinks suitable for the commemoration of the Saviour's death, when Zuingle, a famous Reformer, began to read aloud the Apostles' Creed. When he came to the words, " He ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father : from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead," the reader paused, and observed, " If these words are true, the Mass is a lie." The old priest, standing by (39) 16 242 THE MASS. the altar, was struck with conviction. He stripped off his vestments on the spot, threw them on the altar, and cried aloud, " Unless the Mass has better proofs from Scripture than I know of, I can have no more to do with it ! " Ida. One would like to know whether that brave, honest old priest, was burned alive for making that speech. Harold. I am sure that I have read in history of some one being given poison in the consecrated wafer used in the Mass. If that wafer had been changed, as Rome says that it was, by a few words spoken in Latin by the murderous priest who consecrated it, the poison must have been changed as well as the wafer that held it. But I am sure that the priest so little believed his own lie that he would not have dared to eat it. Clarence. But was not the belief in Transubstantia- tion, the change of the wafer and wine, held from the earliest a^es ? Father O'Brien affirms that it was so. Lady L. Let me read to you a few extracts from this little book (" Facts and Dates "), which I should like you to take with you to your home, as giving the historical view of the question. (Reads.) " Transuhstantiation. The term was invented by Innocent III. at the Council of Lateran, a.d. 1215, to express a change " of substance of the elements bread and wine into the real body and blood of Christ. The THE MASS. 243 dogma of Transubstantiation had no existence in the Church before that council Transubstantiation was a private opinion in the Church at a much earlier date. None of the fathers of the Eastern Church held it, Chrysostom or Jerome ; or of the Western, Ambrose or Augustine. It was unknown to Gelasius of Rome, a.d. 496 It was condemned on its first appearance by the Council of Constantinople, a.d. 680, consisting of three hundred and thirty-eight bishops." Clarence. Then it appears that the doctrine on which Rome insists, to enforce which she has used fire and .sword, was not held by the apostles, nor by the early fathers, and was actually condemned by a large council of the Church. Harold. Therefore it is as contrary to truth as it is to reason. Lady L. And to Scripture — the Word of God. Clarence. I will never ag:ain kneel down to the Host. And yet is it not right that we should reverence that which even Protestants admit to be a type of the Lord's body? Lady L. To reverence, but never to worship. To bow down to a piece of consecrated bread is idolatry in the sight of God. We have a striking example in the Old Testament of the error into which weak mortals may be led by extreme reverence for an emblem. How very interesting a type of salvation was the brazen 244 THE MASS. serpent raised in the wilderness by Moses! It had been the means of working a mighty miracle, such as even Rome cannot attribute to the Host. Merely looking at the brazen serpent had been the means of saving multitudes from death by the bite of fiery reptiles. Clarence. It would certainly have been adored in my Church — I mean the Church that was mine before I came here. Lady L. It was worshipped by the Israelites, who were sadly prone to idolatry. When Hezekiah, the pious king of Judah, saw the sin caused by over-rever- ence for a precious relic, a most striking type of the Saviour, what did he do ? He who removed the high places, broke the images, and cut down the groves in his pious zeal, also brake in 'pieces the brazen serpent which Moses had made. He called it Nehiishtan — a piece of brass, (2 Kings xviii.) Ida. And the Lord blessed that good king with miraculous recovery from illness and deliverance from his foes. Clarence. I never before heard of that passage in Scripture. Lady L. It is not likely that Rome would suffer attention to be drawn to such a passage. It is one of those, doubtless, which make her popes and priests regard the Bible as a very dangerous book. The last words roused up Robin, who, after trying at THE MASS. 245 first to understand the conversation about the Mass, had given up the attempt in despair. The little boy's thoughts had been wandering to Prem Das, and the longed-for letter from India which he expected to come on the morrow. " Mother," said Robin, " is it not time for us to begin our Bible-reading ? I do not think that we have had anything yet about Peter." CHAPTER XXVI. ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. Lady L. Twice in St. John's account of that most solemn feast of which we yesterday began the reading is St. Peter mentioned. As we are confining ourselves to what specially relates to that apostle, we will now go to the twenty-first verse of the thirteenth chapter of St. John. READING. " When Jesus had thus said, He was troubled in spirit, and testified and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you. That one of you shall betray Me. Then the disciples looked one upon another, doubting of whom He spake. Now there was leaning on Jesus' bosom one of His disciples, whom Jesus loved. Simon Peter therefore beckoned unto him that he should ask who it should be of whom He spake. He then, lying on Jesus' breast, said unto Him, Lord, who is it ? Jesus answered, He it is to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it. And when He had dipped the sop, ho gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon." ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. 247 Robin. Mother, why did St. Peter beckon to John to ask, when he could have asked himself ? Lady L. I can only suppose that St. Peter did so because St. John's being so close to the Lord enabled him to ask the question and receive a reply without the rest of the disciples overhearing what was said. It seems as if the sad secret was only between our Lord and St. John, or we can hardly imagine how the traitor was suffered to depart, apparently unsuspected by any one else. Robin. If St. Peter had known what wicked Judas meant to do, I think that the apostle would have snatched up one of the swords, and stopped the traitor by strikmg him dead. Lady L. Let us now read from the thirty-third verse what the Lord said after Judas had passed forth into the darkness of night. READING. " Little children, yet a little while I am with you. Ye shall seek Me : and as I said to the Jews, Whither I go, ye cannot come ; so now I say to you. A new com- mandment I give unto you, That ye love one another ; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are My disciples, if ye have love one to another." Robin. The disciples must have wondered where the Lord was going, and why they could not go with Him. 248 ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. Ida. They never seemed to understand that Christ was going to die. Lady L. St. Peter, we shall see, asked the question which must have been in the thoughts of all. READING. " Peter said unto Him, Lord, why cannot I follow Thee now ? I will lay down my life for Thy sake. Jesus answered him. Wilt thou lay down thy life for My sake ? Verily, verily, I say unto thee, The cock shall not crow, till thou hast denied Me thrice." Lady L. And then probably followed that solemn warning of which we read in the twenty-second chapter of St. Luke. Turn to the thirty-first verse. READING, " And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not : and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren. And he said unto Him, Lord, I am ready to go with Thee, both into prison, and to death. And He said, I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day, before thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest Mc." Harold. These words must have cut St. Peter to the heart. Lady L. He was so confident of the strength of his ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. 249 own devoted love, that I think that the warning prob- ably went deeper into his soul after it was fulfilled than at the time when it was uttered. Let us pause to consider the warning as addressed to each individual here ; for so it virtually is. Satan hath desired to have us; on each one here present he is ready to spring; near each one he is crouching in ambush. Did not St. Peter, in his first epistle, repeat the warning, with the memory of his own grievous fall in his mind ? Ida. Be sober, he mgilant ; because your adversary, the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking tvhom he may devour (1 Peter v. 8). Clarence. Would that the Lord w^ould pray for us as He did for Peter ! Lady L. He doth, He ever doth. Is it not written of our blessed Redeemer, in regard to His feeble, tempted flock, Wherefore He is able also to save them to the utter- most that come unto God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them ? Were it not so, none of us would be able to stand. The Lord is not only our salvation, but our strength. Robin. How then did St. Peter fall? The Lord prayed that his faith might not fail, but it did fail. Lady L. Peter depended on himself; so he was suffered to stumble, but not to fall away finally. Robin. Oh, yes ; it was just as when Peter jumped from the ship into the sea : he was allowed to find out 250 ST. PETER JN THE GARDEN. that he could not walk by himself ; but wlien he cried out, Lord, save me ! immediately the Lord stretched out His hand. He would never let His dear disciple be drowned, though He let him be frightened and wet. Lady L. We will not now dwell on the most touching address of our Lord, contained in the fourteenth and three following chapters of the Gospel according to St. John. It is believed that the latter, perhaps the greater part of the recorded discourse and prayer, may have been uttered on the way to Gethsemane, when the Holy One passed with His disciples over the brook Cedron to the scene of His mysterious anguish. For a record of that agony, and the gentle reproach specially ad- dressed to St. Peter, we will turn to the fourteenth chapter of St. Mark. And here I would remind you that St. Mark is believed to have received from St. Peter's own lips much of what is recorded in this Gospel. You will observe that all the eleven accompanied the Lord over the brook, but eight of them He appears to have left at the entrance to the garden, whilst Christ pro- ceeded until He reached a more retired part of it, with His specially beloved and favoured three. READING. " And He takctli with Him Peter and James and John, and began to be sore amazed, and to be very heavy ; and saith unto them. My soul is exceeding sorrowful ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. 251 unto death ; tarry ye here, and watch. And He went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And He said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto Thee : take away this cup from Me : nevertheless not what I will, but what Thou wilt. And He cometh, and findeth them sleeping, and saith unto Peter, Simon, sleepest thou ? couldest not thou watch one hour ? Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak." Harold. I cannot think how, at such a time, Peter could sleep. Lady L. Alas ! which of us dare say that we would not have done so ; which of us dare affirm that we never have done so ? Conscience has slept in the hour of temptation. When the scene of a Saviour agonizing for our sakes has been, as it were, brought before us in the sacred page, some weakness of the flesh, or, worse still, coldness of the heart, has made us read with care- lessness, or listen with weariness, and our thoughts have wandered away — perhaps to the world I Ida. We have need to watch and pray. Lady L. We learn from St. Matthew's Gospel that three times the suffering Saviour — doubtless yearning for the sympathy of those whom He tenderly loved — came to His three disciples, and found them asleep ! From no child of earth was the Holy One to find help 252 ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. and comfort in this hour of His anguish. But now the stillness of the garden was broken by rude sounds. Probably the eight disciples at the entrance were those first startled by the approach of a great multitude with swords and staves ; then Peter and the brothers would start to their feet, hardly needing the call of their Master, " Rise, let us be going ; behold, he is at hand that doth betray Me." Harold. Which of the four Gospels shall we read for an account of what followed ? Lady L. We will read from the twenty-second chapter of St. Luke, beginning at the forty-seventh verse. READING. " And while He yet spake, behold a multitude, and he that was called Judas, one of the twelve, went before them, and drew near unto Jesus to kiss Him. But Jesus said unto him, Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss ? When they which were about Him saw what would follow, they said unto Him, Lord, shall we smite with the sword ? " Robin. But Peter did not wait for an answer; he flashed out his sword and struck boldly. READING. "And one of them smote the servant of the high priest, and cut off his right ear. And Jesus answered ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. 253 and said, Suffer ye thus far. And He touched his ear, and healed him." Ida. St. Matthew gives us words specially addressed to St. Peter : " Put up thy sword into his place ; for all they that take the sword shall perish by the sword." Harold. And St. Matthew writes, " Then all the dis- ciples forsook Him and fled." I think that St. John could not bear to write this. He seems to have been the first to stop in the cowardly flight, and turn to follow those who were leading his Master away. Robin. And Peter was the next ; we know he was the next. Lady L. We know not for certainty who was the first to turn back ; St. John, in his own account, puts himself and Peter together. But we will not, this even- ing, proceed further in the deeply interesting and painful narrative. Let us rather gather up the instruction which we have received from what we have been read- ing and hearing. Let us take the lessons which we have been tauo^ht into our hearts. Tell me in turns what you consider these special lessons to be. Ida. What strikes me most is the extreme weakness of human nature, as shown in the conduct of those who were, I suppose, the best men at that time upon earth. Harold. Certainly one learns the need of watchfulness and prayer. 254 ST. PETER IN THE GARDEN. Robin. And that one must not fight, like St. Peter, but, like our Lord, do good to our enemies. Clarence. I have gathered a lesson of comfort from the thought that Christ watched and prayed for St. Peter, even when the disciple forgot to watch and pray for himself. Lady Laurie then led the prayer with which the little meeting was concluded, making special and earnest intercession for the young friend who was to depart on the morrow. She knew that a time of temptation was before him, and she earnestly besought for him that heavenly wisdom and strength which God promises in answer to prayer. CHAPTER XXVII. A TEST. When the family had separated for the night, Robin ran after Clarence, who, with a slow step, was mounting the stair to go to his room. " Clarence, you will keep this, won't you, and read a little every morning and night ? " said the little boy, pressing a volume into the hand of the youth. " What is it ? " asked Clarence, for the stair was but dimlv lighted. " It's my Bible — it's the sword of the Spirit, you know; and you'll want a sword, for you're going into the very middle of Popish people, and you have no sword of your own." " And so you deprive yourself of your own beautiful Bible for the sake of one who has hardly given you a kind word ? " said Clarence, touched by the generosity of the child. " It is not just all for your sake," said frank Robin. '•'And besides, I can have another Bible here; but it 256 A TEST. may be hard for you to get one. The pope's men won't want you to read tlio Bible, for it shows all their mis- takes. I am quite pleased for you to take this ; but please — please promise to use it every day, for Satan will be sure to want to get you, as he tried to get Peter." " Thanks for the Bible, and thanks for the warning," said Clarence. " I will not forget to read, and you must not forget to pray; for," he added rather to himself than to the boy, " I shall have very great need of prayers." In the early morn when Lady Laurie, with her family, stood in the porch to bid farewell to Clarence St. Clare, the widow's eyes were moist with tears as she looked on the tall, fair youth, going forth alone to face difficulties which in his own strength he could never overcome. Would the young tender shoot of faith not be dried up in springing by the hot sun of temptation ? could the stripling ever come out victorious from the struggle with the Goliath whom he was going forth to encounter ? " Good-bye, dear Lady Laurie: I shall never forget your kindness ; I shall look upon your home as my soul's birthplace," whispered Clarence, as he pressed the hand of his friend with a warmth which had hitherto seemed foreign to his nature. — " Good-bye, Harold. I fancy that my school-days are ended. I wonder when and how we shall meet again. — Kind Ida, and you, my brave little Robin, good-bye." Clarence caught up the child in his arms, and surprised him by a close hug ; then, not trust- A TEST. 257 ing his voice to say more, the youth strode rapidly along the shrubbery path, and then through the outer gate. Robin was going to run after him, but Lady Laurie laid her hand on the boy's shoulder. " Clarence would rather be quite alone," she said. " Poor fellow ! I think he was half ready to cry," observed Robin ; " didn't you see how he bit his lip ? I am glad that we don't live in the days when people could be burned alive for leaving the pope's religion." " There is more than one kind of persecution," observed Ida sadly. " Perhaps Clarence's mother will be implor- ing him with tears to give up his new faith." " That would be as bad, or nearly as bad, as being burned alive ! " cried Robin. The same thought was in the mind of St. Clare as he trod, sometimes with hasty, then with lingering step, the road which led to the station. He saw nothing of the objects around him — the hedges with their blooming wild-roses, here and there giving place to palings dis- figured with electioneering placards, Palgrave for ever, or Vote for Banting, in staring capitals of red or blue. What was the election to Clarence ? he was making an election in his own soul, and it and the consequences which it involved almost engrossed the mind of St. Clare. Then he thought of his sister, never before so dear. How full would the Castle be of memories of her ! How would she, had she lived, have regarded her (39) 1 7 258 A TEST. brother's conversion ? His mother, Clarence's only too loving- mother, how would she endure this new blow coming upon her before the wound inflicted by the first had had any time to heal ? Could her son not at least delay his confession of his change of views ? Impos- sible ; for the duke's letter must be answered, and no reason but the true one could be given for Clarence's refusal of an offer which Lady Reginald would be sure to press on his acceptance. " God help me ! God sustain me ! " murmured Clarence. " I have never yet taken up a cross, and this is a ter- ribly heavy one to begin with. I feel so utterly alone, with no one to help or encourage me. And yet, how can I say so ! Am I not struggling to follow the Lord, and will He not stretch out His hand ? I am at least not confident, like Peter, in my own strength." There was a sound of carriage wheels coming up behind. Miss Petty was also bound to the station ; for, greatly to her regret, her holiday had come to an end. She was returning to what she called Egyptian bondage. She would have to resume her painful position of humble companion to a proud, tyrannical, vulgar woman, whom in her heart she despised. Miss Petty would have almost to forget that she had a will of her own, and seek, by perpetual flattery, to retain the fickle favour of one who perpetually made her dependant feel the burden of her dependence. The poor lady was greatly to be A TEST. 259 pitied ; for the world was her all, and to have even that imbittered was to be wretched indeed. Miss Petty caught sight of Clarence before he was aware that the little open chaise of the Bullens was coming up behind him. " There's the young sprig of nobility on his way to the station," said Miss Petty to herself ; " I heard that he was going to-day. But fancy his walking alone ! If it had not been for the birth of these Framlinffham babies, all Willowdale Lodge would have turned out to do him honour. But he'll never be anything now but plain Mr. St. Clare, a simple nobody in society. It's the way of the world, the way of the world ! " murmured Miss Petty, as the chaise in which she was seated over- took and passed Clarence St. Clare. The youth cour- teously raised his cap in acknowledgment of Miss Petty 's rather unnecessarily loud greeting. " He looks a bit depressed and cast down ; the peacock has lost some of his feathers" (Miss Petty had turned round on her seat to have a second stare). " But pride must have a fall 1 — Oh ! " The last exclamation, or rather scream, was caused by a wheel of the chaise coming off, and the vehicle coming down with a crash. Miss Petty was thrown out on the dusty road. " I hope that you are not hurt," said Clarence, hastening up to the spot, and assisting the frightened woman to rise, whilst the driver looked to the horse, which had 260 A TEST. falleu. Miss Petty was little hurt, but terribly flurried and alarmed. She stood shaking the dust from her dress, whilst she scolded the driver. " I never saw^ such carelessness in my life ! You might have broken my neck ! Get the horse quickly into the chaise again, or I shall be late and miss the J. _ " " tram. " I can't do no such thing," said the servant sullenly ; "the wheel's off, this here shaft is broken, and the beast has cut his shoulder. Master will be in a pretty way about it ! " and the man muttered to himself, " I told him that the wheel was shaky." " But what am I to do ! " cried Miss Petty desperately, as she thought of what might be the consequence of her missing the train. It might be the loss of her situation ; for her employer would admit no excuse for a delay which would cost her hours of wearisome waiting at the station where she had appointed to meet Miss Petty, who was to accompany her on a journey to the south. " What am I to do ! " she repeated in a louder and more irritable tone. " I s'pose you must walk," said the surly coachman. The conclusion was inevitable, as there was no other vehicle to be seen on the road. As Clarence had no in- clination to have Miss Petty as his walking companion, he hastily again raised his cap, and with the parting remark, " I'm glad you're not hurt," hurried on his A TEST. 261 onward way. But he had not gone three steps before his conscience smote him. Did the fact of Miss Petty's being a vulgar, disagreeable, talkative creature, absolve him from the duty of showing Christian courtesy ? Were pride and selfishness still to hold their ground in his heart ? Clarence walked on a little further, then stopped, and looked back. He saw poor Miss Petty looking very red in the face, attempting to lift up rather a large box in her arms, parasol, bandbox, and shawl on the road beside her, her torn dress draggling in the dust, looking an object of helpless misery, at which, some time before, the proud young St. Clare would only have laughed. There was no one but himself to give help, for the driver doggedly refused the smallest aid. It was impossible for the poor traveller to carry all her luggage herself ; it would half break her heart to leave it behind. Yet — could St. Clare stoop to act as porter to the humble companion of a retired milliner ! There was in the youth's heart a very sharp struggle with pride, a struggle in which pride would have been victorious, but for the memory of the Bible-reading on the Thursday evening — that turning-point in the history of Clarence St. Clare. Could a creature of dust think himself lowered by performing any act of kindness ? could it degrade him to minister to any fellow-mortal, even if it were on his knees ? As a bold rider forces his horse to take a leap from which it recoils, so Clarence forced 262 A TEST. himself to retrace his steps and do what he knew that a Christian should do. He had a test of the sincerity of his conversion before him, all the more sure because his standing it would bring on him the world's ridicule rather than its praise. A youth would win admiration by rescuing a lady from Hood or fire, but to carry her luggage on his shoulder would only provoke a laugh. " Allow me to help you," said Clarence hastily, as he relieved Miss Petty of her box. It was light in pro- portion to its size, for fripperies do not weigh heavy, and the only book in it was a church-service, so small that its owner could scarcely read it. If Clarence had been transformed into an angel before Miss Petty 's eyes she could hardly have looked more astonished. " Oh, Mr. St. Clare, you ! impossible !" she exclaimed. " We are a little late," said Clarence. " As I walk faster than you do, shall I save time by procuring your ticket ? " " Oh ! I should be so much obliged — delighted ! " and Miss Petty pulled an old and certainly not heavy purse out of her pocket. Clarence had to put down the big box, to take the purse and place it in the pocket of his own waistcoat. " By which class do you travel ? " he inquired. " Oh, by the first, of course ! " cried Miss Petty, not very truthfully, for she knew that the purchase of a first-class ticket would empty her purse. A TEST. 263 Clarence said not a word more. It cost him a good deal to lift that box upon his shoulder, but he did it, resolutely crushing down the pride which would have impelled him to dash it down on the road. He went on as fast as his burden would allow, and never looked back to see Miss Petty with bandbox, parasol, and shawl, hurrying panting after him. " She is going first-class, so I will go second," thought Clarence to himself. He had never in his life so tra- velled before ; but he would rather have sat by the engine-driver than have shared a carriage with the talka- tive, inquisitive woman, whom he was serving against his will. As for Miss Petty, she was in a kind of ecstasy of amazement. To think of the grandson of a duke actually carrying her box ! — one named in the peerage being her travelling companion ! It would be a feather in her cap for the rest of her life — a delightful anecdote to be repeated to every one whom she met ! Miss Petty felt something like remorse for the bitter things which she had spoken against " the pert young peacock." " He's a thorough nobleman," she said to herself, " with the manners of a prince of the blood. There he goes, like a porter, with my black box on his aristocratic shoulder ; he who would certainly have worn the ducal coronet and robes had it not been for the cominof of those unlucky babies." CHAPTER XXVIII. A GRIEVOUS FALL. Greatly as the family at Willowdale Lodge were inter- ested in Clarence, and heartily as they prayed for him at morning worship, the arrival of the expected Indian letter at breakfast-time put even his troubles out of the thoughts of his friends for a time. The letter was again addressed to the Hartley brothers jointly, and was read aloud at the breakfast-table — its perusal interrupted by many exclamations. The missionary's letter was as follows : — " My dear Boys, — I am sure that you will be as anxious as I was to know the result of my poor bearer's rash expedition to his village. I have hesitated about writ- ing to you on the subject, from reluctance to giving you pain ; but it is better that you should know the truth, as it will quicken you in prayer for our poor lost sheep. " Prem Dds did not return at the appointed time. Day after day passed, and each left me in a state of A GRIEVOUS FALL. 265 greater suspense. It was hardly possible for me to leave my station at that time ; yet when alarming rumours reached me regarding my unhappy servant, I resolved to go and make at least an attempt to see him and bring him back. " Happily there was a night train, and moonlight, so I was not, in going, obliged to face the heat of the day. From the station nearest to Prem Das's village, two hours' walking, as I heard, would bring me to the place. At the station I tried in vain to procure a guide. " I will not pause to tell you of all my difficulties. I had to pass on foot through a good deal of jungle, where, of course, the moonlight helped me but little. I had to thank God for mercifully preserving my life, for I all but trod on a cobra, and I feel certain that I heard the howl of some large wild beast in the distance. I had an idea of the direction of the village, and Robin's little compass was a help, when there was sufficient light for me to see it. I was thankful when I emerged into the open fields, for the moon went down, and it would have been very dangerous to remain long in the thick, fever- breeding jungle, haunted by snakes. I wandered on till the sun rose, and, guided by the creaking, groaning sound of a Persian wheel, found my way to a spot where, by the help of a pair of buffaloes, a man was drawing up water from a well. I found from him that I had wan- dered far from my way. The peasant gave me water. 266 A GRIEVOUS FALL. for which 1 was thankful. 1 had brought chapatties (unleavened flat cakes) with me, and so made a hasty meal. I was anxious not to lose time, as every hour made the heat more trying. Of course I had not for- gotten to take with me my white -covered umbrella, dear Lady Laurie's parting gift. The peasant would not leave his work to act as my guide, and his directions being anything but clear, I could hardly avoid again losing my way. I am sure that my wanderings more than doubled the distance that I had to traverse. The sun was very hot long before I reached Purian. The low collection of huts, which looked like a number of mud bricks, was distinguished from a thousand similar villages by one gaudily-painted pointed cone, in a grove of palm-trees, which Prem Das had described to me as a leadinsf landmark. I was so much heated that I must have looked as if I had swum a river, and so much ex- hausted that I could hardly drag one foot after another. But 1 was thankful to have reached Purian at last. " From the direction of the temple amongst the palms came a loud sound of tom-toming, beating the native drum, with wild singing and yelling, impossible to de- scribe — an unearthly sound such as one could fancy that demons might make. Apparently some heathen festival was going on in that grove. I dragged myself to the spot. A number of natives, many of them almost with- out clothes, were wildly dancing before a hideous many- A GRIEVOUS FALL. 267 armed idol. Oh, my sons, I can hardly bear to write what it will so distress you to read. Amongst the wildest, noisiest of the deluded worshippers, with the idol's hateful mark on his forehead, I saw our poor deluded Prem Das. I could hardly at first recognize him, so changed was he from the gentle, pious convert, on whose brow I had poured the water of baptism. His eyes had a wild, unnatural fire ; he was evidently under the excitement caused by bang*' Clinging to the hope that I had mistaken his identity, and was looking perhaps on his brother, I called out the name of Prem Das. The poor fellow heard me, turned his wild, reddened eyes in my direction, uttered what was like a maniac's shriek, and rushed into the temple. I attempted to follow, but in vain. The natives thronged around, and would not suffer me to enter, I have a very indistinct idea of what followed ; I believe that I must have swooned. When I next opened my eyes I found myself, burning with fever, laid on a charpai in the bungaloiu (house) of the European magistrate of the district. The Hindoos must have carried me there. They were doubtless terrified at the idea of a European dying amongst them ; the fearful lessons which the English taught them after the Mutiny will not soon be forgotten. " The magistrate has personally shown me kindness. * A spirituous drink, too well known in India. 268 A GRIEVOUS FALL. I am a guest in his bungalow still; but I hope to be able to return to ray station to-morrow. As regards my poor Prem Das, Mr. G gives me not the slightest hope of my ever recovering him from his heathen companions. The magistrate positively refuses to interfere in the matter. As I cannot take an oath that the man is detained prisoner against his will, Mr. G says that it is impossible for him to stir up bad feeling amongst the natives by taking any step in the affair. I can see that the Englishman feels not the slightest interest in my work, hospitable as he has been to a countryman in distress. The magistrate actually said to me to-day, ' I cannot imagine what it matters to you if a wretched nigger calls himself a follower of Christ or of Krishna. This bearer of yours only pretended conversion to curry favour with you ; it is the way Avith them all.' " Here the letter abruptly ended, except that initials, R. H., were signed in straggling characters, as if the writer had been hardly able to guide his trembling finn^ers. " Oh, Prem Das, Prem Das ! " exclaimed Robin, throw- ing himself on the ground, and bursting into a passionate flood of tears. "His mad folly has been almost the death of my father ! " cried Harold with bitter emotion. " The fever had evidently not left him; look at the hand-writing A GRIEVOUS FALL. 269 here ! All that wandering in the jungle, the frightful heat, and the grief and disappointment at the end, have undone all the good received from his visit to England. I can never forgive that ungrateful, heartless hypocrite — never ! " " Oh, don't be so hard on Prem Das," cried Robin, who had risen from his prostrate position, and was crying no more, though his eyes were red and their lashes were wet. " The poor fellow was very, very much tempted, and it was not so bad in him to want to go to his village. We must pray for him very, very hard ! " " It's no use," muttered Harold sternly. " We must pray both for him, and for poor Clarence, who has also gone home to be tempted," said Lady Laurie softly. " He'll fall away, Clarence will fall away — I know him ! " exclaimed Harold. " We've just been making ropes of sand in the cases of both." " Oh, don't say that ! " cried Robin. " Can't the Lord make them firm ? I won't give up hoping and praying for them — never ! " " Nor will I, Robin," said Lady Laurie, with moistened eyes and a quivering lip. The varied effect of the sad tidings from Lidia on the two young Hartleys was not so much owing to differ- ence in their respective characters as to that of the 270 A GRIEVOUS FALL. state of their souls towards God. If at this time Harold was waiting on his Heavenly Master at all, it was in the drowsy state which the atmosphei-e of the world produces on those who are not careful to watch and pray. The temptation which was, serpent-like, stealing on Harold, is one of the most subtle and dangerous, and is wont to come to the missionary when toiling with apparent want of success in a hard and barren field. This is the temptation to despair of men, and to distrust God. Harold had greatly rejoiced in the con- version of Prem Das in the preceding year ; the youth had been, perhaps, a little proud of the success of his own efforts to win a sheaf for Christ, though quite ready to own that others had shared in the work. Harold had even regarded the convert's baptism as a kind of pledge that he himself was called to labour amongst the heathen. Now what he looked upon as utter failure gave him a bitter distaste for missionary work. The youth was indignant against the wretched backslider, as if Prem Das had intentionally deceived his Christian friends. None are harder on the falls of others than those who themselves are stumblino;. It is when our own love is growing cold, when our own eyes are turned away from Christ, that we most scornfully condemn those who are wandering from the right path. Perhaps there is an intuitive desire to silence conscience by comparing ourselves, not with the earnest and true- A GRIEVOUS FALL. 271 hearted, but with those whom we dare to despise. It was the cold and worldly Pharisee who scorned the penitent whom the pure and spotless Saviour pitied, received, and blessed. " If father could only have a talk with Prem Das," began Robin ; but Harold impatiently cut him short. " I don't want to hear the fellow's name again ! " exclaimed Harold, pushing back his chair and rising from the table. " I'm going to try to forget that he ever existed. Now I'm off to Stanby Hall ; there will be plenty of excitement there to-day to drive painful thoughts out of one's mind." " Please don't go," pleaded Robin ; " that Stanby Hall is the only place to which you can't take your little terrier, and I want you here so much to-day, because I'm so very unliappy." " I hope that you will stay," said Lady Laurie, who did not like to put the request into the form of a com- mand. A few months previously, the expression of a wish from her would have been quite sufficient. " I must go — I shall be expected — we're on the very eve of the election," said Harold, avoiding looking either at his mother or Robin. " Don't expect me back very early," he added, as he hastened out of the room. Lady Laurie's heart was very heavy, she had even a struggle to keep down her tears. She grieved over the fall of Prem Das ; she felt very anxious about 272 A GRIEVOUS FALL. Clarence ; Lut the lady's sorest trial was the selfish conduct of Harold, of him who had been her pride and delight. She gave as much of her attention as she could to Robin on that long, wearisome day ; but the lady's time was always a good deal taken up on Satur- days by needful household duties. Robin found it hard to settle to anything. The garden, the pigeons, the swing had no attractions on this day for the poor little boy. The only thing which interested Robin was the attempt to write to his father in a large round hand a letter which had many a blot and many a blunder, for Robin as yet was a very poor scribe. Lady Laurie thought it a very touching little letter, however, when Robin brought it for her to correct. The boy had laboriously copied out from Harold's Urdu Testament the only text which he knew in an Indian language — What must I do to be saved ? — and asked his father to send it to poor Prem Das. " But how can father get it to Prem Das ? " observed the boy sadly after he had finished writing out the text. " No one could take a letter, and if any one did, perhaps Prem Das could not read it. I've had all my trouble for nothino- ! " " Not for nothing, my darling," said Lady Laurie with loving sympathy ; " nothing done for the Lord is done in vain." The lady needed to take these words of comfort to A aRIEVOUS FALL. 273 her own anxious heart, for she was grieved w^hen the whole day passed away without bringing Harold's re- turn. He was not present at the evenmg reading. Lady Laurie could not help suspecting that Harold had purposely avoided joining in a religious exercise in which he no longer took interest or pleasure. (39) -^8 CHAPTER XXIX. ST. Peter's denial. Lady L. Let us read from the Gospel of St. John of what happened when the Lord, bound and guarded, w^as taken to the house of Annas, and then, as appears from the twenty-fourth verse, to that of Caiaphas, the son-in- law of Annas, and his co-partner in the office of liigh priest. Ida. Please let us stop till one or two difficulties are explained. How can there be tiuo high priests ? And if the Lord, as only St. John mentions, was sent from the house of the one to the house of the other, where was it that Peter denied Him ? Lady Tj. I will answer your two questions, as well as I can, in the order in whicli you put them. The first is not a difficult one, for here we have history to guide us. Annas had been high priest when the Saviour was yet a child ; but, twenty years before the crucifixion, Annas had been deposed by the Romans. We know how jealous the Jews were of their conquerors in matters S7'. PETER'S DENIAL. 275 that concerned their religion ; they would consider Annas as still their high priest, though his son-in-law Caiaphas actually held the office. Robin. All that is simple and plain. Lady L. Then, as regards the scene of the Lord's first trial, I will tell you the explanation which I have gleaned from reading, though we cannot be quite certain of its correctness. It is probable that Annas and Caia- phas occupied jointly one stately building conveniently situated near the temple. According to Eastern archi- tecture we may imagine this palace built round a court, which was entered through an arched passage. Into this court there would be no difficulty as to St. John's entering along with the mob who were bringing along their sacred Victim. Being known in the palace, St. John was able afterwards to bring in his brother apostle. Our Lord's first and more private examination was in the part of the building where dwelt the hoary-headed Annas ; His second examination was in the great hall where, presided over by Caiaphas, the Council of the Sanhedrim was assembled. In the courtyard was the fire around which the servants of the high priest were warming themselves in that chilly hour which precedes the dawn. Ida. But if the Lord was in the palace, and St. Peter in the courtyard, I cannot understand how the apostle could meet the Saviour's look. 27G ST. PETER'S DENIAL. Lady L. The Lord, when being led acros.s the court- yard from one part of the building to another, may have looked on Peter as He passed ; or, considering the very open way in which houses are built in the East, there is no difficulty in supposing that tlic hall of judgment commanded a view of the place where Peter was stand- ing. It was probal)ly higher than the courtyard, and may have had nothing but pillars on the side that opened upon it. Some Oriental rooms have no wall at all on one side; all is open to the view of those standing in the court below. Let us now read St. John's account of the very saddest passage in the eventful history of St. Peter, — one which, whenever memory recalled it, must have cast a deep shadow over his soul. READING. "And Simon Peter followed Jesus, and so did another disciple : that disciple was known unto the high priest, and went in with Jesus into the palace of the high priest. But Peter stood at the door without. Then went out that other disciple, which was known unto the high priest, and spake unto her that kept the door, and brouG^ht in Peter." Robin. St. John would never have done so, if he had known into what temptation he was bringing his friend. ST. PETER'S DENIAL. 277 READING. "Then saith the damsel that kept the door unto Peter, Art not thou also one of this man's disciples ? He saith, I am not. And the servants and officers stood there, who had made a fire of coals ; for it was cold : and they warmed themselves : and Peter stood with them, and warmed himself." Ida. While he was warming himself in the company of the Lord's enemies, his Divine Master was standing in the high priest's presence, accused, questioned, buf- feted, struck on the face I Robin. I hope that Peter did not see all that — I'm sure that he could not have seen it, or he never would have remained warming himself by the fire in the courtyard ; he would never have thought of the cold. Lady L. If the supposition be correct that Peter's third denial was at the time when the Lord was hurried across the courtyard from the apartment of Annas to the other part of the palace where Caiaphas had assem- bled the Sanhedrim, it is possible that Peter did not actually see the sufferings of his blessed Master. By St. Matthew's account Peter seems to have retired for a time into the porch, or covered entrance into the court- yard. For the fullest account of the second and third denials let us turn to the twenty-sixth chapter of his Gospel. 278 sr. PETER'S DENIAL. READING. "And when he was gone out into the porch, another maid saw him, and said mito them that were there, This fellow was also with Jesus of Nazareth. And again he denied with an oath, I do not know the man. And after a while came unto him they that stood by, and said to Peter, Surely thou also art one of them ; for thy speech bewrayeth thee. Then began he to curse and to swear, saying, I know not the man. And im- mediately the cock crew." Lady L. St. Luke adds that most touching incident : " And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter. And Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how He had said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny Me thrice. And Peter went out, and wept bitterly." Robin. I think that the look from that face must just have broken his heart. I wish that we knew ex- actly whether the Lord looked down from some open hall, or, surrounded by the cruel men who had bound Him, was passing through the courtyard near enough to hear St. Peter deny Him with oaths and curses. Lady L. There are many events recorded in Scripture of which we would fain know the most minute par- ticulars, but enough is told to strengthen our faith and warm our love. We feel certain that the wicked words bursting fi-om the lips of His beloved apostle intlicted a ST. PE TEH'S DENIAL. 279 sharp pang upon the loving heart of our Lord, and prob- ably gave Him more pain than the blow on the face which He had received. Robin. How miserable it must have made Peter to think that he had added to the pain and the grief of the Saviour, when He was already in such terrible trouble ! And Peter had said not very long before, " Though I should die with Thee, yet will I never deny Thee." Lady L. Which of us can trust our own good resolu- tions, however sincere they may be, when an apostle had such a terrible fall ! Ida. Whither do you think that St. Peter went to weep ? Ladjy L. We know not whither he fled, but it was probably beyond reach of the terrible sights and sounds which, after his denials, would have wrung his soul beyond power of endurance. We do not hear of Peter being, like John, at the foot of the cross. One cannot but think that the fallen apostle sought some place where he could be alone with his God. Perhaps in Gethsemane's garden Peter prostrated himself on the ground where, a few hours before, his Saviour had knelt, and poured forth his tears over the stains still fresh from the bloody sweat. One awful sign of the sacrifice whicli was being offered for his sin Peter could not help seeing — the fearful darkness which came on at 280 ST. PETER'S DENTAL. noonday, as if the .sun dare not look on tlie anguish of his Creator. That darkness must have enwrapped Peter, and have added to the horrors of his remorse. Ida. And when the darkness passed away, St. Peter must have felt the trembling and shaking of the earth beneath him, and have thought, " All is over now ! The Jews have murdered my Lord ! The earth is opening to swallow them up ! " Robin. Peter might think that it would swallow him up too, for his lies, and his oaths, and his curses. Ida. St. Peter would be afraid to go back to the other apostles ; he who had been always taking a first place amongst the twelve would now feel himself to be unworthy of being numbered amongst them. Robin. I do not think that Peter would touch food till the Lord rose from the dead. Peter would be like St. Paul, who ate nothing for three days and nights. Poor Peter slept when he ought to have watched. I do not think that he could sleep again till the Lord awoke. Ida. Is it not likely that St. John sought out his poor weeping friend ? Lady L. It is very probable indeed, for at the next mention of St. Peter we find them too-ether. Rohin. St. John would tell all about the terrible crucifixion, which St. Peter had not dared to see. I daresay that when Peter heard of the Lord's praying for His enemies, he burst into tears and said, " The Lord ST. PETERS REPENTANCE. ST. PETER'S DENIAL. 281 also prayed for me ! " And when Peter heard of the dying thief, he would think, " T wish that I had been in his place. I wish that I had been crucified by the side of my Master ; then I should now have been in Paradise with Him. But I was not worthy of the honour — I was not worthy ! " Lady L. St. Peter was to be judged worthy one day of sufferino; on a cross, and no doubt at that time he felt that his Lord was beside him, Ida. Though the story of St. Peter's fall is so sad, yet I think that there is comfort for backsliders in it ; for Peter was not lost, notwithstanding his fall. Robin. Oh, no, no ! Peter had left off holding Christ, but Christ had not left off holding Peter. The Lord would not let Satan have him. — Oh, mother, surely the Lord will have mercy, too, on our poor Prem Das, and look on him, and make him repent and weep, and then be ready to die for his Saviour ! CHAPTER XXX. THE MEETING. We will return to Clarence St. Clare, who, when he reached the station, was by no means sorry to put down his burden. He was a;lad that he recoo-nized no one on the railway platform ; for the liigh-born youth had nofc reached that stage of noble-mindedness which would have made him indifferent as to who should see him acting the part of a porter. Clarence's act was, however, noticed by a gentleman sitting in a second-class carriage, who watched the youth when he handed to Miss Petty the ticket which he had procured for her at the office. Miss Petty's profusion of thanks, her apologies for having ever suffered him to touch her black box, amused Mr. Carse — such was the passenger's name — and set him thinking. " I wonder how that singularly gentlemanly youth came to be carrying the luggage of that peculiarly vulgar-looking dame," said Mr, Carse to himself. " One cannot imagine any connection between them." THE MEETING. 283 " Won't you come in, Mr. St. Clare ? The train does not wait long at this station," cried Miss Petty from the window of her carriage, after receiving her ticket and stuffino- it into her glove. " Thanks; I travel second class," replied Clarence, glad to make his escape to the compartment occupied by Mr. Carse. The next minute the train was in motion. The separation was a grievous disappointment to Miss Petty, who had been making up in her mind, as she walked, a speech of sympathy to Clarence on the pro- voking coming of the babies. This was to prelude close questioning as to whether his sister had left property, and if so, whether he was not her heir. It was well for the peace and good-temper of Clarence that he had placed himself beyond reach of Miss Petty's curious eyes and inquisitive tongue. Mr. Carse was a reserved man, and did not usually converse with fellow-travellers ; but the little incident of the black box aroused his curiosity. " This youth must be a true Christian," he thought, " to perform a menial office for one evidently in no way related to him." Clarence's deep mourning, and pale, sad counte- nance, increased the gentleman's feeling of interest. " You got in at Foreham, sir," he said politely to Clarence. " May I ask if you are acquainted with any one residing at Willowdalc Lodge ? " "I have just come from Willowdalc Lodge," replied 284 THE MEETING. Clarence, " I have been on a visit to Lady Laurie, — she is my friend." " She is my cousin," rejoined Mr. Carse, " and I intend calling on her when I have finished my business in London." This was the commencement of one of the most pleasant and profitable conversations in which Clarence had ever engaged. The journey was only too short. Mr. Carse told how he was going to London, by the request of a friend now travelling in Spain, to see how a large coffee-house which she had opened was con- ducted during her absence. Mr. Carse then went on naturally, and without effort, to more personal subjects. He told how his cousin, Lady Laurie, had prevented his giving a lease of the building now used both as a place for refreshment and for religious meetings, to a publican, who had already made it a centre of evil. The warm way in which Mr. Carse spoke of the effect of Lady Laurie's quiet influence over himself drew Clarence into telling more of what she had done for him than he would have believed it possible to have revealed to a stranger. Mr. Carse's frank manner invited confidence. The travellers were talking over the various points in which the Romish religion differed from that taught in the Bilde, when the railway whistle gave unwelcome notice that the train was approaching the London station. " We cannot have arrived already ! " exclaimed Clar- THE MEETING. 285 ence. " I could wish that the journey had been lonojer." " Do you reside in town ? " inquired Mr. Carse. " No ; I am going down into shire," replied St. Clare. " But I must stay in London for a couple of hours, as the time of the departure of the northern train does not fit in with the arrival of this." " Might I ask you to spend the two hours with me ? " said Mr. Carse. " I should like to show you ' The Trident ; ' and we can get refreshments there after our journey. You are probably a stranger to this part of London, and it may interest you to see a little of the battle against drunkenness and vice carried on here under the auspices of good Mrs. Elwyn." Clarence readily consented to the proposal of his new friend, and was introduced by Mr. Carse into what was almost like a new world to the youth. St. Clare had hitherto only tolerated London for the sake of its places of amusement ; it had been pleasant enough to him to make one of the gay throng in its fashionable parks, to saunter down Bond Street, to go to the exhibitions by day, or the opera and theatres by night. It was quite a new experience to Clarence to plunge into a labyrinth of low streets, and he could hardly have believed, a few weeks previously, that he could have penetrated the crowded haunts of " the unwashed " with anything but feelings of utter disgust. Now, under the guidance of 286 THE MEETING. a Christian philanthropist, Clarence visited a building which stood like a centre of lio-ht amidst surroimdino- darkness ; a fort, as it were, surmounted by the banner of the Cross, to form a rallying-point for the faithful, a bulwark against surroundinef sin. From Mr. Carse Clarence learned what noble hearts can beat under fustian jackets, and what glorious battles for the truth can be won in dirty alleys and crowded lanes. St. Clare heard what one large-hearted, generous lady can do, when her heart is warmed by love for the Saviour, and could not but contrast such works as were done by Lady Laurie and Mrs. Elwyn, without a thought of acquiring merit by them, with Catherine's Latin prayers and painful fasts, and charitable deeds regarded as some- thing to balance against her sins, and give her some sort of claim to heaven. The two hours spent in London with Mr. Carse placed the beauty, privilege, and joy of charity in a new light before Clarence St. Clare, When the youth, after bidding his companion a kindly good-bye, started on his homeward journey, he had ennobling and cheering thoughts to relieve the painful ones which would have otherwise engrossed his mind. In smoky, crowded London, the soul of Clarence had been braced by a purer air. He was far more ready now to meet with faith and courage the inevitable trials before him. THE MEETING. 287 The sun was setting when Clarence St. Clare ap- proached his home ; the red light shone like a glory around the picturesque gray tower which, on its wooded hill, was so familiar to his eyes. It was but a glimpse which he had of the building ere the movement of the train hid it from view ; but how many recollections did that glimpse awaken ! The Castle was a landmark for miles around. Century after century had admiring eyes been turned to the beautiful place ; " legendary lore " had woven round it a web of romance — it had been a subject for painters and a theme for poets. The Castle belonged to the Framlingham property, and the duke had allowed his brother, and after his death his widowed sister-in-law, to reside in it as life-tenants. Clarence was very proud of his birth-place, with its massive donjon and its moat ; the portcullis which still hung in the gateway had been his admiration from early childhood. A halo of his- torical interest surrounded the Castle. Had it not had the honour of being twice assaulted and sacked, once during the wars of the Eoses, and once in the great civil war which cost King Charles his crown and his life ? Clarence had often said that he much prefen-ed the Castle to Framlingham, though the latter was four times the size of the former. The ducal palace was not fifty years old, and the ducal title but dated from the reign of Queen Anne; but the Castle had been built in the days of the Plantagenets, and the St. Clares had fought under 288 THE MEETING. the Black Prince. Flags that had waved at Cressy and Poictiers were to Clarence things more to be proud of than the strawberry-leaved coronet which he had ex- pected one day to wear. " When I am duke I'll make the Castle my principal home," Clarence had once said to Angelina. " Our father has built here a beautiful chapel ; I'll build a magnificent banqueting hall, and have it hung with tapestry, and furnished with richly-carved oak. I'll only care to live at Framlingham in the hunting season ; I'll keep my Christmas here, and burn my Yule-log in the fine old Castle where my ancestors dwelt." But it was not a feeling of family pride which the glimpse of the distant tower aroused when, on that summer evening, Clarence St. Clare bent forward to gaze on it from the window of the railway carriage. He thought of the sad funeral procession which had so lately passed under the portcullis ; he thought of the sweet voice, which he should never again hear upon earth, — of the sister who, with light, graceful step, would no more go forth to meet him. Clarence covered his eyes with his hand, and sank back on the seat with a heavy sigh. And yet what comfort was in the thought " My sister is with the Lord whom she loved ; with Him whose footsteps she tracked through the darkness which prevailed around her. Cradled as was Angelina in superstition, and nurtured amongst errors, her gentle THE MEETING. 289 spirit rose above the earthly mists, and she departed from the world, trusting in ' Jesus only.' " Lady Reginald having received the telegram giving notice of her son's coming, had sent her carriage to meet him at the station. Two handsome horses stood pawing the ground and champing their bits with impatience. Notwithstanding the steepness of the hill road which led to the Castle, Clarence soon found himself beneath the old lichen-stained porch, with his mother's arms around him, and her tears falling fast on his neck. The bereaved lady could only sob forth, " My boy, my own darling Clarence! Oh, how welcome you are — at last!" Clarence supported his mother's enfeebled steps into the Castle, and conducted her to the elegant little apart- ment fitted up as a boudoir, in which he knew that she usually sat. As mother and son sat almost silently together, Clarence had time to mark the change which sorrow had wrought on a once beautiful face. Never had he before noticed how much silver streaked the dark braided hair. Lady Reginald's eyes were swollen with almost incessant weeping; her pale cheeks were sunken with watching ; and when she helped her son to the food which she would not touch herself, her thin hand trembled and shook. " I cannot tell her anything to pain her this evening at least," thought Clarence. Nor was there any need to do so: except one allusion to the duke's letter, which she said must be answered, Lady (39) 19 200 THE MEETING. Reginald cared to speak of little but her dead daughter and her living son. All the particulars of Angelina's illness were gone over with painful exactness, the sad recital often interrupted by bursts of weeping. " What Catherine thinks most dreadful of all is, that the poor darling had no time for confession, and never received extreme unction," said the unhappy mother, " But oh, Clarence, may we not hope that the Lord had mercy upon her ? " " I am certain of it," cried Clarence, in a tone of con- fidence that greatly cheered his mother. " Then you do not think that she is suffering the — the pangs of purgatory ? " " No ; I believe that Angelina is rejoicing with the saints in light, mother dear," said Clarence rather abruptly. " Where is that book ? " The look of alarm on the face of Lady Reginald made her son regret that he had asked the question. " Oh ! please do not speak about that" she said almost in a tone of entreaty. " I know that I did wrong, very wrong, to leave it where she could find it. Catherine has been so very, very angry ; she reproached me — even by the deathbed ! " " Catherine had no right to do so," exclaimed Clarence with indignation. " You don't reproach me then?" faltered the unhappy lady. THE MEETING. 291 Clarence's only reply was pressing his mother to his heart with a warmth of affection which he had never shown to her before. The embrace was not only the expression of sympathy and love, but it was given with the feeling that this might be the last day on which the Romanist mother would accept such a sign of close union from her Protestant son. On the morrow a terrible chasm would open between them ; there would be displeasure, perhaps anger, certainly grief, where there was now the most tender, clinging affection. Clarence dreaded that morrow and the disclosure which he must make. But it was sweet for the time to feel that his caress was pouring balm into a parent's almost broken heart, to see how intensely she loved him, and to resolve that in everything that did not compromise truth and conscience he would be a more dutiful, tender son than he had ever been before. CHAPTER XXXI. THE CONFESSION. Who knows not the sensation of awakening with a weight on the heart, a consciousness that something painful has happened or is about to happen, which op- presses the mind before it is sufficiently aroused to remember what that something may be ? Thus on the Sabbath morning awoke Clarence St. Clare. Soon came full recollection of the trial looming before him. His confession of change of faith must be made ere that rising sun should set. How would the Lord bear him through it ? In earnest prayer Clarence threw himself on the guidance and sustaining power of God. St. Clare remembered Peter's fall, and dared not say with bold assurance that he never could deny his Heavenly Master. Clarence unclosed the Bible given him by Robin, and chose for his morning portion that which he knew would be read on that day at Willowdale Lodge. While en- gaged in reading, he heard the melodious chimes of the THE CONFESSION. 293 chapel bell, summoning to early worship. Clarence knew that High Mass would be celebrated that mornino-, with special prayers for the soul of Angelina St. Clare ; this was the last thing which his mother had told him before they separated at night. Clarence resolved not to attend what he now regarded as an idolatrous service, though his absence might cause surprise and pain. The chapel almost adjoined the Castle. St. Clare saw from his window priests entering the beautiful little edifice ; then a form, clad in deep mourning and bowed with grief, appeared gliding forth from the Castle, fol- lowed by female servants in black dresses. Lady Regi- nald paused for a moment, raised the thick crape veil which she wore, looked up, and caught the eye of her son as he stood at the window. Clarence drew back with a pang at his heart. There was his mother going to prostrate herself before a graven image, and to wor- ship a wafer ! He dared not bow down in the house of Rimmon, even though a parent should lean on his arm. Again Clarence knelt down, and prayed for his mother as he never had prayed before. The two met at a later hour at the breakfast table, which had been loaded with luxuries for her son by Lady Reginald St. Clare. She herself scarcely tasted the food. Clarence had little appetite, and was almost silent during the meal. Lady Reginald watched him with 294 THE CONFESSION. the anxious eyes of affection. After the cheerless repast was ended, the lady led her son to her beautiful boudoir, where the morning light streamed, tinted with many colours, through lancet windows of stained glass. Lady Keorinald took her seat on a velvet-cushioned sofa, and made Clarence sit by her side. " My dearest son," she said, laying her hand caress- ingly on his, " you must not delay longer writing to express your thanks to the duke for his very kind offer. I am vexed that you have suffered so much time to elapse already, for I fear that the duke may be dis- pleased. He is a man who resents a slight, and we can- not afford to offend him. You know that it is through his kindness that I have continued to reside here since the loss of your father. The letter must be written to-day." " It is so difficult to write," exclaimed Clarence. " Why so, my son ? No doubt it is painful to you, as it is very painful to me for you to receive as a favour a home in a house which we thought would soon be your own ; Ijut we must bow to circumstances over which we have no control. Yovi must see with me that the very wisest course which you can pursue is to accept an offer very kindly made — an offer which insures such advantages both as regards your present position and your future career." " Mother, I cannot accept it," said Clarence. THE CONFESSION. 295 A distressed, perplexed expression came over Lady- Reginald's sweet pale face. " Why can you not accept it ? " asked she. " It is better to tell you all," said Clarence, looking down at the carpet, for it pained him to meet that wistful gaze. " You know, mother, that I have been spending some time with Lady Laurie, she who adopted my school-fellow, Harold Hartley. I have heard and read much at her house which has made me see matters — I mean religious matters — in quite a different light from before. I have learned to search the Scriptures, and compare their teachings with those of the Church of Rome. I find that the two teachino^s do not agree. Mother, do not agitate yourself thus ; you do not know how it pains me to grieve you," continued Clarence, for he felt that the hand which still rested on his was cold and trembling. " With my altered views it would be base hypocrisy in me to accept my imcle's offer. It is only by wearing a mask that I could remain for a day under his roof. I know what we owe him," Clarence dropped his voice as he added, " and what the loss of his favour may cost us ; but I cannot remain a Roman Catholic w^ithout sacrificing my conscience. Mother, what would it profit me to gain the whole world and lose my own soul ?" Clarence was alarmed by the violent emotion caused by his words. The whole frame of Lady Reginald 296 THE CONFESSION. seemed convulsed by anguish too great to find vent in lanofuafje. Her son feared that she was coino; into hysterics. " Mother — you distress me. Say that you forgive me — that you will not utterly cast off your Clarence !" Lady Reginald threw her arms round her boy, hid her face on his shoulder, and bursting into a flood of tears, exclaimed, " Cast you off ! — I am unworthy to have such a son !" And then, as the passionate weeping subsided, Lady Reginald, in broken sentences, revealed to her son some glimpses of the history of her own life, — her marred, most unhappy life. She herself had been guilty of the very sin from which her son's conscience recoiled. The reader shall have a much clearer and more detailed ac- count of Lady Reginald's story than Clarence could guess out from the words which, in her hour of bitter remorse, escaped from his agitated mother. Lady Reginald had been born of Protestant parents, and brought up with Protestant views. She had had some early impressions of religion, and had been regarded by her pastor as a girl of promise, though not yet of decided piety. Thus she continued, content to follow in a beaten track, without troubling herself with doctrinal matters, till a great temptation crossed her path. At a fashion- able watering-place where she was on a visit to a friend, the banker's beautiful sister met Lord Reginald THE CONFESSION. 297 St. Clare. Meeting at various places of amusement, Reginald and Catherine soon mutually felt that each was made for the other. The maiden was dazzled by the social position of her admirer, but much more by the attraction of his personal appearance and the fascination of his polished manners. Soon the girl's tastes, opinions, and interests took their colour from those of the scion of nobility, who was becoming her soul's idol. Cath- erine was led to attend a Romanist chapel, and was de- lighted with the beauty of the interior, the exquisite music, and the fragrant incense. Her senses were charmed, and reason and conscience were too weak to resist the dangerous fascination. Whatever Lord Regi- es o nald approved must be right, whatever Lord Reginald admired must be perfection, in the eyes of the deluded maiden. Catherine knew that only her Protestantism stood between her and what she deemed the very height of terrestrial bliss. Protestantism was given up, almost without a sigh ; Romanist priests rejoiced over what they deemed a new convert ; and very soon afterwards friends congratulated Catherine Cobbs on her engage- ment to Reginald St. Clare. The infirm state of his brother's health at this time made it so probable that the bride would soon be a duchess, that the marriage was hastened that it might take place before the expected death of the peer should throw at least the shadow of mourning over the wedding- feast. 298 THE CONFESSION. ' Catherine received showers of notes of congratulation on her brilliant prospects ; only in one quarter did she meet with uncompromising disapproval and reproof. Her only brother, instead of being dazzled and delighted by his sister's engagement, did all that he could to in- duce her to break it off". Charles, however, expostu- lated in vain ; he only succeeded in alienating his sister, and making an enemy of her betrothed. Catherine parted in anger from the narrow bigot, as she called him, who cared more for his prejudices than for the happi- ness of his sister. " God's blessing will not be on the union ; it is not in the Lord," were the last words which Catherine heard from the lips of her brother, till, as a sorrowing widow, she met him after the lapse of many long years. Those parting words irritated her when she first heard them ; they haunted her soul afterwards whenever trouble came upon her. Lady Keginald's married life was full of troubles. Before long she found out how unworthy her dissipated husband was of the love which she had lavished upon him, the love which clung to him to the last. And almost from the first days after marriage Catherine was worried by domestic cares. Reginald was not rich (except in expectations) ; but he was ex- travagant, and perpetually in want of money to keep up the style of living which he deemed befitting a man of his rank. He became irritable even to his wife, sub- THE CONFESSION. 299 missive as she was in all things to his will. The death of two children by small-pox was a grievous sorrow to Lady Reginald, — all the more so as she suspected their deaths to be a judgment from Heaven. Not that the poor mother had any clear perception of her sin in for- saking a pure faith ; constant association with Roman- ists had almost worn away every distinct trace left for a time on her mind of scriptural truth, Catherine hardly knew what she really believed ; but she felt, very bitterly felt, that she was not walking with God, — that His blessing was not upon her. She tried, under the direction of her confessor, to regain her lost peace by more diligent observance of what was prescribed by her Church. Lady Reginald fasted and repeated long- prayers ; she performed such works as are supposed by Romanists to confer merit ; but peace was still far from her heart. Catherine especially grieved over the memory of her brother's words, during the terrible illness of her husband, which ended in his death : she could not feel easy about his soul, notwithstanding the heavy price which the poor sufferer, in his remorse, paid to purchase its safety. The next thing which startled the conscience of Lady Reginald was a conversation with her elder daughter, who had accidentally, as it seemed, obtained possession of a New Testament which her mother had long ceased to read. Angelina asked questions which her parent 300 THE CONFESSION. dared not, perhaps could not, answer ; but these ques- tions awakened recollections of the past, and stirred up painful doubts from which the priest-ridden lady shrank as if they were of the nature of sin. Angelina's engage- ment, after a while, diverted both her own attention and that of her mother from the perplexing subject of re- ligion. Lady Reginald's usually depressed spirits rose a little with the preparations for her daughter's mar- riage. Then came the sudden, fearful trial of the beau- tiful girl's illness and early death. Again the mother felt God's hand very heavy upon her ; again she pon- dered over her brother's words, and trembled at the thought of Divine wrath resting upon herself and her race. In her misery. Lady Eeginald read, but with the greatest secrecy, the book which had been found under the pillow of her dead daughter. Its perusal only made her more wretched, for it confirmed her fear that she herself was on a downward path. But it Avas a path which the mother dared not leave. Lady Reginald's affection for her Romanist children was as an impassable barrier to her ever forsaking the faith which they pro- fessed, even should it not be the true one. Her love for her daughter Catherine was mixed with something of fear, — there had never been full sympathy between them ; but Clarence was the idol of his mother. No step that could separate her from him could be contem- plated for a moment ; her conscience was too weak, her THE CONFESSION. 301 will too vacillating, for her to feel able to shake, as it were, one stone from the wall dividing her from the narrow way to tread which would involve separation from her son. But suddenly, most unexpectedly. Lady Reginald saw the wall broken down before her. Clarence himself was leading the way over its ruins : he had confessed himself to be a Protestant. One child now in heaven, and one still on earth, had, notwithstanding her own false guid- ance, found the blessed path of truth. The mother hardly knew whether to rejoice or to mourn. She was deeply, most deeply humbled. It was from this self- abasement that she uttered the exclamation, " I am un- worthy of such a son !" What Lady Reginald, in broken sentences between her sobs, told of her former history and of the present state of her mind, was a strange and unexpected revela- tion to Clarence, who had never before held conversation on deep religious subjects with his mother. " Then you were never an out-and-out Catholic — I mean a member of the Church of Rome !" he exclaimed when she paused. " It will not, then, be so difficult for you to leave her communion." Lady Reginald looked startled and alarmed at the idea. " Leave it ! impossible !" she exclaimed. " Think of Catherine — think of the duke !" 302 THE CONFESSION. " You told me yesterday evening that Catherine has resolved, notwithstanding your entreaties, to enter a eon- vent ; this, under any circumstances, involves separation. Even were she remaining with you, it is not for the daughter to rule the mother. Catherine has been too much of the mistress here. As for the duke, he has no right to control your conscience." " Oh, Clarence, Clarence ! you do not know how utterly dependent we are upon him !" exclaimed the agitated lady, her hands trembling; her lips convulsively twitch- ing. " The duke could at any moment turn me out of the Castle ; I could not as a Protestant remain in this home. To offend the duke is absolute ruin !" Clarence looked greatly distressed. " It would be to leave much," he began. But his mother passionately cut him short. " It would be to leave all !" she exclaimed. " My son, you had better know my position, painful as it is to me to describe it. Your poor father had not much to leave, and the greater part of what he did leave was bequeathed to your sisters. For yourself, there was hardly enough to pay for your schooling ; for your father believed that shortly after his decease that of his brother would render you the possessor of an immense fortune." " I know all this — only too well," said Clarence. " There was little but furniture left to me," continued Lady Reginald, speaking rapidly, " because I had money THE CONFESSION. 303 of my own. But, Clarence, I have been spending it, I have been living recklessly on my capital, for I thought that when you were rich your mother would never know need. I have been — with grief I own it — careless in keeping accounts, and really did not know the state of my affairs, till I was startled, horrified yesterday by having a small cheque returned to me with the infor- mation that it was overdrawn — my banker had actually nothing of mine remaining in his hands ! " " A startlino: announcement indeed ! " exclaimed Clar- ence. " There is nothing but poverty and misery before me," pursued Lady Reginald, " and at such a time you would have me quarrel with my only protector, the only man with the will and power to help me ! " " You have a brother," said Clarence, after a painful pause for consideration. "Charles, yes, Charles — generous — good," murmured the poor lady, " Mother, I hear the bells ringing in the town ; I am going to church," said Clarence abruptly, glad to have some opportunity of breaking off a very distressing con- versation. As he spoke, he rose from his seat. " You do not mean that you are going to attend the Protestant service ? " exclaimed the startled mother, hold- ing her son fast, as if to prevent his taking some des- perate leap. " Every one would notice your going — it 304 THE CONFESSION. would be the talk of the county — it would reach the ears of the duke ! " " So be it," said Clarence calmly. " If my right hand is to be cut oft', I would rather have the work done by one stroke, and not part with the member finger by finger. I leave you for a little while, dear mother, for I know that you will not go with me. You will need an hour for quiet thought after this trying con- versation." Lady Reginald relaxed her grasp. Passively she re- ceived her son's parting kiss. Clarence very seldom kissed his mother; the spoiled youth had sometimes rather impatiently endured her caresses. That kiss had a calming, soothing effect on the poor lady ; it seemed to the mother to say, " Come what may in the shape of misfortune, you and I will meet it together." Lady Reginald made no further opposition to her son's de- parture. She arose, after a few seconds, and watched him from the window. She saw Clarence met by two priests who evidently meant to speak with him : St. Clare raised his cap to them politely, seemed to exchange a few words, and then, with rapid step, walked on. Lady Reginald could see surprise and anger on the faces of the Romanist priests. She returned to her seat, remained for some time with her hand pressed over her eyes, buried in thought ; then arose, went to her desk, and wrote a letter to her brother. Lady THE CONFESSION. 305 Keginald told Charles Cobbs of Clarence's state of mind, and of his resolution to leave the Church of Rome ; but of her own convictions she wrote nothing. The poor lady had not yet the resolution to cut off the right hand and cast it from her ; she looked with a kind of mournful envy on the sacrifice bravely made by her son. (39) 20 CHAPTER XXXII. ST, Peter's restoration. " Harold, did you not think of poor Prem Dds when we prayed for prisoners and captives ? " asked Robin of his brother, as the family walked home from church. " Prem Das is a kind of prisoner, you know." "I don't want either to think or to hear of the cowardly renegade," replied Harold. Then, in a dif- ferent tone, he went on, " I've been counting how many of those who were in church to-day can be reckoned on as voters for the Blue. Of two or three I have my doubts." " What 1 cannot this election mania be excluded from the Lord's day, or at least the Lord's house ! " thought Lady Laurie, as she heard the remark. The same trouble pursued her during the rest of the day. Harold's mind ran on ribbons and flags, electors' votes, and candidates' speeches. Lady Laurie herself was much in prayer — prayer for tempted Clarence, for the fallen convert, and, most of all, for her own back- ST. PE TEH'S RESTORATION. 307 slidino^ son. Then came the hour for Bible-readinfr : even to that Harold came with a large blue cockade pinned on his breast. Robin. I am glad that we are to have a happier reading to-day ; the last one was so very, very sad. I want to hear of poor Peter being forgiven, just as I long to know that poor — ;" the boy remembered the prohibition of Harold, so he closed his sentence with a sigh. Lady L. Let us read first from the twentieth chapter of the Gospel according to St. John. READING. " The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulchre, and seeth the stone taken away from the sepulchre. Then she runneth, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other disciple, whom Jesus loved, and saith unto them. They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid Him. Peter therefore went forth, and that other disciple, and came to the sepulchre. So they ran both together : and the other disciple did outrun Peter, and came first to the sepulchre. And he stooping down, and looking in, saw the linen clothes lying ; yet went he not in." Robin. Why did St. John not go in ? iMdy L. I should think from a feeling of deep rev- 308 ST. PETER'S RESTORATION. erence. It appears from the writings of this beloved apostle that he more especially recognized the divine nature of our Lord, while St. Peter's warm affections cluno: to his Master as man. Ida. It was so like St. Peter to come panting and breathless to the sepulchre, and go in at once. READING. " Then cometh Simon Peter following him, and went into the sepulchre, and seeth the linen clothes lie, and the napkin, that was about His head, not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in a place by itself." Ida. I wonder that the disciples left the sepulchre after this ; I wonder that they did not remain, like Mary Magdalene, who had the first sight of the Lord. Lady L. But St. Peter had the next. Robin. Where is that written ? I can't see it. I've been looking on in the chapter to find out who saw the Lord next, but it seems to have been all of the disciples together. Lady L. It needs careful examination to make the various accounts of the resurrection perfectly harmonize together. It is likely that more than one party of women went to the sepulchre to do honour to the body of the Lord. It appears from St. Mark's Gospel that an angel appeared to one party and said, " Go your way. ST. PETER'S RESTORATION. 309 tell His disciples and Peter that He goeth before you into Galilee." The special notice to Peter, poor repent- ant, sorrowing Peter, was followed by a special visit from the Saviour Himself. St. Luke tells us of the Lord's joining two disciples on that day as they walked to Emmaus, and of His remaining with them till the day was far spent ; but we gather that before this He had deigned to show Himself to the apostle who had denied Him. When, eager to give their glad tidings, the two disciples hastened back to Jerusalem, they were met by the joyful news, " The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon." Ida. St. Paul, in the fifteenth chapter of First Cor- inthians, writes of the risen Saviour, " He ivas seen of Cephas, then of the twelve." Robin. Is there anywhere in the Bible an account of that first meeting of the Lord with St. Peter ? I would rather read that than almost anything else. Lady L. No ; over that deeply interesting interview a veil of silence is thrown. Perhaps St. Peter's feelings were too deeply moved for him ever to have borne to describe it. We know not how the poor penitent, whose heart had been so touched by one glance, met the next look of his Lord. Robin. I am sure that both looks were full of pity and love. I think that Peter just lay on the ground, as St. Paul did when he first saw Christ, and could not 310 ST. PETER'S RESTORATION. speak ; or if he did speak, only cried out, " Lord, be merciful to me a simier." Lady L. There is no special mention of St. Peter till he and the other apostles, by the Lord's command, re- turned to their own province, Galilee ; though Simon was doubtless present on both the occasions described by St. John, when the Saviour suddenly appeared amidst the disciples, when the doors were shut for fear of the Jews. For the deeply interesting account of what hap- pened in Galilee, let us turn to the twenty-first chapter of St. John. Ida. The journey made to Galilee by the apostles must have been a very joyful one. They were full of happy expectation, and would carry everywhere as they travelled the glad tidings. The Lord is risen indeed ! Think of them at Sychar, perhaps standing by the well where the Lord had sat in His weariness, with the Samaritan woman and those w^ho had heard of Christ from her lips crowding around them ! Harold. Perhaps they visited that village whose in- habitants had refused to receive the Lord — that on which James and John had wished to call down fire from heaven. Robin. When the apostles saw the beautiful lake on which they had gone fishing so often, how many things it would make them remember ! Ida. Yes ; the Lord had walked o)i its waters, and ST. PETER'S RESTOBATION. 311 stilled the tempest, and taught on the shore, and fed thousands with the loaves and fishes, I wish that we knew more of the apostles' journey to Galilee on this occasion, and how their old friends and com- panions received them. READING. " After these things Jesus shewed himself again to the disciples at the sea of Tiberias ; and on this wise shewed He Himself. There were together Simon Peter, and Thomas called Didymus, and Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, and the sons of Zebedee, and two other of his disciples. Simon Peter saith unto them, I go a fishing. They say unto him. We also go with thee. They went forth, and entered into a ship immediately ; and that night they caught nothing." Harold. It seems rather a coming down, for apostles, who had performed miracles, healed the sick, cast out devils, and preached the gospel, to go out to toil as conmion fishers. Robin. Don't you remember that St. Paul stitched away at tent-making to earn his bread ? Lady L. It was no humiliation for the apostles to labour with their hands to supply their own wants and those of their companions. Robin. I suppose that Zebedee lent them a boat. St. Peter had given up his own long before. 312 ST. PETER'S RESTORATION READING. " But when the morning was now come, Jesus stood on the shore : but the disciples knew not that it was Jesus. Then Jesus saith unto them, Children, have ye any meat ? They answered Him, No. And He said unto them. Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find. They cast therefore ; and now they were not able to draw it for the multitude of fishes. Therefore that disciple whom Jesus loved saith unto Peter, It is the Lord. Now when Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he girt his fisher's coat unto him, (for he was naked,) and did cast himself into the sea." Robin. Oh ! that was just like Peter. He could not wait one minute. Never mind the fishes, never mind the net, — he could think of nothing but the Lord ! READING. " And the other disciples came in a little ship ; (for they were not far from land, but as it were two hundred cubits,) dragging the net with fishes. As soon then as they were come to land, they saw a fire of coals there, and fish laid thereon, and bread." Robin. Who had got that food ready ? Lady L. Probably ministering angels. But though the meal was prepared, the Lord graciously accepted fish from human hands. This has been noticed as beine: a ST. PETER'S RESTORATION. 313 sign of the Saviour's pardoning love to those who had forsaken Him, and specially to Peter who had denied Him. READING. " Jesus saith unto them, Bring of the fish which ye have now caught." Lady L. The weight of the full net was so great that the help of St. Peter's strong arm was required to bring it to land. He must take his share of the hard work before he could sit at the feet of the Lord. READING. " Simon Peter went up, and drew the net to land full of great fishes, an hundred and fifty and three : and for all there were so many, yet was not the net broken. Jesus saith unto them. Come and dine. And none of the disciples durst ask Him, Who art thou ? knowing that it was the Lord. Jesus then cometh, and taketh bread, and giveth them, and fish likewise. This is now the third time that Jesus shewed himself to His disciples, after that He was risen from the dead." Harold. Surely more than the third time, for there were appearances to Mary Magdalene, and the two dis- ciples going to Emmaus. Lady L. It was the third time that the Lord w^as seen by any considerable body of the apostles gathered together. 314 ST. PETER'S RESTORATION. READING. " So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Shnon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou Me more than these ? He saith unto Him, Yea, Lord ; Thou knowest that I love Thee. He saith unto him. Feed My lambs. He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou Me ? He saith unto Him, Yea, Lord ; Thou know- est that I love Thee. He saith unto him. Feed My sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou Me ? Peter was grieved because He said unto him the third time, Lovest thou Me ? And he said unto Him, Lord, Thou knowest all things ; Thou knowest that I love Thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed My sheep." Lady L. In our English translation we lose here a point of deep interest which is found in the original Greek. In that language there are two words for love, between which, in our language, no distinction is made. The first expresses reverence, and might be rendered by " honour." The second is our own tender expression, love. The Lord, the first and second time that He ad- dressed His apostle, used the colder term, as, " Honourest thou Me ? " St. Peter, his heart overflowing with pas- sionate affection, replied, " Thou knowest that I love Thee." The third time Christ graciously changed His word to that used by the penitent apostle, and asked Peter, " Lovest thou Me ? " ST. PETER'S RESTORATION. 315 Ida. That is very interesting, mamma. I wish that I could read the New Testament in its original Greek. Robin. I think that this is the most, or almost the most, interesting story in all the Bible. I have heard father say that this chapter made him a missionary. He felt that the Lord was speaking to him, to his very self, and asking, Lovest thou Me? I am sure that father could answer with all his heart and soul, " Thou knowest that I love Thee." Then came the command. Feed My sheep. So father left his home, and his friends, and his country, and went out to India to feed the Lord's sheep. Harold. There are sheep to be fed in England also. St. Peter was an apostle, and our father is a missionary, but not every one who loves the Lord has a special com- mand to feed sheep. Lady L. Are you sure of that, dear Harold ? It is quite true that not all are called to be foreign mission- aries, and not all were called to be apostles ; but the kind of work, that of speaking of the Saviour to others, seems to me to be given to all. A leper has been known to influence lepers, a child to win another child for Christ. The workman amongst his fellow-workmen, the schoolboy amongst his schoolfellows, can utter the word in season, by which, through God's grace, a soul may be fed. Harold. Mother, you don't know about public schools, or of what stuff schoolboys are made. Clarence was my most close friend, but I could no more have spoken to 316 ST. PETER'S RESTORATION. him aboLit his soul than I could have taken wings and flown up into the air. Robin. Oh ! but how bravely you can speak to the electors. How you talked over even that red-faced man who was so gruffy at lirst. Lady L. We have the very highest authority for say- ing, " Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." Love, like fire, cannot remain long hidden. If a stove threw out no perceptible warmth, we should conclude that the fire M'ithin was dying or dead. If we can speak well and freely on every subject but one, and that the most important of all, we may w^ell ask our hearts the question, " Lovest thou Christ ? or has thy love grown cold ? " Harold's pride was oflTended at what sounded some- thing like a reproof, and all the more so because his conscience echoed it, " Shall w' e o-q on readino- ? " he o O said. READING. " Verily, verily, I say unto thee. When thou wast young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou w^ould- est : but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou w^ouldest not. This spake He, signifying by what death he should glorify God. And when He had spoken this, He saith unto him. Follow Me." Ida. How very, very gently the Lord foretold to ST. PETER. S RESTORATION. 317 Peter his future martyrdom on a cross. I wonder whether St. Peter quite understood the meaning of Christ ; and if he did, how he felt. Rohin. I think that he felt happy, very, very happy, for then he was sure that he would never deny his Master again ; he would be faithful unto death, and receive a crown of life. READING. " Then Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following ,• which also leaned on His breast at supper, and said, Lord, which is he that betrayeth Thee ? Peter, seeing him, saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do ? " Lady L. Notice that shall and do are in italics, which shows that they are not in the original Greek. The question, What this man ? might be as well understood to mean, " What shall he suffer ? Is the crown of mar- tyrdom appointed for him also ? " READING. " Jesus saith unto him. If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee ? Follow thou Me." CHAPTER XXXIII. THE ORDEAL. Here the reading was unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of a telegram for Lady Laurie ; for her rule against the delivery of letters did not apply to tele- grams. Something more than curiosity was excited in the circle by the occurrence. Harold exclaimed, " Is it from India?" Robin cried out, " Prem Das has been found!" and Ida, though she said nothing, thought, "Is Clarence in some great trouble ? " Every one eagerly listened to hear the contents of the Sunday telegram, and something between relief and disappointment was felt when Lady Laurie read it aloud. " It is from poor Mrs. Smith," she said : " ' Baby in fits. Mrs. Ehuyn absent ; do come! " " Mrs. Smith always wishes mamma to come to her if she is in the slightest difficulty," observed Ida. " This is at least the sixth time that she has hurried her up to London." " A baby in fits is no small trial," said Lady Laurie ; THE ORDEAL. 319 " I think that I ought to go to London to-morrow," she added, after a moment's reflection. " What ! and miss the election ? " cried Ptobin. " I do not think that mother will mind missing; the election ; she is not so very keen about it," observed Harold, with a somewhat sarcastic smile. " I could wish that you were coming with me, Harold," said Lady Laurie. "I!" exclaimed Harold vehemently. "I would not for a thousand pounds miss the election ! It will be glorious fun. It is the only amusement I have had since coming to this sleepy old place." " You won't be back in time for to-morrow's Bible- reading, mamma," said Ida, " even were it likely that Mrs. Smith would part with you so soon. What would you like us to do about it ?" " Do as if I were present," replied Lady Laurie : " read together the first chapter of the Book of Acts, which contains the next mention of St. Peter." W^hilst this conversation was going on in Willowdale Lodge, a far more painful and exciting one was being held in the Castle. The appearance of St. Clare at divine service in a Protestant church had, as he and his mother had expected, excited much attention in various quarters ; — alarm and indignation amongst all who ad- hered to Rome, especially amongst the priests and monks residing in the vicinity of the Castle. A consultation 320 THE ORDEAL. was immediately held amongst them ; and the result of it was, that Father O'Brien, who had that very day arrived at the Castle, and one of his tonsured brethren, were deputed to bring Clarence to account for doing what might bring upon him a suspicion of heresy. Father O'Brien and his companion interrupted the St. Clares at their quiet meal, and the former fixed a stern, penetrat- ing glance on Clarence, who rose to greet him. " I cannot but think that my son has committed only an act of youthful indiscretion," said the father confes- sor, scarcely controlling his wrath. He declined to take a proffered seat, as he could speak with more energy and force in a standing position. " For such grievous indiscretion a mild penance may be sufficient, if Clar- ence St. Clare pledges the honour of a Catholic gentle- man never again to enter the meeting-house. I will not dignify it by the name of a church, where heretics offer their unhallowed prayers." " I will make no such promise," said Clarence firmly, the blood rushing to his face. " I am sure that my son is most anxious to — to — ;" Lady Reginald hesitated and trembled. " To do what is rigid" said Clarence. " I must know what is wrong in Protestant worship before I condemn it ; I must see whether, judging by the standard of Scripture — ." Those words, " the standard of Scripture" fell like a THE ORDEAL. 321 bomb before the startled priests. If Clarence St. Clare appealed to Scripture, he must, in the view of the ser- vants of Rome, have been imbibing heretical poison indeed !* The veins in his forehead swelling with anger, O'Brien interrupted the speaker by turning towards Lady Regi- nald, and in a loud tone addressing her thus : — " Madam," he cried, " can you, a dutiful daughter of holy Church, suffer your son to utter such pestilent poison in your presence ?" Lady Reginald looked, as she felt, utterly miserable. No one present, but her son, knew of her own disaffec- tion to the Church whose rites she had scrupulously observed for twenty years. It was only since the death * To show how Rome, not only in ancient but in modem times, lias dreaded the Bible, a few facts may be given. "In the year 1824, in an Encyclical, Leo XII. (a pope) speaks of ' a certain society, generally known as the Bible Society, which is spreading over the world the Protestant Bible, which is the Gospel of the Devil.' Gregory XVI. (another pope) issued a bull in 1844 against the Bible Society, in which he says : ' We have decided to condemn with apostolic authority every Bible Society.' At the same tune he commands the clergy ' to tear the Bible in the mother-tongue from the hands of the faithful.' Pope Pius IX., in 1850, says : ' The Bible Society ventures to spread abroad the Scriptures in the mother-tongue, without any ecclesiastical notes or warning. Under false pretence it invites the faith- ful to read the same. You, reverend brethren, will see with what watchful wisdom you must bestir yourselves, to awaken in the faithfiil a holy horror of such poisonous reading.' Such was the verdict of the very pope who declared himself and other popes to be infaUiUe! The pure Bible, in a lan- guage which the people could understand, he declares to be poisonous read- ing, which is to be regarded with holy horrm'. ' The entrance of Thy words giveth light' (Ti^. cxix. 130), saith the psalmist ; Rome virtually declares, ' Dark- ness and blindness are better. ' " (39) 21 322 THE OHDEAL. of Angelina that doubts had taken distinct form in her mind, and even now the unhappy waverer scarcely knew what she believed. Lady Reginald felt unable either to defend her son or to condemn him ; she was afraid to do the former, and from the latter course her strong maternal love and her conscience alike revolted. She could but weep while Father O'Brien stormed, and milder Father Philemon tried to reason and argue. St. Clare was not well armed to resist false but specious arguments, and it was well for him that O'Brien employed the less dangerous weapon of vituperation and abuse, which roused the youth's spirit to resist. Clarence, aware of his own imperfect knowledge of doctrine, like almost unarmed David, did not come to close quarters with his foe, but bravely wielded his one weapon, his plain stone from the sling — "Convince me from the Scriptures that the Romish religion agrees with the Word of God ;" and that pebble from the brook went with the force of truth. The painful conflict continued till Lady Reginald almost went into hysterics. " Father O'Brien, my mother must not, shall not be agitated thus," said Clarence with decision. "Favour me by leaving her to compose her spirits." " To prepare herself for the sacrifice which must be made," cried the Romanist priest sternly. " She must re- nounce, she must cut off, she must cast away the very idol THE ORDEAL. 323 of her heart, if he be false to the faith of his fathers, if he be a renegade from the holy Church ;" and, shaking his clenched hand to give more force to his denunciation, the angry priest left the room, followed by his more gentle but more dangerous companion. " Mother, mother dear, we can have no more of this ; we must escape from this intolerable annoyance," ex- claimed Clarence, whose temper and patience had been tried to the utmost, and who saw that his parent was far too weak both in health and mental constitution to face what he himself could barely endure. " Wliither can we fly ?" cried the agitated lady. " To London — to your brother," said Clarence ; for he thought, " Better even Leadenhall Street, and my repul- sive uncle, than the Castle, haunted as it is by the min- ions of Rome." " I had a letter posted to him to-day," said Lady Reginald in a calmer tone, as she saw something like a refuge before her. " Your uncle is a man of business ; he will receive the letter to-morrow morning, and we are sure to have an answer on Tuesday." "May God help us through to-morrow," thought Clarence ; " a terrible ordeal is before us." And yet in his heart the youth thanked the Lord, who had sup- ported him through the last hour of special trial. Clar- ence was conscious that he had acted no false part, he had denied no truth ; he had been so strengthened that 324 THE ORDEAL. he had neither answered insult by insult, nor retreated one step in the face of the enemy. " They were pray- ing for me at Willowdale Lodge," thought he. Clarence's trial was to be shortened. Father O'Brien started for a monastery some distance from the Castle, to consult with the abbot, and bring back an over- whelming force of monks to the residence of the St. Clares. Nothing was to be done in the way of eoerc- ino- the son or friohtening: the mother till he returned. Mr. Cobbs received his sister's letter by the first post on the Monday morning. Before eleven o'clock on the same day a telegram was brought on a silver waiter to Lady Reginald St. Clare. She opened it, glanced at its contents, and passed on the paper to her son. The mes- sage was brief but clear, — " Coiine at once with Clarence! " Mother, order the carriage ; there's a train that starts for London at noon," said young St. Clare. " So soon ? impossible — quite impossible!" exclaimed the startled lady. " Think of the arrangements — the packing — the partings." " Of partings — the fewer the better ; leave the ar- rangements to me, and the packing to your maid ; any- thing forgotten can be forwarded afterwards. May I ring?" Clarence's hand was on the bell. No opposition was made ; Lady Reginald dreaded more than even Clarence did more interviews with the priests. She would never have dared to have made THE ORDEAL. 325 such a sudden arrangement herself, but she was passive in the hands of her son. She was almost bewildered by the change in one who had before been somewhat indolent and self-indulgent. Clarence showed an energy and resolution of which, a few days before, no one wdio knew him would have deemed him capable. As little could he himself have imagined how^ impatient he would be to leave his own beautiful home for the smoke and dinginess of Leadenhall Street. He had scarcely time, while making hurried arrangements, to draw a compari- son between the two places. And yet, when the excitement of making an escape was over, and St. Clare sat in the train beside his mother, a keen pang shot through his heart as he caught the last glimpse of the gray tower of the Castle. " Farewell to my birthplace, farewell to the home of my boyhood ; never shall I behold it again !" thought Clarence. Then with soothing effect recurred to his mind the words of the apostle : " Lord, we have left all and followed Thee." Nothing is lost that is given up for Christ ; any sorrow is better than the sorrow of the rich young ruler, when he turned away from the Saviour. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE ELECTION. Lady Laurie started by the early train on Monday, hardly expecting to be able to return on the same day. Breakfast was hurried over by Harold, who was im- patient to get to " the fun." Robin, who naturally wished to accompany his brother to the scene of the election, was not given time to finish his meal. " We must be off," cried Harold, impatiently tapping the table to quicken the little boy's movements. " I would not for anything miss the first speech." " I wish that I could go with you," cried Ida, who did not relish the idea of being left quite alone. " Oh ! the front of a polling-booth is not a place for girls," cried Harold. " There will be a lot of roughs about, and perhaps a few broken heads. One must expect that sort of thing in hotly-contested elections." " Then I don't think that you should take Robin with you," said Ida. " Oh, nonsense, as if I could not take care of my THE ELECTION. 327 brother. Robin is a spirited little chap, who never says die, and he'll shout for the Blues with the best of them. — You're not afraid, are you, Robin ?" " Not a bit," said the child. The brothers went off together, Harold walking so fast that Robin had to run to keep up with him. Ida felt dull and lonely. She amused herself for a while by watching men with red or blue bows hurrying along the road to the hustings. In the stillness which sur- rounded Willowdale Lodge, Ida could faintly catch from afar the noises, which reminded her of the roar of a dis- tant sea. Foreham was not the principal polling-place for the county election ; the largest booth was at ton, a town about three miles distant ; but hustings had been erected at Foreham for the convenience of voters from a distance, as the village was on the railway line. The nomination of candidates had thus to take place at two localities, which caused a great deal of going to and fro, as the candidates and their supporters had to make speeches at both. Ida stood looking forth from the shrubbery gate till the staring and rude re- marks of one of the Reds who came by caused her to retire into the house. Ida did not feel quite easy about Robin, and as hour after hour passed she longed for the return of the brothers. " I may as well practise my music," she said to her- self, " and not waste all the day in watching and wait- 328 THE ELECTION. ing, and listening to distant sounds that tell us nothing of what is o-ointj on." Ida seated herself at the piano, and was soon giving her full attention to mastering a difficult passage in a sonata. She was interrupted in the midst of it by Robin suddenly bursting into the room. The boy was bare-headed, panting and pale, and the agonized expres- sion of his face told Ida, before he recovered breath to speak, that something dreadful must have occurred. " What is it ? — tell me — what has happened ? " ex- claimed Ida, starting up from her seat in alarm. " Tell me !" she repeated in a more urgent tone, as Robin stood, panting, tearing away at a lock of his rough hair ; which action was with him a sign of extreme distress. " I can't tell you — it's too bad !" cried Robin; and he passionately tlung himself on the floor. " Robin, stand up and speak ; you frighten me so," cried Ida. " Has anything happened to Harold ?" The question only increased the boy's agitation. " Has any one hurt him ?" Robin's only reply was a shake of his head. It was some minutes before Ida could induce the boy to rise, or give anything like a clear account of the events of the day. Ida first brought him water, which Robin drank with feverish haste, and then he was better able to tell the anxious girl what had happened. " You must know, I suppose — so you'd better hear it from me," said Robin, who was now seated beside his THE ELECTION. 329 sister. " There was a great bustle, and noise, and crowd- ing, and yelling, and that sort of thing. Harold told me to clap and cheer for everything blue, and groan and hiss for everything red, and so I did as well as I could ; but the Reds made much more noise than we did, and I could hardly hear my own voice. There were speeches — I could hardly make out a word — and then a show of hands. Of course I held up both my hands when Harold put up his; but I don't think that any one saw me, or would have cared if he did. I could hardly get my hands down again, the crowd pressed on us so. Harold took as much care of me as he could, but as I am little I was half-smothered." '•' Your poor face is bruised," observed Ida. " Oh, never mind that," cried Robin. " Please tell me more," said the sister ; Robin having come to a dead stop. " I don't like to tell you more, but I must, for every one knows it but you. When the speeches were over, the crowd began to divide and go for refreshment. Harold said that he was tremendously thirsty, and so was I, after the heat and the shouting. 'We'll get something here at the White Hart,' said Harold ; ' that's where all our people go.' " " You don't mean that Harold took you into a public- house ! " exclaimed Ida. " Just to get a glass of water, you know ; but it did 330 THE ELECTION. not seem much the place for water. People were drink- ing, antl laughing, and making such a row ! I was glad when we got out of it." " Had Harold drunk there anything stronger than water ? " asked Ida. Robin pressed his lips together. He was too loyal to tell of his brother ; but his silence and the frown on his brow told enough to his sister. " Why did you not remind him of his promise ? Oh, Robin ! " exclaimed Ida reproachfully. Robin did not reply. He would not defend himself at the expense of Harold, or he could have told how he himself had not only resolutely refused the spirits pressed upon him, Init had, with both his hands on Harold's arm, tried to pull him away from the danger- ous place, receiving only an angry rebuff from his brother. Harold, who had neither watched nor prayed against temptation, with his throat parched by shout- ing, and his spirit intoxicated by excitement, had taken that which had the effect of still further heating his brain. " Go on with your story," said Ida with impatience. " We did not stop very long in the public. When we went out we had to pass a party of the Reds. I think that they had been drinking," said Robin. " There was one fellow in a green jacket who said something- very rude to Harold ; I didn't understand it at all. It THE ELECTION. 331 was something about mother selling matches — or making them — I am not sure which. It was nonsense either way, for she never does either thing ; but it made Harold furiously angry, — I never saw him so angry in all my life ! He just flew at the man like a tiger, and knocked him down — and kicked him ; and then, — oh ! it was horrible, horrible ! — the man lay still in a pool of blood, and the people shouted out, ' He has killed him ! ' —that Harold had killed him ! " " A blow from a lad's fist could not kill him," ex- claimed Ida. " I'm afraid that it did though," groaned Robin. " The man did not speak or struggle to get up ; only there was a little twitching of his lips, and his hands and feet just moved, — his eyes turned up, as if he were dying. He had fallen against a lamp-post. Of course Harold never meant to hurt him like that, but all the Reds seemed to think that he did. They ran upon Harold, and howled, and struck — I was afraid they would pull him to pieces — till the policeman came and laid hold of his collar, and carried him off" to ton jail." " Carried whom ? what do you mean ? " cried the horrified Ida. " Carried off" Harold, — my own brother ! " exclaimed Robin, bursting into an agony of tears. " Oh, what will our father say," he sobbed forth, "what will our poor 332 THE ELECTION. father say when he hears of his boy being shut up in jail ! it will be worse even than losing Prem Dds. I think it will just break his heart. And mother — ;" he could not finish the sentence. Ida w^as exceedingly shocked and distressed, but she did not lose her presence of mind. " We must telegraph to mamma to come back at once, and to bring a lawyer with her," said Ida. "We will send Eliza to the station at once to telegraph for us." " I'll go, I should like to go myself, — only you write the paper," said Robin. " You are quite knocked up already, poor dear boy ! " There was tenderness in Ida's tone, and in the touch of the hand which she laid upon Robin's shoulder. " It will do me good to go there — anywhere ; noth- ing is so horrid as thinking," cried Robin. " But don't frighten mother more than you can help ; don't send a very black telegram." Ida went quickly to Lady Laurie's writing-table, drew out one of the telegram forms kept in its drawer, and wrote, " Election troubles. Come quicJdy. Bring laivyer." Telegraphing effectually teaches brevity. " It will be too late for mother to come by to-day's train," observed Robin, looking at the clock while Ida wrote, " but she's sure to be here early to-morrow." Then, without waiting for the ink to dry, Robin darted off for the telegraph office. THE ELECTION. 333 Robin returned from the station so utterly exhausted in body as well as mind, that sleep came to the poor boy's relief. Ida did not suffer him to be disturbed as he lay on the sofa ; the troubled expression of Kobin's face even in slumber, and the broken words which ever and anon burst from his lips, showed that he was still sufFerinsf from the effect of the horrible scenes throuoh which he had passed. Ida told Eliza to admit no one who might call ; and was thankful that the order had been given, as a good many, led by sympathy or curi- osity, came to talk over " this shocking affair." A man, occasionally employed in the garden, Ida sent to inquire after the state of the wounded man. She anxiously awaited this messenger's return, and prayed earnestly, beside the sleeping Robin, that the injury inflicted by Harold might not prove fatal. It seemed as if her messenger would never return, so long did the period of his absence appear. Ida ran to the porch to meet him, when at last the man sauntered slowly up the shrubbery walk. " Is he better — has he revived ? " cried the girl. " He's very bad, — he's bad as can be ; it's said as he won't live over the night," said the gardener in a slow drawl. " 'Twill be a murder case for them lawyers." Ida shuddered at the words; she was thankful that poor Robin had not been awake to hear them. The poor boy awoke about sunset, calmer, but very, 334 THE ELECTION. very unhappy. "This is the time for our reading," he languidly said ; " but I don't think that I can attend to anything now. Only mother told us to read the first chapter of Acts, so perhaps we ought to." Ida felt that the only comfort in such trouble was to be found in religion. She took her Bible and read the prescribed portion of Scripture aloud to Robin ; but not all of it was calculated to soothe the mind of her hearer. St. Peter's description of the frightful fate of Judas brought more vividly before poor Robin the painful scene so lately witnessed by himself. " I don't think that the poor Red who was hurt can be as bad as Judas," said Robin, speaking rather to him- self than to Ida, after the Bible had been closed. " But he must be bad, for he was drunk ; and I can't bear to think of his being sent to the dreadful place where no one can repent and change. How miserable it must make poor Harold to think of it ! " Harold's misery was indeed greater than Robin could even imagine, as the lad found himself hand-cuffed, with a policeman by his side, in a four-wheeled vehicle which was half-covered with red placards, on his way to the county prison ! It was when the cab had taken him beyond hearing of the savage yells and brutal threats of the roughs who ran beside it for some distance, as if resolved not to be robbed of their prey, that Harold's mind became sufficiently calm to take in a full view of THE ELECTION. 335 his own position. There was nothing- to soften his anguish ; his whole soul seemed one wound ! Harold in the preceding year had known the grief of hearing tidings of the death of a beloved parent ; he had known the bitterness caused by a false accusation ; he had made early acquaintance with sorrow, but never such sorrow as this. He had hitherto been able to hold up his head before man, and to appeal for comfort and help to his God. Now, instead of a clear conscience bearing him up against outward trials, conscience itself was the lash under whose strokes Harold writhed. He had been chastened before, but now he felt that he was punished ; punished for pride, disobedience, and back- sliding, — punished for returning to the world after hav- ing deliberately given himself to his Saviour. Harold accused himself more bitterly than his worst enemy would have accused him. He thought with remorse of his ingratitude to his more than mother, his cold want of sympathy towards Clarence, and his unmerciful condem- nation of Prem Das, who was a hundred times less guilty than himself. Harold groaned over his own guilt in taking his little brother into temptation, his own basely yielding to that temptation, and so, in the confusion of his brain, committing a crime for which he must answer to his country as well as to his God. " Don't take on so, sir," said the policeman. " You'll probably be committed for trial at the assizes ; but even 336 THE ELECTION. if the man die, 'twill hardly come to hanging. Juries don't send a fellow to the gallows now-a-days for hitting straight out with the fist. 'Twill only be a verdict of manslauo-hter at the worst." Harold was stung to the quick by what was intended for comfort. His only reply was a suppressed groan. How often was that groan repeated in the bare, dreary cell to which he was conducted on his arrival at the county jail ! Harold seemed to himself like another Cain ; and, like Cain, he exclaimed in his solitary an- guish, " My punishment is greater than I can bear." CHAPTER XXXV. A PROPOSAL. Whilst before Harold lay untasted the prison food, Clarence was comfortably seated at a table simply but abundantlj^ spread, where a large lamp threw its cheer- ful light around a well-furnished apartment ; and closed shutters and drawn curtains shut out the fog which occasionally, even in summer, visits the heart of the city of London. Mr. Cobbs had warmly greeted his sister and nephew on their arrival. The banker was not clad in snuffy brown, but in the new mourning which he wore for his niece Angelina ; and Clarence wondered to himself at his uncle having ever appeared to him as such a very vulgar and commonplace man. " Heartily welcome, dear Catherine," were the words which preceded a brotherly embrace ; and then with another "heartily welcome," both hands were held out by Mr. Cobbs to his nephew. " I had hardly hoped to see you to-day, but I like promptness in business and (39) 22 338 A PROPOSAL. everything else, and T hope that your coming so quickly is a token that you mean to stay and make my home your own." After travelling wraps had been removed, and there had been time for a little private conversation, the dinner was announced, to which Clarence, at least, was prepared to do full justice, for he had taken little food during the last three days ; and now a sense of relief from a heavy strain, and the comfort of an approving conscience, made him take his meal with relish. Lady Keginald looked pensive and weary, and entered little into conversation ; so Mr. Cobbs, who was in excellent spirits, chiefly addressed himself to his nephew. " I saw a friend of yours yesterday as I was coming out of church," he said to Clarence. " I know not who it could have been, for I have no friend in London at present." " Not Mr. Carse ? " " I have never, as far as I can remember, even heard the name." " Ah ! he did not give you his card ; but he was your travelling companion on Saturday, and by his own account was your cicerone to some of the best sights in London." " I saw nothing. Uncle Charles, but some of the low streets, and a large coffee-house, admirably managed ; my travelling companion, who seems to be your friend, certainly took me to these." A PROPOSAL. 339 " Ah ! he showed you two of the most impressive sights of this great metropolis : you saw what some can suffer, and what others can do ; you saw Christianity in a hand-to-hand conflict with sin and misery ; — there's none of your exhibitions that can match such sights as these." " I heartily agree with you," said Clarence. " I'm glad that you do so," said his uncle. " You will, perhaps, be one day in the thick of the fight yourself. From what your mother wrote and says, you must already have chosen your side in the battle ; you've flung off" your Popish superstitions. — I beg your pardon, Catherine ; I did not mean to offend your feelings." " You do not offend them, Charles," said the lady in a low tone of voice, as if afraid to confess her opinions even to her brother. " I should like now, Clarence," said Mr. Cobbs, paus- ing in carving the chicken before him, — " I should like to know what first opened your eyes to the errors of Rome. It's curious to trace things to their causes. I remember," continued the good man with a smile, " giving you some years ago a tract — I wrote it myself — it goes, I think, to the point. What did you do with that tract ? " Clarence coloured a little and looked embarrassed ; but on his uncle with some curiosity repeating the question, the youth replied, " I am sorry to say that I burnt it." 340 A PROPOSAL. " That's an honest confession, any ways," said Mr. Cobbs, his smile changed to a little chuckle. " That was the orthodox way, according to your folk, of treating heretics and their works. But you have not answered my first question, as to what made a Protestant of you." " It was chiefly reading the Bible, and hearing it read, when I was on a visit to Lady Laurie at Foreham." " I know her name, and met her once. She's an ex- cellent woman. She is Carse's cousin ; and he has often talked to me of her." After a little more conversation with Clarence, while the work of dinner proceeded, Mr. Cobbs turned to his sister. "You must not suppose, Catherine, that I mean to imprison you and this good nephew of mine here in Leadenhall Street. Perhaps you may not have heard that I have bought a pleasant villa at Putney. It stands in its own grounds, and is near enough to London to let me come backwards and forwards to my business, though I often prefer sleeping in London. I'll send you to Putney whenever you like to go. You will not find the place lonely ; our good Aunt Milly is there, and will save you all house-keeping trouble. You look sadly in need of a little codling and rest. I only hope," added the banker with a little hesitation, " that you won't want to have a pack of priests and nuns over there ; they would not suit Aunt Milly at all." A PROPOSAL. 341 " I will never send for them — I should dread them," faltered the poor lady, little inclined for more storms from Father O'Brien. " That's right, that's highly satisfactory," cried the banker, pushing back his chair, for the meal was con- cluded. " Shall we adjourn to the drawing-room ? I've something more to say, and I'd rather say it there," The drawing-room of Mr. Cobbs's town-house was, like the dining-room, comfortably but rather heavily furnished, in an old-fashioned style, reminding a visitor of the Georgian rather than the Victorian era. Mr. Cobbs led his sister to a massive mahogany sofa, drew a leather-cushioned arm-chair for himself near her, and motioned to Clarence to take another. " I've something to say," observed the banker with a little preliminary cough, " and I'd rather have it out at once ; though there's no need, Catherine, for either you or your boy to come to any hasty decision about it. I've spent the best part of my life in this bank, and the Lord has prospered me in my business ; but I don't care to go on turning the mill-wheel for ever. I should like to look forward to retiring some ten or twelve years hence, and giving myself more entirely to — well, to another kind of work, which, to my mind, is more im- portant. But I want first to have some one to train to the business, and then to make him my working partner in it. 342 A PROPOSAL. Mr. Cobbs paused; but as neither Lady Reginald nor Clarence made any observation in reply, he went on: — " Now, Catherine, your boy is my nearest, I may say my only male relation in the world, and it seems natural and right that I should make him my heir ; but if he is to share the profits he must share the pains. He must put his own shoulder to the wheel, and not do business by proxy." The banker saw the grave, sad expression on the face of Clarence, and good-naturedly added, " Of course, the kind of life is not what you were brought up to expect; but still you would not find it a very hard one, with Putney to supplement Leadenhall Street, and a little boating on the Thames to set off against banking in London," Lady Reginald looked anxiously at her son. The eyes of Clarence were fixed on the carpet. He was asking himself whether the path opening out before him might not be the path of duty pointed out to him by Providence. His mother, instead of being distracted by pecuniary difficulties, and persecuted by her former religious advisers, would have a safe and pleasant home, removed from dangerous influences which she might not have the strencrth of will to resist. He himself would be relieved from all perplexities regarding his future career. Though the life which Clarence would have to lead in a London bank appeared to him dull A PROPOSAL. 343 and uninviting, with little to relieve its monotonous drudgery, it at least involved no kind of disgrace. Mr. Cobbs, a little rigid, old-fashioned, and homely, was not the kind of superior whom young St. Clare would have chosen ; yet he was one to be respected, and respect might possibly grow into liking. Lady Reginald, reading the countenance of her son, and intuitively perceiving much of what was passing in his mind, saw the evenly-weighted balance trembling, and ventured to throw her own wishes into one of the scales. "It would be an inexpressible relief to me, Clarence," she said, "to know your position assured, since I can do nothing for you myself." "But I've something to add," resumed Mr. Cobbs, "which, though it would not have weighed a straw with myself had I been in your place, may not be such a trifle to one brought up in a castle with great expec- tations and romantic ideas. My good father, on his deathbed, exacted a promise from me which I shall religiously keep. He had a fancy that the old firm should always retain the old name, and therefore no one can enter it without assuming that of Cobbs." Clarence started. He could not suppress an exclama- tion. This was indeed too much to endure ! He who had so proudly borne an ancestral name ; he who had looked forward to adding to it one of the grandest in the British peerage — he to descend to adopt one so 344 A PROPOSAL. utterly plebeian ! It seemed impossible to submit to the degradation. "I see that the condition is unpalatable," said his uncle, smiling. " Cobbs, junior, does not sound so euphonious as Clarence St. Clare. But, as old Shake- speare says, ' What's in a name ? ' Yes," continued the banker more gravely, " there may be something in a name. There may be a good deal of the love of the world and the pride of life. The strait gate may be blocked up for us, not only by money-bags, but by parchment pedigrees. But there is no need, as I said before, for you to come to any hasty decision upon the matter. Take a week or two to think over the question, and consult your mother about it. You may like to consult your friends at Foreham too. Suppose you run down to the place to-morrow, and see your friend Lady Laurie. I should think her a safe adviser." The banker was not aware that at that moment Lady Laurie was in London. The telefjram receiv^ed from Ida had greatly disturbed the lady. She suspected that " election troubles " meant that Harold had got into some scrape, and the request for the presence of a lawyer confirmed the idea. There would be no hindrance to Lady Laurie's returning by Tuesday's early train, as Mrs. Smith's baby was no longer in any alarming state. But how to bring a lawyer was a little per- plexing. A PROPOSAL. 345 " Ah ! I remember that Philip is in town. He wrote to promise me a visit on his homeward way. How thankful I am that I know his address in London. No one can help me better than my cousin Philip Carse. He was himself brought up as a lawyer." Within half an hour Lady Laurie was showing the alarming telegram to her cousin. " I think nothing of this," said Mr. Carse, smiling as he tossed down the paper on the table. "You tell me that the election is going on to-day at Foreham, and we know what disputed elections are like. Probably your boys have flaunted their colours a little too boldly, and the mob have broken the windows and frightened your girl, and she fires off" a telegram for a lawyer, when a glazier would have been more to the purpose. I'll run down with you to-morrow morning, and we'll soon set everything to rights." Lady Laurie, much reassured by her cousin's cheerful view of the matter, returned to the house of her friend, where she passed the night. On the following morning Mr. Carse called for his cousin on his way to the railway station. On their arrival they met on the platform Clarence St. Clare. " Whither are you bound, my young friend ? " ex- claimed Mr. Carse in surprise. "I thought that yon were at the Castle." " How have you left your mother ? " inquired Lady 346 A PROPOSAL. Laurie, with a little anxiety, after cordially greeting the youth. " My mother is here — in London — with my uncle," Clarence replied. " The truth is that I intended to o-q to Foreham, to consult you. Lady Laurie; but perhaps I can do so here, without again trespassing on your hos- pitality." " There's the whistle : we must be quick or we'll miss the train," exclaimed Mr. Carse. There was no time for explanations, so the three trav- ellers hastened into a railway carriage, and were soon leaving London behind them. CHAPTER XXXVI. PAINFUL MOMENTS. Monday had been the nomination day ; on Tuesday the polling of votes would take place. In that bustling, noisy time of excitement, Ida had the greatest difficulty in procuring a conveyance to take those whom she ex- pected from London to ton, where Harold was to appear before a magistrate. First the loan of a carriage was asked from friends ; but notes in reply commenced with, " I should have been happy if ;" or, " I regret that I am quite unable," etc. " It's like the fable of the hare with many friends," muttered Robin. " But there are lots of cabs going about ; we need ask a favour of no one." Yes, there were plenty of cabs — cabs with blue placards, and with red ones. Robin ran hither and thither, hailing every coachman that he saw, but meet- ing with constant refusals. Every vehicle seemed to be pre-engaged. At last a driver, for three times his proper fare, agreed to be at Wiliowdale Lodge by ten. 348 PAINFUL MOMENTS. So much time had been lost in the hunt for a vehicle, that on the arrival of the train from London, Lady Laurie, to her surprise and alarm, found no one to meet her at the station. " Harold not here — nor Robin," she exclaimed ; " and they knew that I would be uneasy." " It is simply that the young folk did not choose to encounter all the bustle and noise," said Philip Carse. " The boys would rather have enjoyed it. There must be some other reason for their absence," said Lady Laurie, quickening her steps. " Ah ! there are Ida and Robin in the distance — but where is Harold ? " "Where was Harold indeed ! The faces of her children as they approached her prepared the lady to hear some grievous news. And yet, when from Ida's pale lips she heard it (Robin had no heart to speak), the reality was to Lady Laurie worse than anything that she had imagined. She repeated Ida's words as if she could scarcely take in their meaning. " Harold — taken up — -for grievously hurting a man in the election ! Harold — to appear before a magis- trate ! " Clarence said nothing, but looked exceedingly startled and shocked. Mr. Carse alone took the affair calmly and in a business-like way. " We will go to ton," he said, " and with God's help see our young friend safe out of his trouble. It will PAINFUL MOMENTS. 349 be a lesson from which Harold may profit all his life, — I hope that a carriage has been secured to take us to the town after breakfast." " One will come at ten," replied Ida. " It was very difficult to get a cab, as the election is going on still." " Plenty of time, plenty of time," said Mr. Carse quietly. As Lady Laurie's trembling form was supported by her cousin's strong arm, so was her fainting spirit by his quiet, assuring manner. There are some persons whose very presence seems to bring calm and rest. " Did you say that a man was hurt — grievously hurt — by Harold ? " asked Lady Laurie of Ida. " What was his injury ? Hide nothing from me." " He was knocked down — his head came against a lamp-post," was the reply. " I suppose that the head was cut," said Mr. Carse. " Broken heads are common enough. A little blood- letting may do no serious harm." " But most of the blood was from the mouth," mut- tered Robin ; an observation which made his mother turn very pale. " You had better not go to the court, Clara," said Mr. Carse, as, after breakfast had been concluded — by some it had only been looked at — the party sat impatiently waiting for the promised conveyance. " It would try your feelings too much to be present." " It would try them much more to be absent," said 350 PAINFUL MOMENTS. Lady Laurie. " I could not stay here." Her pale lips could hardly frame the words. " And I must go too," exclaimed Robin. But the poor boy's request, though urged with en- treaties and tears, met with a kind but decided refusal. Excitement and fatigue and a sleepless night had done their work on the boy — Robin's cheeks were glowing and his hands burning with fever. Lady Laurie laid her young son on the sofa, gave him a cooling draught, bathed his aching brow, and softly whispered, " You and Ida must remain here and pray. You will pray that we may bring back dear Harold." Sorely was the patience of the party at Willowdale tried ; for ten and half-past ten struck, and yet no vehicle appeared. It was not till almost an hour after the appointed time that a cab, with a tired horse, and a driver who looked rather the worse for liquor, at length appeared at the shrubbery gate. Lady Laurie, Mr. Carse, and Clarence got in, urging the coachman to make haste, as business was urgent, and much time had already been lost. There was no use in urging speed. Never had a drive of three miles appeared so long as it did on that day to the anxious mother. Fain would she have given wings to the halting, stumbling horse. At last ton was reached, and fields and hedges gave place PAINFUL MOMENTS. 351 to detached suburban villas, and then to shops and streets. ton was in as great a state of confusion and noise as Foreham — the polling, as has been mentioned, going on simultaneously at both places. There happen- ing to be blue papers on Lady Laurie's cab, it was hissed and groaned at by the mob of Reds as it was slowly driven up to the door of the magistrate's court. Harold's case was going on, as his friends with some difficulty pushed their way through the crowd which thronged the court of justice. The doctor from Fore- ham, who had attended the injured man, was giving his evidence as to the nature of the hurt. The first words heard by Lady Laurie on her entrance were, " Internal injury — severe cut at the back of the head — some fear of erysipelas intervening." " Then you do not consider your patient to be out of danger ? " inquired the magistrate. " I cannot yet say that he is. In a few days we shall be able to give a more decided opinion." Lady Laurie could hardly take in the meaning of the words that she heard, important as they were to the bearing of the case. Her whole attention was con- centrated on Harold — her noble, her cherished son — standing a prisoner at the bar of justice. Oh, how unlike his former self he appeared ! His hair was un- kempt and fell over his face, his head was sunk on his 352 PAINFUL MOMENTS. chest — he dared not look up ! The brave-spirited lad had become a picture of misery and shame ! " If the state of the man White had not been so precarious, I should have treated this as a case of com- mon assault," said the magistrate, " and merely inflicted a fine. As it is, I must adjourn my decision for three days, when we hope that the doctor may be able to give a more satisfactory account of his patient, and when White himself may perhaps be able to appear at the examination." " I hope, sir, that in the meantime the prisoner may be admitted to bail," said Mr. Carse, coming forward. " His youth may be considered, and the provocation which he had received." " I will not refuse bail," said the magistrate. " Good surety must be given for the prisoner's appearing before me on Friday." Mr. Carse and his cousin gave bail, and a few minutes afterwards Lady Laurie, locking her arm in Harold's, was drawing him towards the entrance where her con- veyance was standing. Neither of the two uttered a word. Harold seemed dizzy, and almost blind ; he stumbled as he entered the cab. He was, however, conscious of the presence of his school-companion Clar- ence, and that consciousness added bitterness to his humiliation. St. Clare had seen him in the position of a felon ! PAINFUL MOMENTS. 353 At a terribly tedious pace the cab proceeded on its return to Foreham. As if the unfortunate Harold had not drunk sufficiently deep of the cup of humiliation, an unexpected and very bitter ingredient was suddenly added. A loud-tongued stump orator, addressing a knot of the unwashed, lashed them into indignation by the assertion that the " murderer of poor honest White " was slipping through the fingers of justice. " They have let him go — with the blood of a true Briton on his hand ! " roared the Red champion, " be- cause, forsooth, he's a friend of the bloated aristocrats ! But he shall not get off so easily !" " No ! no ! down with the Blues ! — we'll have ven- geance for White!" shouted the furious mob; and Lady Laurie's cab was at once surrounded. The horse's head was seized, and the frightened animal forced to back. Clarence pulled up the window, — it was smashed by a stone ; Mr. Carse put out his head at the other side to address the people, and drew it back covered with mud. " Let me get out to them !" exclaimed Harold, ex- citedly starting from his seat ; " you shall never be exposed to insult through me." " Keep your place ; don't show yourself," cried Clarence. " You'd only make matters worse," exclaimed Mr. Carse, uniting with St. Clare to keep Harold back by main force. (39) 23 354 PAINFUL MOMENTS. Lady Laurie was in terror, but she did not lose her presence of mind, though feeling much as she might have done had the cab been surrounded by wolves. As fierce faces appeared at the window, and the door was about to be violently forced open, she threw her- self forward, and in a voice whose piercing tones rose above the tumult, cried out to a burly blacksmith who, armed with a bludgeon, was the foremost of the assail- ants, " Matthew Strong, Matthew Strong, help us ! — keep them back ! Don't you remember the time when your children were down with the fever ?" The sight of that pale, terrified, pleading face at the carriage-window had an instant effect. The mob was a mob of Englishmen, and to some present the bene- factress of the Foreham poor was very well known. " Remember ? — I should think so ! I didn't know as you were here, my lady. Mat Strong ain't the man to desert you in trouble. — Back ! back ! " he shouted to his companions. — " Swinger, let go the horse's head, or I'll break yours ! It's Lady Laurie ; no one must stop her unless he has a mind to try how hard a blacksmith can hit." Mat enforced his rude threat by swinging his bludgeon; and to the great relief of the occupants of the convey- ance it was suffered to move on. It was pursued some way by boys who howled and insulted, but no actual act of violence was again attempted. PAINFUL MOMENTS. 355 At last even the boys were left behind ; and the vehicle proceeded along the country road towards Fore- ham. The silence of those within it was only broken by an occasional commonplace remark from Mr. Carse. After awhile Harold could endure his position no longer. " I would rather walk," he exclaimed, as he threw open the cab-door and sprang out. Clarence would have followed, but Mr. Carse stopped him. " Leave Harold to himself, my young friend ; he can- not bear even your company now. A quick, solitary walk may restore his mind to its balance." So slow was the motion of the rumblino; cab, that Harold, by taking a short cut over the fields, arrived at the Lodge before the rest of the party. When Lady Laurie passed through the shrubbery she found Eobin hugging and clinging to his brother as if he would never let him go. But Harold freed himself from the boy's embrace, and rushed upstairs to hide himself in his own attic room. " Philip, I am so grateful for your help ; can you — will you — stop here till after Friday ?" said Lady Laurie to her cousin. " Certainly ; I will stop till Saturday, or longer, if this business be not finished. I am only too glad to be a comfort to you," was the kindly reply. " And may I stay too ?" asked Clarence in a tone of sympathy which was soothing to Lady Laurie. 356 PAINFUL MOMENTS. " Assuredly, if you and my cousin do not mind shar- ing a room. Lady Laurie took up refreshments to Harold, for he could not bear yet to join the family circle ; but he did not refuse to let Robin sit beside him. " My poor little Robin, I am making you almost as wretched as myself," Harold said sadly. " I have been a very bad brother to you." " The dearest of brothers 1 " cried Robin. Clarence felt a delicacy in entering on any subject personal to himself at such a time. He could not consult Lady Laurie till the morrow, so he occupied himself in reading, and in writing a letter to his mother. Lady Laurie went out alone, and with a little diffi- culty, caused by the noisy state of Foreham, found her way to the public-house to which she heard that the wounded Wliite had been taken. It being near to the polling-booth and a good deal frequented by voters, it was one of the last places to which the gentle, refined lady would have willingly gone. Her appearance caused no little surprise ; but on her asking where she could find the sick man, all respectfully made way for her who came on an errand of mercy, and she was shown where, in an upper room, lay the unfortunate White.- Mr. Carse was alone in the drawing-room looking PAINFUL MOMENTS. 357 over the papers when Lady Laurie returned, looking very pale, heated, and tired. " Where have you been, Clara?" inquired Mr. Carse. " I have been visiting the poor fellow who is suffer- ing from the blow," replied Lady Laurie as she wearily seated herself beside her cousin. " You should not have gone alone. What of his state ?" asked Mr. Carse, " He seemed almost unconscious ; I could have no conversation with him. His wife was there and his two poor little children." " What do 5^ou think of his wife V " I scarcely know what to think," was the reply. " Mrs. White is evidently a woman of some education, and possesses a considerable knowledge of the Scrip- tures. Every text which I quoted she instantly fol- lowed up by another. She says that her husband is a very religious man," " It is a little strange, then, that he should take service in a public-house ; for I understand he has had the superintendence of that in which he is lying," " So I remarked," said Lady Laurie, " and Mrs. White replied that her husband had been driven to accept such a situation in order to save his family from starvation, he having been suddenly and shamefully dismissed by his late employer for refusing to work on the Sabbath." 358 PAINFUL MOMENTS. " Strange again," remarked Mr. Carse. " A public- house affords no special facility for keeping the Lord's day holy." " I asked Mrs. White whether her husband, in his present situation, could ever get to church. (I had never seen the family there.) She replied that, to his great grief, he could not attend divine service ; but that she and her husband read together at least five chapters of the Bible every day." Mr. Carse gave a little cough, expressive of doubt. " Rather an inconsistent sort of life," he observed. " May I ask if you gave this Mrs. White any money ?" " Yes, certainly," was the reply. " I gave what little I happened to have in my purse. She took it readily, and, I think, looked somewhat disappointed at its not being more. I intend to go again to-morrow." " Let me go instead of you, Clara ; I should like to see these people myself. I have my reasons for wish- ing to do so." " I should be very thankful if you would go," said Lady Laurie. " Perhaps to-morrow poor White will be able to listen to some of your words of comfort and counsel. And oh, Philip, there is another thing that you could do for me. I should be so grateful if at this terrible time of suspense, when I feel so utterly un- nerved, you would conduct, in my place, our little evening Bible-readings. Our subject is the life of St. PAINFUL MOMENTS. 359 Peter, after Matthias had been appointed to fill the place of Judas. I do not feel that it would be right, especially under present circumstances, to give up our quiet meetings for study of the Scriptures, though I feel unequal to making the effort of conducting them myself. I shall hardly be able to prevent my poor Harold from quite imprisoning himself in his room, except by persuading him to attend something like a religious lecture, where he can sit silent and unobserved. Harold might possibly come down for this when he would come down for nothing else. Then Clarence, our kind young guest, must also be considered. He has found benefit from our Bible-reading ; it has been a means of inducing him to give up papal errors. Were it only on his account, I would be loath to suspend our meetings whilst he is under this roof. He is a real Christian, I feel assured, but a young one. He has heard enough to make him bravely break off connection with Rome ; but he has as yet hardly knowledge enough to enable him to combat the plausible arguments of Jesuits, backed by a sister's entreaties and a mother's tears." " I see, I see," said Mr. Carse : " we should not neglect to make use of this time, short as it may be." " But my brain feels bewildered," pursued Lady Laurie. " I can hardly think of anything but Harold and the terrible Friday before us. Would you take 360 PAINFUL MOMENTS. the conducting of the little meetings till the day of trial is over ?" Mr. Carse reflected for a moment. " I should conduct them on rather a different plan from that which you were pursuing when I was here last year," he replied. " I might during the four evenings of my stay give brief lectures on the apostle, inviting, as you did, free remarks from the family circle. I might take for my subjects — Peter preaching, Peter exercising authority, Peter performing miracles, and Peter suffering for the sake of the truth." " Adopt any plan that you think best," said Lady Laurie ; " I shall be more thankful than I can tell you for your help." It was not an easy task to persuade Harold to quit his self-made prison even for the half-hour reading at sunset. " I cannot sit amongst the family," he said gloomily, without raising his eyes. " I am unfit, unworthy to be amongst you. I have slept in a felon's cell, I "have stood in a felon's place, — I am only a misery and dis- grace to you all. I am tempted to wish that I had never been born." It was with great difficulty that Lady Laurie per- suaded her son to promise to be present, seated — if he wished to be so seated — a little apart from the rest. Harold was in so gloomy a state of mind that he was PAINFUL MOMENTS. 361 not roused to give any expression of satisfaction, even when Kobin brought the great news that Banting had been beaten by a majority of five, so that Sir Walter Palgrave was at the head of the poll. To the half- broken-hearted youth Vanity of vanities seemed to be written upon everything earthly. He had been drawn from the heavenward path, he thought, in pursuit of glittering bubbles ; they had broken, and left nothing behind for him but the bitter drop of remorse. But Harold had the self-command to keep his promise. Choosing the darkest part of the room, and covering his eyes with his hand, he sat at the evening lecture to listen, if he could sufficiently control his wandering thoughts to take in the meaning of what fell on his ear. CHAPTER XXXVII. ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. 3Tr. Carse. We all know, my young friends, that the popes found their claim to the possession of the most enormous spiritual power on the Lord's commission to Peter. Now, if the Romish Church be in any way built on St. Peter, it follows naturally that what he taught she must teach, that the apostle's doctrines must be those which she upholds. The Lutheran Church must reverence the opinions of Luther ; the Moham- medans look to Mohammed as a spiritual guide. It will be well for us now to examine whether Rome really believes what St. Peter believed. It is fair that we should ask Papists to prove, from the spoken words and writings of the saint whom they have chosen as a leader, that Romanist doctrines are true. Lady L. It will not be easy for them to do so. Mr. C. We have full means of judging of the opinions of St. Peter. In the beginning of the Book of Acts we find records of three of the apostle's addresses — one of ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. 363 them given just after the Holy Spirit had fallen upon him and his companions, and he was filled with its sacred power. The second sermon was preached just after St. Peter and St. John had performed a miracle of healing, and all the people came together into the temple-porch to behold and wonder. The third address, for we can hardly call it a sermon, was spoken when the apostles stood to answer for themselves before Annas and Caiaphas, those men high in station, but deep in guilt, stained with the blood of the Lord. Besides these three addresses, we have records of St. Peter's opinions in other parts of the Book of Acts, and two invaluable epistles, or letters, written by himself. I have carefully gone over all of these records to-day, to see if I can find in them the least countenance given by the apostle to the leading error of the Church which rests her claims upon him. Let us begin by seeing whether St. Peter regarded himself as that prince of apostles, that disposer of the souls and bodies of men, that Kome would make us believe him to be. Ida. Did not St. Peter call a kind of council of the disciples, to decide who should fill the place of the miserable Judas ? Mr. C. If St. Peter had considered himself to be endowed with supreme spiritual power, what need would there have been for him to call a council ? what need would there have been of an appeal to Heaven by 364 ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. casting lots ? Could not Peter, clothed with divine authority, have appointed Matthias himself ? I cannot find that St. Peter ever spoke of himself as a rock, though, had the Church been founded on him it would have been his duty to have pointed out the fact. It is Christ whom the apostle holds up to us all as a living Stone, disalloiued indeed of men, but chosen of God, and precious; and of cdl believers St. Peter writes, Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, accept- able to God by Jesus Christ (1 Peter ii 4, 5). So far was St. Peter from arrogating; to himself the hiuh, com- manding position which Rome, for her own purposes, would assign to this apostle, that in his first epistle he meekly writes, " The elders which are among you I exhort, who am also an elder, and a witness of the suffer- ings of Christ." Lady L. How keen a rebuke to the proud prelates, the scarlet-robed, wealthy cardinals of Rome, is conveyed in the verses which follow : " Feed the flock of God which is among you, taking the oversight thereof, not by constraint, but willingly ; not for filthy lucre, but of a ready mind ; neither as being lords over God's heri- tage, but being ensamples to the flock." Robin. Oh ! we can't think that St. Peter ever dressed grandly like a cardinal, or wore a high crown like a pope ! ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. 365 Mr. C. One can hardly imagine a greater contrast than that presented by the genial, liberal-minded fisher- man of Galilee, either to the princely cardinal or the shaven Jesuit — both of them res-ardins^ marriasfe, that honourable state ordained by God, as something into which it would be criminal for them to enter. Ida. I cannot imagine why Kome should forbid her priests to marry. Mr. C. It is not difiicult to see that by breaking off natural ties which would have linked priests to their fellow-men, the popes found in them an army more thoroughly under the control of their leaders, more entirely set apart and exalted, as it were, above the common laity. But St. Peter was himself a married man, united, we may believe, to one who was his help- meet and companion in his journeys ; for St. Paul writes of leading about a wife, like Cephas. Clarence. I never heard before that St. Peter had a wife. Is anything known about her ? Mr. C. Tradition tells us that she was martyred shortly before her husband, and that her last beautiful words of farewell to him were, " Remember the Lord." Lady L. I like to think that when St. Peter, in his first epistle, drew his lovely picture of a Christian wife, he was taking the likeness of his own. I like to imagine that he saw her, his beloved, moving gently about while performing offices of love, to his eyes full of the beauty 366 ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. of holiness, when his fingers traced the description of a good woman — " Whose adorning let it not be that out- ward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of patting on of apparel ; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that wliich is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price " (1 Peter iii. 3, 4). Mr. C. I like that thought, that St. Peter drew the portrait of his own wife, and that the Lord, as it were, framed and hung it up in the Scripture Gallery, that every Christian woman might look at it and copy it, to the end of the world. Lady L. We have other subjects on which the preach- ing and teaching of St. Peter differ very widely from those of Rome. For one, there is Mariolatry. Rohin. I don't understand that long word. Lady L. By it is described the worship of Mary, the Lord's mother, which is a special characteristic of the Church of Rome. Ida. I know that in the dark ages a great deal more honour was paid to Mary's shrines than to those dedicated to Christ Himself. But is she so much worshipped in these less superstitious days ? Clarence. I can answer for it that pious Catholics adore the Virgin with passionate devotion. Mr. C. In a pastoral letter addressed by Cardinal Cullen to the clergy and laity so lately as 1854, alluding ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. 367 to the false tradition held by the Eomish Church that Mary was caught up alive into heaven, the cardinal calls her " the Mother of God," when she was but the mother of Christ's human body; and says that she shall be in heaven "for all ages, the health of the weak, the refuge of sinners, the source of all spiritual graces and favours." Robin. How grieved good Mary would have been if she had known that people would put her in the place of her Son, as if she could do what no one but the Lord can do ! Mr. C. To return to St. Peter's preaching and teach- inp; : it is somewhat remarkable that in them he never once mentions the Lord's mother. Peter must have known Mary well. We cannot doubt that he honoured and loved her ; but he gives Rome not the slightest pretext for putting her forward as an immaculate — that means sinless being:, a mediatrix between God and man. In direct contradiction to Rome's worship of the Virgin and saints, the inspired apostle expressly declares of the name of Christ, Neither is there salvation in any other ; for there is none other name under heaven given among 7)ien whereby we must be saved (Acts iv. 12.) Lady L. St. Peter, in both his preaching and teaching, constantly sets the Saviour before us, as if in his soul were ever rino-incf the words which he had heard from the voice of Jehovah Himself, This is My beloved Son, hear Him, and his own heart were ever echoing them back with the cry, Jesus only. 368 ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. Mr. G. There is another point to which I would specially draw your attention as showing a great con- trast between St. Peter's teaching and that of Rome, and this is the way in which not merely once or twice, but again and again, the apostle directs us to the Holy Scriptures. Rome dreads the Bible. She has tried to cover it up in the shroud of a foreign tongue ; she has prohibited its circulation ; she has denounced it as con- taining dangerous teaching ; she has publicly burned many copies of it, as well as the living bodies of those who loved it and made it their guiding light.* St. Peter, taught by the Spirit, on the contrary draws the attention of Christians to its inspired teaching in more passages than I have time to quote. He writes of it as the sincere milk of the Word, by which we must grow (1 Peter ii. 2) ; he declares that it endureth for ever (1 Peter i. 25) ; he bids us take heed to it as unto a light that shineth in a dark place (2 Peter i. 19) ; he declares its inspiration by the Holy Ghost (2 Peter i. 21) ; nay, he even sets its testimony above that which he had himself received direct from heaven, saying, in reference to the voice which he had heard in the holy mount, We have also a more sure ivord of prophecy (2 Peter i. 19). Clarence. Quite enough has been said to convince me * In a great council held at Rome so late as 1871, a French archbishop desired to see a Bible. In that city, which lays claim to being the centre and metropolis of the Christian world, a Bible was vainly sought for, tiU one was borrowed from the Protestant chaplain of the German ambassador ! ST. PETER PREACHING AND TEACHING. 3G9 — to convince one brought up as a Romanist — that what I have been taught from childhood is not what is taught by St. Peter, and that therefore the Church of Rome has not the shghtest right to claim him as her spiritual leader and guide. (39) 24 CHAPTER XXXVIII. A DECISION. It was not till the following day that Clarence ventured to call the attention of Lady Laurie to what concerned himself, and he did so in a diffident manner. " Lady Laurie, I came here yesterday on purpose to consult you on what is to me a somewhat important matter ; but I am afraid to intrude on you my own doubts and difficulties at a time like this." Clarence found that the gentle lady had " a heart at leisure from itself, to soothe and sympathize." She encouraged the reser ved youth to open to her his heart ; she listened with true interest to his account of his mother, joined in his thankfulness at finding that she was no Romanist by conviction, and drew Clarence on to mention, which he did with shy reluctance, his diffi- culty about changing his name. " What do you advise ? " asked Clarence, with a much heightened colour, after he had finished his story. After a few moments of reflection Lady Laurie A DECISION. 371 replied, " I wish, dear Clarence, that you would consult Harold." Clarence looked surprised, and slightly bit his lip. He had no pleasant recollection of the last time that he had consulted Harold, and had then resolved that it should indeed be the last. " I see that you are unwilling to do this," said Lady Laurie, " and yet Harold could more thoroughly enter into your difficulty than I, from my different stand- point, could possibly do. But, my young friend, it is chiefly for Harold's sake that I would entreat you to lay the matter before him. He is in the depths of self- humiliation ; in a morbid state of mind bordering on despair, from which I in vain try to rouse him. If this unhappy White should die — ;" Lady Laurie did not finish her sentence. Too terrible a picture rose before her of her loved Harold a hopeless maniac. " I am uneasy too about Robin," she continued after a brief silence. " He does not care to quit his brother, but is shut up with him in his room, in silence and semi- darkness. If you were to go to ask advice of my poor son, nothing that I can think of would be so likely to rouse him a little out of himself, to turn his thoughts into another channel, and restore something of — of self- respect to his mind. He now thinks that every one must despise him. You would naturally send poor Robin out of the room, and that of itself would be a 372 A DECISION. real boon to me. It is too sad to see a bright young boy with all the spirit crushed out of him." Clarence by no means liked going ; but when he looked at the sweet, pallid, pleading face before him, he had not the heart to say no. " I myself am going out to see poor White again," said Lady Laurie. " How fervently I pray that I may find him alive, and reviving." " I will accompany you," said Mr. Carse, who had just entered the room. " The Blue Boar is hardly a place for a lady to visit alone. Besides, I wish myself to see this man and his wife." Clarence was soon tapping at the door of Harold's room in the attic. " Who's there ? I wish to see no one," replied a hoarse voice from within. " It is I — Clarence. I want your help." And taking silence for consent, he opened the door and entered the room. A dark, dismal room it was, looking as if its occupant could not endure the light of day. " Why do you come to me ? " said Harold gloomily, without raising his bowed head. " Do you not know what I am ? " " You are my friend" replied Clarence. The single word went like a powerful cordial to the heart of the stricken youth. Clarence St. Clare at least, then, did not despise or disown him. A DECISION. 373 " Now, little terrier, you be off and look after your pigeons," said Clarence, as he drew a chair for himself. " I want some confidential talk with your brother, and ' three is no company,' you know." Robin jumped up from the ground, where he had been crouching at Harold's feet. The poor boy was glad that a better comforter than himself had come, and, nothing loath to have a little air and sunshine, with a parting hug to his brother he ran out of the room, and was soon heard clattering down the steep stair. Clarence, without much preamble, began his story. He told briefly of his arrival at the Castle, his conver- sation with his mother, and his joy on finding that she was no Romanist at heart. He mentioned having taken the decisive step of attending service in a Protestant church; at which Harold raised his head with a look of approving interest : but when Clarence came to his dashing step of carrying off" his mother at an hour's notice beyond reach of priests and monks, and lodg- ing her in the strong fortress of a bank in Leaden- hall Street, something almost like a smile came to the pale lips of Harold, and he uttered the exclamation, " Bravely done ! " Harold had not imagined his friend to be capable of acting with such promptness and spirit. Clarence seemed to Hartley to be a changed being; and it is true that he was so. The once indolent, self-indulgent young aristocrat had had all his noblest feelings awakened 374 A DECISION. all his best powers called into action ; he was learning self-denial by suffering, and the highest motive which can influence the human heart — the love of Christ which constraineth. Clarence was encouraged to go on with his story, not only by the sympathy which he met with, but by the feeling that the exercise of such sympathy was as a medicine to Harold. St. Clare told of his uncle's kind reception, and of Mr. Cobbs's willingness to adopt him and give a comfortable home to his mother. But here Clarence stopped and hesitated a little ; with a feeling of shame and shyness he reluctantly mentioned the condition attached to his becoming a partner in the bank. Clarence could still hardly bear to speak, or even to think, of a change of name which he thought so degradinof. Harold was utterly astonished that Clarence St. Clare could ever have been brought to contemplate as possible such a step as that proposed to him now. Harold re- membered with what disgust Clarence had always talked of "jingling gold in a smoky den;" how he had not concealed his contempt for his vulgar uncle — " the coarse old Puritan in the snuff-brown coat," whom he would have been ashamed to have acknowledged as a relative had he met him in Hyde Park or Piccadilly. " Now that you fully know my position," said Clarence after a pause, " how do you think that I ought to act ? A DECISION. 375 Conscience prevented my being able to accept the offer of one uncle ; but — but — does conscience require me to close with that of the other ? It would be very, very bitter to me thus to sacrifice all the family traditions which I have cherished from boyhood ; as if the charger should submit to bow his neck to the yoke of the hack in the mill. Even my mother's wishes and welfare could hardly induce me to embrace such a fate. Then, in what light would my conduct be regarded by those who know not my motives ? I should be taunted with having bartered my liberty, my inclinations, nay, my very name, for the sake of vile dross ! Think what the mocking world would say ! " " Let it say what it will!" exclaimed Harold, starting to his feet. " Clarence, do not you strike against the rock on which I have wrecked all my earthly peace, and well-nigh lost my hopes of heaven ! It has been love of the world, its empty praise, its intoxicating excite- ment, that has, like the fabled magnetic rock, turned me gradually, almost insensibly, out of the straight course, till I find myself like a vessel from which every bolt and nail has been withdrawn, a mere mass of broken drift-wood, tossed on a sea of misery ! What matters it if the world mock, so that conscience approve ! No name can degrade you, if you do not, as I have done, degrade your name ; no condition of life can make you wretched, if you lose not your own self-respect and 376 A DECISION. the favour of Him who crushes man's pride to the dust." Harold's eclipse was over ; the shadow was gone ; he was once more, through all the clouds of tribulation, shining out to the glory of God. And again he and Clarence were joined in bonds of friendship far closer and more durable than those which had united them before. Harold's was, of the two, the stronger and more vehement nature, and Clarence felt what a support it gave to himself at a time when his faith was still weak and his courage was befjinnino; to fail him. The respect and approbation of Harold and his family was something of weight to throw into a trembling scale, when duty and inclination almost equally balanced against each other. Before that interview ended, Clarence had resolved to stoop his neck to the yoke, to choose the life which he had hated, and to bear the name of one whom he had dared to despise. The conversation between the friends was interrupted by the sound of Robin's boots clattering up the stairs, the hurried steps of the boy showing that he was the bearer of news, for he had crept up very quietly before. " Harold, White is better ! — he can sit up and speak ! — he's not going to die !" exclaimed Robin as he burst into the room. " Both mother and Cousin Philip have seen him. He's not half so much hurt as folk thouo-ht." Harold's thankfulness was intense, though it found no A DECISION. 377 vent in words. His mind was so much relieved that he went downstairs to hear more details, and afterwards remained for some time in Clarence's room while an important letter was being written and enveloped for the post. " There, my fate is sealed ! " said Clarence with a sad smile as he laid down his pen. " Good-bye to the dreams of my childhood, all the romance of my dear old home, all the pride of descent ; my bright-pictured procession has indeed faded away, and nothing remains but—" " A good conscience, the prospect of a useful though not a brilliant career, and beyond — the crown and the palm, the glory and the joy !" exclaimed Harold. CHAPTER XXXIX. ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. Mr. Carse. Last evening we briefly examined St. Peter's opinions as gathered from his addresses and epistles. To-day and to-morrow we will glance at his acts. Yesterday he appeared to us as the preacher ; to-day we shall see him exercising the authority of an apostle. This St. Peter did most strikingly in the three cases of Ananias and Sapphira, Simon the sorcerer, and Cornelius, the centurion of Ca3sarea. Robin. I don't like hearing that story of Ananias and his wafe. It is so dreadful that St. Peter should strike them dead in a moment. Ida. Mamma explained to us last year that St. Peter was only like a sword in the hand of the Lord, a weapon which cannot help striking. It is the hand that guides, not the sword which it holds, that inflicts the blow. Mr. G. Let us read the account of the punishment of Ananias and Sapphira as contained in the fifth chapter of the Book of Acts. ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. 379 [The account is read.] Ida. I own that I do not understand why God punished the sin of Ananias and Sapphira so very severely. St. Peter himself said that the land which they sold was their own, and that the money which was paid for it was also in their power. They do not appear to have taken anything belonging to the Church. If these persons were punished simply for lying, how was it that St. Peter himself, who three times denied that he knew the Lord, — how was it that he escaped un- punished ? Mr. C. The sin of the unhappy pair was not dis- honesty ; it was hyjpocrisy — the desire to gain credit for more piety and generosity than they actually possessed. Ida. Oh ! Cousin Philip, that is very alarming ! I fear that we all like to be thought more religious and liberal than we really are. Mr. C. And perhaps one reason why the punishment inflicted was so very severe, and so public, was to warn us from a sin to which even God's servants are prone. But Ananias and Sapphira were not God's true servants. They were like the apples of Sodom, which look fair outwardly, but are like worthless ashes within. Such could not be suffered to remain amongst the first-fruits of the Church offered to the Lord. God knew the hearts of these false ones. He knew that theirs was no sudden fall, like that of Peter ; they were tainted with 380 ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. covetousness and hypocrisy, the two sins which had mined Judas. Robin. Yet I think tliat St. Peter must have wished — must have wished very much — to let them off, only for once. Mr. C. I found this terrible story of Ananias and Sapphira helpful to myself when I was once placed in a position where mercy pleaded against justice, and all my own wishes and sympathies were on the side of mercy. Robin. Please tell us all about it. Mr. G. About six months ago I visited Mrs. Elwyn, who is your friend as well as mine. I had a long pleasant conversation with her about her new coffee- house, " The Trident." Clarence. The coffee-house to which you took me last Saturday, when I was passing through London ? Mr. C. The same. — Mrs. Elwyn dwelt joyfully on the way in which God had directed her, and cleared the way before her. She spoke with special delight of having secured a treasure for her superintendent. " Seth Black," she said, " is one of the most pious, energetic, and capable men whom I have ever met in my life. He is quite devoted to the temperance cause, and lectures on it in a way that clergymen might envy." I had been to " The Trident," and seen the superin- tendent, who certainly appeared to me to be the right ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. 381 man in the right place. I told Mrs, Elwyn that such was my impression. " His wife too is such a superior, such a valuable woman," said the lady, " I thank God every day on my knees for having sent me exactly the people whom I wanted," " I saw Black once before," I observed to Mrs. Elwyn. " It was in Devonshire, when he was working under a vicar, a particular friend of mine. Black evidently did not recognize me ; his remarkably thick eye-brows and high nose made me remember him directly. I do not know," I added, " why he left his situation with my friend, Mr. V ." " Black said that Devonshire did not suit his dear wife's health," replied the lady, " but that he quitted the vicar with great regret. No wonder, as Black had been his Scripture-reader for twelve years." "How could that be!" exclaimed I. "It was on the very day that he was engaged by Mr. V that I saw him, about two years ago." " I cannot be mistaken in this matter," said Mrs. Elwyn in her decided way. " Black has told me over and over again, and I saw it in his written certificate, that he had been twelve years under the vicar." I felt rather startled at this (continued Mr. Carse). I said nothing more at the time to the lady, but I wrote by the same day's post to the vicar ; and the answer 382 ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. which I ere long received from my friend Mr. V made me revisit the Trident. I quietly asked Black to let me have a glance at his certificates. He looked surprised, I fancied slightly confused, and said that they were with his wife. To his wife I accordingly went. All the time that she was looking them out, Mrs. Black volubly rehearsed the praises of her husband. According to her there had never been so good a man, or one so much blessed in his work, since the days of Wesley. At last the certificates were extracted from a drawer. There were but two — one dated many years ago, and written by the master of a training establishment, and that given by Mr. V . The latter was written in a kindly tone. It testified to Black's great ability and zeal, and mentioned the ill-health of his wife as the immediate cause of his leaving Devonshire. "But the twelve years — how was that explained?" asked Clarence. "I examined the paper very critically," replied Mr. Carse. "The years were written in numbers, not in letters. I detected a slight difference in the colour of the ink used for the 1 and that in which the 2 had been written. I noticed that the former a little crowded upon the word which preceded it. This quite confirmed the suspicions which the vicar's answer to me had strength- ened: Black, by a stroke of his pen, had made 2 into 12." " What a consummate cheat !" exclaimed Clarence. ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. 383 " Mr. V 's letter told more. My friend regretted ever havino- oriven a certificate to one who, as he dis- covered after the departure of the Blacks, had left several bad debts behind him. No one had liked to suspect underhand dealing in such a very religious man." " What did you do, Philip, under these painful cir- cumstances ?" inquired Lady Laurie. " Black had come in whilst I was examining the false paper. I laid plainly before him the sin of his conduct, and told him that I should feel it my duty to explain everything to his employer." " And what followed ? how did he take it ? " asked more than one voice. Even Harold looked up with interest. " Poor Black ! a most painful scene ensued. The culprit implored me to pass over one fault. He besought me not to ruin a man who from the depths of his soul had repented of his deceit, and on whom a poor wife and two little ones were dependent. Mrs. Black, bitterly weeping, fell at my feet and clasped my knees. She quoted verse after verse from the Bible concerning mercy and pity. It was one of the most distressing- moments of my life. My heart was wrung with com- passion for the unfortunate couple." Robin. Oh ! you could not ruin them ! — I'm sure that you didn't ! You are so kind. You let Black off — just for once ! 384 ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. Ida. I think that with me mercy would have got the better of justice. M7\ C. What ! would you have betrayed the confidence of Mrs. Elwyn ? would you have left a hypocrite in a position of trust ? I thought of the example of Peter. I thought of a higher example ; for though God is love, He never lets love overcome justice and truth, or He never would have suffered the sacrifice of His Son for the guilty. I tore myself away ; I hurried off straight to the house of Mrs. Elwyn, with the vicar's letter and the lying certificate in my hand. She would hardly at first believe in her favourite's guilt ; but at last, con- vinced sorely against her will that she had been trusting a hypocrite, she sent for Black, and dismissed him at a month's notice. I would have dismissed him at once. My opinion was justified by what happened that very night. Black absconded with a considerable sum of his benefactress's money which had been confided to his care, taking with him his wife and children. Clarence. Was the unprmcipled fellow pursued ? Mr. C. No. Mrs. Elwyn was exceedingly averse to a prosecution ; and so, I confess it, was I. Black had come forward so conspicuously as a preacher of righteousness and temperance, that to have his fall published far and wide would, we feared, injure the cause. Clarence. And you have never come across a trace of this guilty man ? ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. 385 Mr. C. Never till to-day, till I found him lying suf- fering in the back-room of a public-house, which is kept by a relative of his own. In the unhappy White and his wife I instantly recognized the couple whose base hypocrisy I had been the means of exposing. Harold started at the words. He himself, then, though not in the exercise of calm power, but in giving way to sinful passion, had been an unconscious instru- ment in a higher Hand to punish the guilty ! Clarence. So you found the supposed enthusiast for temperance actually in charge of a gin-palace ! Mr. C. I fear that Black would be an enthusiast in any cause that would bring him gain. I did not let him see me, lest the excitement of a second exposure might bring on a relapse ; but his wife knew me at once. When I quitted the room she followed me, and poured forth, as Lady Laurie witnessed, a flood of earnest sup- plication. She assured me that nothing but the fear of his family's starving had induced her dear godly husband to enter such a business. It was painful to hear her quote texts from the Bible. I felt it my unpleasant duty to inform Black's present employer, as I had done his last one, that the unprincipled man was not an agent to be trusted. Lady L. The poor weeping wife almost won me over to intercede with you for her. Clarence. I should like to ask one question. When (39) 25 386 ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. Mr. V found out that the man to whom he had given a good certificate was unworthy of it, should he not have taken some pains to prevent that certificate from deceiving Black's next employer ? Mr. G. I believe that in few matters are religious persons more liable to sacrifice honour and truth to what they regard as charity than in that of giving characters, I have known a lady, in giving a good character to a nurse, suppress the fact that she had been a lunatic.'^ The poor woman went mad in her new situation. If in some delusion she had killed one of the children, the conscience of her former mistress could hardly have been clear of the stain of guilt. Harold. But what can White do now to earn a sub- sistence, with his character gone ? (The youth secretly resolved that he would himself do all that lay in his power to reclaim a man who had nearly died by his hand.) Mr. G. We must reflect over the matter. Justice and truth being satisfied, mercy should follow on their track. But now let us go on to the history of Simon the Sor- cerer, and see what treatment his case met with from Peter the Apostle. Let us read the eighth chapter of the Book of Acts, from the eighteenth verse to the twenty- fourth. I will only say, by way of introduction, that a mighty work for God was going on in Samaria, con- ducted by the evangelist Philip. St. Peter and St. John * A fact. ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. 387 were sent to help in this work. A great outpouring of the Spirit followed. Amongst Philip's followers was a very remarkable man, named Simon, who had himself been supposed to be gifted with supernatural powers. All the people reverenced this Simon, saying, "This man is the great power of God." Ida. One might expect such a man to be jealous of the power and influence gained by the apostles. Mr. C. Simon's great desire was to share that power and influence. Being a very covetous man, he judged of others by himself, and committed the sin now known from his name as Simony — that of desiring to purchase a spiritual office with gold. [The portion of Scripture above mentioned is read.'] Robin. How St. Peter bursts out into anger ! He cried out to Simon, " Thy money perish with thee !" Was it quite right to say that ? Clarence. It sounds very much like a curse. Ida. We are commanded to be pitiful and courteous; and when we are reviled, not to revile again. Mr. C. Simon did not revile St. Peter; he tempted him, and it was honest indignation which flashed out in the apostle's stern rebuke. The Lord Jesus, who indeed when He was reviled, reviled not again, met temptation with the scathing words, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" Lady L. If Eve had replied to the serpent's words of temptation with the indignant energy shown by Christ 388 ST. PETER EXERCISING AUTHORITY. and His apostle, it might never have been needful for the Saviour to die for a fallen world. Ida. Then there may be occasions when we do well to be angry ? Lady L. It is written, Be ye angry, and sin not; but it is added, Let not the sun go down on your wrath. St. Peter angrily rebuked the sorcerer, but soon afterwards St. Peter was probably pleading for him on his knees. Mr. G. And now, as the evening is wearing on, let us turn to the third occasion on which we find St. Peter taking a leading part in a matter which deeply concerned the infant Church. In the tenth chapter of Acts, which we shall read entire, we find the most interesting history of the first Gentile baptized, the centurion Cornelius. [The tenth chapter of Acts is read.] At the conclusion of the reading Lady Laurie observed, " Our meeting has been a little longer than usual, and Robin's eyes are heavy. Shall we now conclude with prayer ?" Prayer was accordingly offered, and Robin retired. The boy's rest had been disturbed the two previous nights by feverish dreams, and he now could scarcely keep awake. When Robin had quitted the room, con- versation still flowed on in the channel opened by the perusal of the portions of St. Peter's history which had been read at the meeting. CHAPTER XL. SIMONY. Ida. What a grand position St. Peter held when, after his vision at Joppa, he opened, as it were, the door of the Church to the whole Christian world ! Millions and millions of Christians were to follow in the steps of Cornelius. Mr. G. But how very different was that exercise of apostolical authority by Peter from that claimed by the popes of Rome ! When St, Peter, rising above Jewish prejudice, had baptized and laid his hands on pious Italians, he had to answer for the act before his brethren of the house of Israel. Peter had to explain and vindi- cate his conduct ; he had to justify himself against the accusation, " Thou wcntest in to men uncircumcised, and didst eat with them." Lady L. And let us remark that it was by relating his vision, not by asserting any claim to authority of his own, that Peter defended his act, meekly concluding with the words, " What was I, that I could withstand God ?" 390 SIMONY. Mr. C. We must observe, also, that though St. Peter certainly did open the door to the Gentiles, he showed sad weakness in not heeinng it wide open. Yielding to the influence of bigoted Jews, Peter, enlightened as he had been by a vision from heaven, did make an un- worthy distinction between Israelite and Gentile converts. Lady L. We considered this subject last year, when we reviewed the life of St. Paul. Peter, wise and good as he was, needed to be rebuked to the face by his brother apostle for conduct to believing Gentiles which was inconsistent and unkind. Clarence. I never heard of that. Is the account of it to be found in the Book of Acts ? Lady L. It is written in the second chapter of St. Paul's epistle to the Galatians. Clarence. 1 shall certainly look out the passage to- night. What new light comes from the reading of Scripture ! I wonder sometimes how I could have been enchained by Romish traditions ; but it is because I was so io-norant of the written Word. But there is one thing in which one cannot but admire the Romish Church — she does so authoritatively condemn the sin of simony, of which we have heard to-day. Father O'Brien has assured me that if any priest or minister holding a holy office is found to have given money for it he for- feits it at once. Surely this is a good and wholesome rule, Mr. C. So good that I would have it written in letters SIMONY. 391 of gold on the cathedral of St. Peter ; I would have it repeated in tones of thunder to every pope sitting on what is called St. Peter's chair. This good rule of the Eomish Church, if observed, would shake to the very- foundations the whole fabric of apostolic succession on which she sits enthroned ; it would cast her triple crown into the dust. — Listen, my young friends, to facts which show how simony has been the very bane of the Church of Rome. Lady L. This is a subject which I have never heard touched on before. Mr. G. A pope is chosen for his high office by a majority of at least two-thirds of the cardinals assembled in a conclave. The rest of the clergy and the whole of the laity have nothing to do with this election. Now it is, as you have said, a rule of the Eoman Church that any simony — that is, in any way procuring a holy office by bribery — makes that office void. It is forfeited, because purchased by money. Clarence. Of course, if a pope had won his crown by bribery, he would at once lose his right to wear it. Mr. C. Now, my young friend, it is a well-known fact, recorded in history, that Pope Alexander VI. was elected in 1492 by twenty-two bribed cardinals, and that he sold the hats, which are the badges of a car- dinal's rank, which he himself conferred upon his followers. 392 SIMONY. Clarence. If this can be proved, he was then no true pope, and they were no true cardinals. All had been guilty of simony. Mr. C. Alexander's successor, Pope Julius II., was elected by a conclave of which more than two-thirds were made up of these sham cardinals ; and Leo X. was elected by cardinals of whom all had been named by Alexander or Julius, and who were therefore, were the rule of the Church observed, actually incompetent to vote. Leo, in his turn, sold vacant hats to new purchasers. Clarence. St. Peter would have been ashamed to have been a cardinal. Ida. Still more ashamed to have been a pope. Lady L. It seems a kind of circle of fraud — mock cardinals electing new popes, and mock popes electing new cardinals. Mr. G. I could tell you of many more acts on which the brand of simony is stamped. What say you to 'par- don of sins bought by money, even indulgences for sins yet to be committed, as in the case of those sold by Tet- zel in the days of Luther ! If ever there was a Church that filled its coffers by selling spiritual privileges, it is the Church that claims to rest on St. Peter — on that noble, true-hearted man, who scorned to soil his hands with gold won by simony. Clarence. And I cannot but contrast the pope, as I SIMONY. 393 once saw him at Kome, when I and my family fell on our knees to kiss his slipper, with St. Peter, as he gently rebuked Cornelius for prostrating himself before him : " Stand up ; I also am a man." The conversation here took a different course, and after a while the members of the circle retired to their several apartments. Harold was in a far calmer frame of mind than he had been in since the painful events of the Monday. Though his coming appearance in court lay still as a dark shadow before him, the partial re- covery of Black (we give his real name) robbed it of much of its terrors. Harold was very much struck by tracing how, even by what at first appears to be un- mixed evil, God brings to effect His counsels of wisdom and justice. It had been a sin in Harold to drink the forbidden draught, it had been a sin to give way to furious passion ; but even through what had been evil in itself — an evil of which he had deeply repented — a hypocrite had been unmasked, a wicked man arrested, at least for a time, in a criminal course, and given an opportunity to retrace his steps. Well doth our great poet exclaim, — " There's a Divinity that shapes our ends, Eough-hew them how we will." The morning's account of Black was favourable. He was able to sit up and converse, and to partake of deli- cacies sent by Lady Laurie. There was no reasonable 394 SIMONY. doubt of Black's being able to appear before the magis- trate on the following day. " I think that only a fine, and that not a heavy one, will be inflicted," said Mr. Carse to Robin, who was anxiously questioning him upon the subject. " The blow was dealt with the bare fist, and was given under pro- vocation. Yes ; there will be merely a fine." But if the clouds over Harold were beginning to clear off, Clarence had to encounter a storm. Father O'Brien, annoyed beyond measure at Clarence having succeeded, by his promptness, in carrying his mother beyond reach of Romish influence, had telegraphed to the Duke of Framlingham : Your nepheiu has apostatized, and ob- liged Lady R. C. to join her heretic brother. The tele- gram reached Paris, where Catherine, on her way to Loretto, was staying for a few days with her titled relations. The effect of the telegram had resembled that of a dynamite explosion. Surprise, resentment, fierce indignation had been aroused in the breast of the duke. He did not condescend to write to Clarence, but Lady Reginald received a scathing letter ; and enclosed in it was one from Catherine addressed to her brother. Lady Reginald, hysterical from the effect of reading the letters, forwarded both to her son. " These letters make me wretched," she wrote in the inside of her envelope; "but I feel that you have done right." " This is painful," said Clarence to Harold, whom he SIMONY. 395 had invited to his room for a private conversation. " Look at this ;" and as he spoke he pointed to the con- cluding paragraph of the duke's letter, which he gave to Harold to read. The paragraph ran as follows : — " Unless you consent to exclude from your home your apostate son, I am under the painful necessity of inform- ing you that the Castle can be your home no longer. Clarence, unless he abjure his errors, do penance, and obtain absolution from our holy Church, shall never again darken the doorway of any dwelling of mine." " I am turning my poor mother out of her beautiful home ; I am depriving her as well as myself of the power of even visiting our family graves ; I am making myself an object of hatred and contempt to my kindred. I shall be as completely cut off from the past, with all its memories and glorious hopes, as if I already lay in my cofiin." Clarence paced the room with a rapid step as he spoke, his countenance and his voice both express- ing the anguish of his soul. " You are giving up much for Christ's sake," observed Harold. " And look at my sister's letter ! " exclaimed Clarence, tossing a black-edged missive to Harold. " I can just see her face as she wrote it, the cheek pale with anger, the fierce light flashing from her eyes. Catherine treats me as a dog, as one whom she would spurn with her foot if she could — I who a short time since had, as it 306 SIMONY. were, all the world before me. I am brought low — low indeed." "You were never raised so high in your life!" ex- claimed Harold. "1 envy you, Clarence. Just compare your position with mine ; — you, suffering for conscience' sake, with a ' Well done, faithful servant ! ' before you ; I, brought to shame by my own ill-doing. Yours are the victor's scars, honourably gained ; mine, the marks left by punishment and disgrace." " Well, if I had to do all over again," said Clarence thoughtfully, " I think — I believe— I hope that I should again take up the cross, though I find it so hard to bear." And in that spirit of endurance, feeling keenly, but not flinching back from the sacrifice required, Clarence St. Clare passed the rest of that day, and with a calm though pale countenance appeared at the evening reading. CHAPTER XLI. ST. PETER WORKING MIRACLES. Mr. Garse. We are now to consider the Apostle St. Peter as a worker of miracles. This, we doubt not, he, like the other discij)les, had been during our Lord's sojourn upon earth ; but his power seems to have been markedly increased after the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the infant Church. Three miracles are given in detail ; but they were by no means the only ones wrought by the apostle. We read : " They brought forth the sick into the streets, and laid them on beds and couches, that at the least the shadow of Peter passing by might overshadow some of them." The three miracles de- scribed at length are those performed on the lame man laid at the Beautiful Gate of the temple, the healing of -^neas, and the raising of Dorcas from the dead. Let us take them in order, beginning by reading the third chap- ter of the Book of Acts, from the first to the tenth verse. \Tlie 'passage from Scripture is read.] Ida. There is one thino- which strikes me as strange. 398 ST. PETER WORKING MIRACLES. This man had been lame from his birth, and had been daily laid at the gate of the Temple. Now, it was not very many weeks since the Lord had gone in and out of the temple, and had performed in it miracles of healing. Had this cripple, who was well known in Jerusalem, never had an opportunity of being made whole by the Saviour Himself ? If he had, how came he still to be lame ? Lady L. The same question has occurred to myself. The Lord so freely exercised healing power, that one marvels to find any resident of Jerusalem crippled still. Mr. C. Remember that faith is needed for cure. As, to receive that salvation which is freely offered to all, we must stretch out the hand of faith, or remain unsaved, so faith was a condition of bodily health. The cripple at Lystra was enabled to leap and walk because Paul saw that he had faith to be healed. Ida. But this does not help me out of my difficulty at all. If the poor beggar at the Gate Beautiful had not faith to be cured by the Lord Himself, how could he be healed by St. Peter ? Mr. C. How had the three thousand men converted by the apostle's first sermon not been converted before ? Many must have heard the preaching of Him who spake as never man spake. Can we not imagine that the marvellous earthquake and darkness at the time of the crucifixion, followed by the glorious tidings of the resur- ST. PETER WORKING MIRACLES. 399 rection, the ascension, and the descent of the Spirit, with its accompanying wonders, had awakened some faith in the mind of the cripple ? There were many who had rejected the Messiah when in lowliness He walked the earth, who became His disciples after He had ascended into heaven. Robin. Oh, if that beggar had really seen the Lord, and had never asked Him to make him well, how very, very sorry he must have been that he had let such a time pass away, and gone on crawling when he might have run and leaped ! 3Ir. C. If my suggestion be correct, how it magnifies the grace of Him who did not shut the gate of mercy upon the poor sinner, but who, when the cripple seemed past hope, drew him in with the cords of love ! There is something more than mere bodily healing expressed in the words that when Peter and John had performed the miracle on the cripple, " he entered with them into the temple, walking, and leaping, and praising God." For the account of the second remarkable act of healing, we must turn to the ninth chapter of the Book of Acts, and see what occurrence took place when St. Peter visited Lydda. READING. " And there he found a certain man named iEneas, which had kept his bed eight years, and was sick of the palsy. And Peter said unto him, iEneas, Jesus Christ 400 ST. PETER WORKING MIRACLES. maketh thee whole : arise, and make thy bed. And he arose immediately." Lady L. On this brief account follows almost immedi- ately that of the raising of Dorcas. Mr. C. It is contained in the passage commencing at the thirty-second verse. Let us read it aloud. READING FROM ACTS IX. 36-42. Lady L. I am going to say what may appear strange, and almost, perhaps, wrong ; but I have often thought that as Dorcas was a good and pious woman, it must have been much more of a trial than a joy to her to have been called back to a world of sorrow and sin. Robin. Just when she had quite crossed the river, like Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress, and the golden gates were wide open, and the angels coming out to welcome her, she must have been sorry to have been called back, just to make more clothes for widows. Mr. C. I should quite agree with you, if Dorcas had had no work to do on earth beyond making clothes for the poor. To have to die twice, to be called back from bliss, though but for a time, would seem rather a punish- ment than a blessing. On this subject I can but offer a suggestion, and my view may be an altogether mistaken one. Lady L. Let us, at any rate, hear what you think. Mr. C. It seems to me possible that good, benevolent ST. PETER WORKING MIRACLES. 401 Dorcas may have devoted her time and concentrated her powers on the useful work of clothing the bodies of the poor, without realizing that there is a yet nobler, a yet more important labour — that of winning souls for Christ. The dear saint may have thought, as many humble be- lievers have thought, that a woman, perhaps knowing little beyond the skilful use of her needle, could take no part in evangelizing work. While Dorcas had the tears and blessings of the poor for acts of personal kindness, she may have had no jewels in her crown, no souls to acknowledge in her a spiritual mother. If such was the case, to her what unutterable gain to be brought back to earth — a being actually raised from the dead, whose every word would have weight, to do works of faith as well as works of charity ! What an honour to Dorcas to be permitted to guide to the Saviour those whom He would clothe, not with perishable garments, but with the spotless robes which will shine for ever ! Robin. Oh, I think that must have been the reason why Dorcas was called back for a time ! God had some- thing more for her to do. Clarence. The accounts of St. Peter's miracles given in the Bible, so simple, so uncoloured as they are, form a great contrast to the legends of saints which I have been accustomed to read. Those legends now seem to me so utterly improbable that I cannot think how I ever be- lieved them at all. T have heard that at Arras, near (39) 26 402 ST. PETER WORKING MIRACLES. Calais, there is the stump of a ivax candle, said to have been brought from heaven by the Virgin Mary seven hundred years ago, in honour of ivhich litanies are repeated and hymns are sung ! In Qiiintin, in Brittany, devotion is paid to an old rag, said to be part of a girdle of the Blessed Virgin, though there is not a shadow of proof that she ever saw it ! Mr. C. The common sense of even a child like Robin would reject as fables the stories of winking pictures or weeping images, which the more ignorant amongst the Romanists regard as miraculous. What would he say to the far-famed Veronica — a napkin said to have wiped the Lord's face on His way to Calvary, on which the impression of His features was left ! This pretended miraculous handkerchief is actually shown in seven dif- ferent places, Turin and Cadouin producing rival papal briefs — Turin four, Cadouin fourteen — to certify that theirs is the only genuine Veronica. Ida. Oh, Cousin Philip, this is too absurd ' Harold. Too blasphemous, I should rather say. Mr. C. Relics of St. Peter or St. Francis are said to procure for their wearers safety from all kinds of sick- ness and danger. Robin. I wonder if a pope's man would go quite boldly into a lion's den, if he had one tied round his neck. Clarence. My sister Catherine firmly believes that ST. PETER WORKING MIRACLES. 403 ano-els carried the house in which the Viro'in lived from Palestine to Italy, and set it down at Loretto. Catherine is going there on pilgrimage now. Lady L. This is a painful subject to dwell on. One can hardly imagine how really amiable and piously disposed people, as some Romanists undoubtedly are, can be so blinded as to believe in such palpable lies. Mr. C. Many do not believe them, but have not the courage and energy to express their doubts to the world. As regards others, sunk in superstition which appears to destroy their reasoning powers, the terrible words of Isaiah may be applied : " He feedeth on ashes ; a de- ceived heart hath turned him aside, that he cannot deliver his soul nor say. Is there not a lie in my right hand?" CHAPTER XLII. VERDICT GIVEN. The dreaded Friday morning arrived on which Harold was bound to appear to answer a charge at the bar of justice. Breakfast was a very silent affair, where every word spoken cost an eflbrt. Robin's moist eyes were constantly fixed on his brother; Harold's on his own plate, on which the food lay untouched. After breakfast was concluded, Lady Laurie was about to put on the bonnet and gloves which she had placed on a side-table, when Mr. Carse quietly drew her aside. " Clara," said he, " Harold has asked me to make a particular request that you will not accompany us to ton. He wishes none of our party to be with him but Clarence and myself, and says that the presence of his mother would more than double the pain of his trial." Lady Laurie's lip quivered ; she made an attempt to speak, but did not succeed. " There is nothing to be apprehended now," said Mr. VERDICT GIVEN. 405 Carse ; " you have heard that White (as his name was erroneously given) has ah-eady started from Foreham to make his appearance in the court. He has wonderfully recovered ; indeed I suspect that he and his wife made the very most of his hurt in order to extort more money. Your presence at ton would do no possible good, and I agree with my poor young friend that a police court is no place for his mother." " My chief reason for remaining here would be to soothe Robin," said Lady Laurie, dashing away a tear which would find its way to her cheek. " The child is wild to stand by his brother, ' to back up Harold,' as he says, and I should be most unwilling to take him with me, yet could hardl}^ leave him behind." " You will both remain, and cheer up each other," said Mr. Carse. " I hope that we may return to you in a couple of hours ; the partial recovery of the injured man makes the case very simple — such as only too frequently occurs in contested elections." Lady Laurie yielded the point with a sigh ; she did not even accompany the party to the gate of the shrub- bery, for she felt intuitively that every time that her eye met Harold's it inflicted a wound. Fain would young Hartley have stolen away altogether unnoticed. He pulled his cap over his eyes before passing through the crowd of villagers assembled to see him start, and then sprang hastily into the carriage. 406 VERDICT GIVEN. There was a larger crowd at ^ton, and chiefly composed of a very different class from that of those present before. The Blues had chosen to take up the affair in a political spirit, and had assembled in some force, many wearing their badges in order to give their countenance to one whom they were pleased to consider as a sufferer in a good cause. Sir Walter Palgrave, the successful candidate, was himself present in the court, with his noisy, somewhat bloated-faced nephew, the son and heir of the master of the Hall. " Fine fellow ! — behaved with great spirit ! — served the rascal right ! " such were the very audible whispers which greeted the ear of Harold as he made his way to the prisoner's bar. The world is lenient to spirited lads who are prompt to avenge insults, especially at times when the blood is up and the mind excited, and had passed a favourable verdict on the handsome youth who had such a high sense of honour and was able to hit so hard. The case occupied a short space of time. Harold Hartley was convicted of a common assault under cir- cumstances of provocation, and a trifling fine was in- flicted, which was immediately paid. All was over in quarter of an hour. But there was some delay in quitting the court, as various members of the political party who had sup- ported Sir Walter pressed forward to shake Harold's VERDICT GIVEN. 407 hand, with an energy which imphed sympathy if not actual approbation of his conduct. He who had come into court with the shame and sorrow of an oftender against both God's law and that of his country, found himself, ere he left it, a kind of hero amongst those of his faction. " You've shown yourself a thorough Englishman," said Sir Walter, in a patronizing tone : " you right a wrong where it is given." " You'd have winged your man in the good old days when there were such things as affairs of honour," cried Bowton Palgrave. " I'm heartily proud of you. Hartley ! " said Sir Walter. " I'm bitterly ashamed of myself ! " thought Harold. " My carriage and four is in waiting," said the new member of Parliament ; " we're going to carry you off to the Hall, where Lady Palgrave and my sister-in-law are eager to welcome you. The latter has charged me with an invitation. We've a dance to-morrow to cele- brate our success, and you must be present." " And stay over Sunday, and try your hand at bill- iards," said Bowton Palgrave, laying his flabby hand on Hartley's shoulder. " Excuse me," said Harold; " I am anxious to go back to Foreham." "We won't let you off; come along!" cried Bowton, 408 VERDICT GIVEN. keeping his hold, and drawing Harold in the direction where was the carriage, with the four horses, gay with blue bows, champing their bits, and pawing the ground with impatience. " Impossible ! " said Harold with decision ; and exert- ing gentle force to wrench himself away, he tried to regain the humbler vehicle which was waiting. " Mr. St. Clare, you will persuade Hartley to come with us, — and make one of our party yourself," said Sir Walter. " Pardon me, sir ; I think that my friend had better return to Foreham," said Clarence, politely but firmly. " I am obliged for your invitation to myself, but I go home to-morrow." " To the Castle, of course," said the baronet. "No, to London," replied Clarence St. Clare. "My home is with my uncle." " What ! has the Duke of Framlingham returned to England ? " asked Sir Walter. " I speak of a maternal uncle, Mr. Cobbs," said Clarence. It cost St. Clare an effort to make this reply, and yet he was glad that he had not evaded the question. It was no small satisfaction to Philip Carse to find himself again in the one-horse fly with the two youths beside him, instead of seeing them whirled away in an opposite direction by Sir Walter's four spanking bays. VERDICT GIVEN. 409 " I am glad that you had strength to resist the world's temptations," remarked Mr. Carse to Harold, as their slow vehicle creaked along. " What ! could you have thought that such a bitter lesson as I have learned could be forgotten so soon?" exclaimed Harold. " I ought to have trusted you," replied Mr. Carse. " Trusted me ?■ — no ! I feel as if I should never trust myself again," said Harold. " But one who has been all but sucked down in a whirl j)Ool is scarcely likely at once to fling himself again into the current." The chaise had not proceeded more than half the distance to Willowdale Lodge before it was met by Robin, who came up to the window so breathless with excitement and running, that he was quite unable to ask a question. But he saw his brother, and that was enough. Lady Laurie and Ida were not very far be- hind. The family felt as if a very dark cloud had been rolled away from their sky, that a great trial had now to be looked back upon with gratitude for deliver- ance, instead of being looked forward to with terror and shame. When Robin recovered his voice, the first use which he made of it was to exclaim, " Now the next pleasure that we'll have will be good news from India to-morrow. Harold is free, and Prem Das ^\ ill be free — I know it ! Troubles and joys seem always to come in a bunch, like 410 VERDICT GIVEN. grapes. We have had a lot of troubles these holidays, but now the good times are beginning again ! " " Ah, the Indian mail ! " cried Ida. " I had almost forgotten that it was due so soon." " You would not have forgotten it," said Robin, " if you cared as much for poor Prem Das as I do. Think of him in the hands of those wicked Hindoos, — made to dance before a horrid idol again ! But he will be saved — I'm sure he will be saved ! Prem Das will get through his trouble as Harold has got through his, and we'll all be happy once more ! " CHAPTER XLIII. ST. PETER SUFFERING FOR THE TRUTH. Mr. Garse. We have now come to the last of our brief readings on the history of St. Peter. We are to behold the saint, not in the character of the fiery, fervent apostle, the tempted and backsliding disciple, the earnest preacher, the stern reprover, but as the calm, patient sufferer for the truth. We have not in the case of the great fisherman of Galilee the same list of perils, persecutions, shipwrecks, and stonings, as varied the experience of his brother apostle, St. Paul. Except in the closing scene of martyrdom, St. Peter seems to have been spared much of the terrible sufferings which the leader of the Gentiles endured. But scourging, imprisonment, and — if tradition is to be believed — crucifixion itself were borne, and bravely borne, by him who, at the mere shadow of danger, had thrice denied his Lord. Robin. I did not know that St. Peter had ever been beaten. Mr. C. After a very short imprisonment, from wliich they were delivered by an angel, we find St. Peter, with 412 ST. PETER SUFFERING FOR THE TRUTH. his companion apostles, brought a second time before the high priest and council. The stern questioning of the wicked ruler, when he saw the fearless bearing of the followers of Him whose religion he had hoped to stamp out, is given us in the fifth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, beginning at the twenty-seventh verse. READING. "And when they had brought them, they set them before the council : and the high priest asked them, saying, Did not we straitly command you that ye should not teach in this name ? and, behold, ye have filled Jerusalem with your doctrine, and intend to bring this man's blood upon us." Harold. Nay, they had brought it on themselves when that horrible cry arose from the Jews, " His blood be upon us, and upon our children." Mr. C. Terribly was that self-invoked curse fulfilled ! Now let us continue our readino- to the end of the fortieth verse. [The passage is read.] Lady L. So with the short cutting blows of the rod, doubtless the forty stripes save one which the Jewish law sanctioned, came the first taste of real persecution to the apostles of Christ. Robin. And they were glad and happy, — they were not afraid of the pain. ST. PETER SUFFERING FOR THE TRUTH. 413 Lady L. It was sweet to those who had looked on the pierced hands and feet of their risen Lord, to bear witness thus, with bruises and blood, to the fact of His resurrection. BEADING. " And they departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for His name. And daily in the temple, and in every house, they ceased not to teach and preach Jesus Christ." Mr. G. This first touch of persecution was but as the first dropping of rain before the thunder-cloud bursts. A furious tempest followed. It was as if from the cloud above came a flash of lightning which struck down one of the highest trees in the garden of the Church. St. Stephen, one of the noblest of men, was suddenly laid low ; and then followed, as it were, a conflagration. Far and wide spread the roaring flames of persecution. Saul, the stern, merciless Saul, hurried from house to house seeking his victims ; doors were burst open, hiding- places searched, men and women were haled to prison, and the more timid were compelled to blaspheme. So fierce was the persecution that the Christians fled from Jerusalem, and were scattered in all directions. We are told that only the apostles remained. Lady L. St. Peter himself appears to have travelled about a good deal at this time, as we find him in Samaria Lydda, and Joppa. 414 ST. PETER SUFFEBING FOR THE TRUTH. Mr. C. Again, but after a considerable period, St. Peter returned to Jerusalem. No persecuting Saul was then there ; the ravening wolf had been changed by a miracle into a lamb, and St. Peter was enabled to clasp hands with the very man who had taken part in the murder of St. Stephen. Lady L. But the calm in the Church was not to last long. Mr. G. After the fire came the earthquake. It was now a crowned persecutor who arose to vex the Church. " Herod the king killed James the brother of John with the sword." Robin. So the brothers who seemed to be always together, who must have loved each other so dearly, were parted ! I daresay that St. John wished in his sorrow that they could have died together. Mr. C. Because Herod saw that the murder of one apostle was pleasing to the Jewish people, he seized upon Peter also. Ida. What heavy blows to the Christian Church ! — first the news that James had been killed, then the almost more startling tidings, "Peter is in the murderer's grasp!" Mr. C. The whole account is so interesting that we must read it in full, READING FROM ACTS XII. 4-17. Robin. This is one of the most interesting stories in all tlie Bible. DELIVERED FROM PRISON. ST. PETER SUFFERING FOR THE TRUTH. 415 Ida. One can so well picture the scene in the prison — St. Peter stretched on the prison floor, sleeping peacefully in his chains, with the soldiers around him, and perhaps dreaming of the martyrdom which he thought would take place on the morrow. Robin. Not singing praises, like Paul and Silas — Ida. Because not kept waking by pain, as they were — Harold. But calmly resting, as they did, on the love and power of the Lord. Ida. Then came the silvery light shining in the prison, glancing back from the steel armour and weapons of the Roman soldiers ; and in the midst of the light the glorious white-winged angel, stooping gently to smite St. Peter on the side. Clarence. What strikes me especially is the absence of all hurry and excitement in the escape. The prisoner was to cast on his garment, fasten his girdle, draw on his sandals, — the angel waiting patiently whilst he dressed, certain that the soldiers would not awake. What a strange, dreamy feeling St. Peter seems to have had, when he left his prison in company with his mys- terious guide, and saw the huge barred gate unclose of its own accord, and then passed forth into the freshness of the outer air, and beheld the stars shining above him ! Ida. It must indeed have appeared like a dream. Clarence. The apostle needed no guide to the house 416 ST. PETER SUFFERING FOR THE TRUTH. where Christians were gathered together, even at mid- night, praying for liiin. Robin. But why did not Rhoda open the door at once ? why did she keep Peter outside, standing knocking, knocking, in the darkness and danger ? Harold. And why did the Christians not believe that God had answered the prayers which they, without ceasing, had offered. Robin. If God heard theirs, will not He hear ours ? I'm sure that Prem Das will be saved. Some angel will set him free ! Clarence. I wish that we had in the Bible an account of the martyrdom of St. Peter. 3fr. C. For that we have nothing but tradition. The Lord's prophecy, uttered by the waters of Lake Tiberias, assures us that by a violent death the apostle did glorify God. Tradition says that the death was the terrible one of crucifixion ; and that the saint, feeling himself unworthy of dying in the same way as his Lord, asked to be crucified head doiunwards ! Robin. What a very dreadful way of dying ! Lady L. But one which would greatly shorten the agonies of crucifixion by bringing a rush of blood to the brain. Harold. Did St. Peter triumpli in the prospect of martyrdom, like St. Paul ? Could he, too, rejoicingly write, "I have fought a good fight, I have kept the faith "? ST. PETER SUFFERING FOR THE TRUTH. All Lady L. St. Peter in his second epistle does allude to his coming death, but so calmly, so meekly, that it is more as if he were anticipatino- a mere chancre of abode than looking forward to a violent, agonizing death. He simply writes, " Knowing that shortly I must put off this tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath shewed me." How familiar to the mind of the aged apostle was the thought of suffering and pain, we gather from his own beautiful exhortation to persecuted saints : " Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing- happened unto you : but rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of Christ's sufferings ; that, when His glory shall be revealed, ye may be glad also with exceeding joy." Ida. I think it was a much happier fate for St. Peter to be martyred and join his Master in heaven, than to be left like St. John, the very last of all the apostles, to die in extreme old age. Harold. But St. John beheld such wondrous visions of glory ! Mr. C. Here we close our meditations on the eventful life of St. Peter, the fisherman of Galilee. The Scrip- tures hold up before us in him no picture of a faultless man, but one of like passions, like infii-mities with ourselves. Vehement, earnest, more ready to promise than firm to perform ; full of love, yet liable to strong (:«)) 27 418 ST. PETER SUFFERING FOR THE TRUTH. fear; intensely loyal, yet on at least one occasion letting presumption push reverence aside, Peter stands as a living reality before us. He was no triple-crowned monarch, no sceptred priest, no pope claiming for himself infallibility ; but he was a devoted follower of his Lord upon earth, a faithful under -shepherd after His de- parture, — a brave partaker of His sufferings here, and now, we doubt not, a joyful sharer in His glory ! CHAPTER XLIV. RESTORATION. After Mr. Carse, who shared Clarence's room, had retired with him, and Ida and Robin had said good- night, Harold remained for some time below, in quiet converse Avith his mother. There was no shadow be- tween them now; they could again speak heart to heart. Harold went up to his attic room at a later hour than usual, and found Robin in bed, half buried under the clothes, for in our uncertain climate even summer may be chilly. But the little boy was not asleep. As Harold with a slow step entered the room, Robin's rough head was raised from the pillow, and he started up into a sitting posture. " Oh, Harold ! I thought that you would never come. I could hardly keep awake ! " cried Robin. " Why should my boy keep awake ? he has had his good-night," said Harold, as he came and seated him- self on his brother's little bed. " I wanted so much to ask you one question, only one. Please come close, and I'll whisper it in your ear." 420 RESTORATION. Harold bent down, and Robin's arms were around his neck. " Harold, do you still want to put on a soldier's cloak ? " asked the boy, with his flushed cheek resting aijainst his brother's. " No," replied Harold Hartley. " And you will — you will put on tlte other cloak? you know what I mean— like Dr. Dufi' ? " Harold replied in a tone of stern sadness : " Robin, do you really think me fit to be a missionary ; I who have been weak, wandering, backsliding, full of the spirit of the world ; I, who have this very day been punished by the law : " It was a hard question for Robin to answer ; the difficulty had not suggested itself to his mind before, for he had been accustomed to consider Harold as fit for anything great and noble. In a humbled tone, as if he himself had been the guilty one, the boy, after a short silence, replied, " Peter denied the Lord three times, yet the Lord loved him ; Peter was allowed to feed the sheep, and even — even to die for his Saviour." Harold rose suddenly and walked to the lattice ; his bosom was heaving with an agitation which he could not suppress. The youth had shed no tears in prison, — when overpowered with shame and misery, his eyes had been dry, but now they overflowed. Unheeding of the presence of his brother. Hartley sank on his knees, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. It was RESTORATION. 421 not so much for forgiveness that he silently prayed, for he felt that he had been forgiven — the Lord had looked upon him in mercy ; but it was for restoration that he pleaded, — for permission to work — to serve, to speak for Christ even with that unworthy tongue ; to feed His sheep, even though he himself had been a wandering one, scarcely saved from perdition. Harold remained wrestling in fervent prayer long after Robin had sunk into peaceful slumber. Robin was the first to spring out of bed on the following morning, full of eager expectation. " There will be a letter from India to-day!" he cried. "I feel sure that it will tell us of dear Prem Das being found I I've been praying for him, and dreaming of him, — my dream made me so happy." Harold did not feel by any means so certain that the expected letter would bring good news. As soon as the postman came in sight, Robin ran for the letter. It was, as usual, addressed on the envelope to Harold, who broke it open eagerly. The first sentence which he read aloud sent Robin dancing about the room with joy : — " I am writing, my dear boys, with our poor Prem Das sleeping on a charpai beside me. Thank God, our lost one is found !" " I knew it ! — I was sure of it ! " cried Robin. " I was certain all would come right!" " Stay ; I fear tliat all is by no means right," said 422 RESTORATION. Harold, glancing on, while a troubled expression shadowed his face as he continued reading aloud : — " But I fear that we shall not long have the poor fellow with us. He has received a wound, a most serious w^ound, and is in a state of utter exhaustion." The face of Eobin fell. "Oh, what can have happened ! " he cried. Every one present listened anxiously to hear the further contents of the letter : — "You may remember my mentioning that I myself had had an attack of fever. This detained me for some days at the magistrate's house. As soon as I av as able to rise, I was very anxious to return to my station, but not till I had made one more effort to see, if possible, our poor misguided Prem Dfls. The magistrate tried hard to dissuade me from making an attempt which, he said, was certain to end in disappointment, and might even lead to some breach of the peace by the excited villagers \vhose idolatrous haunts I was going to invade. Mr. G did not think one poor native convert worth running any risk for; but we, my sons, set a higher value on an immortal soul. Mr. G insisted on my taking an escort of police to insure my personal safety." " It could hardly insure your father from a recur- rence of fever," observed Mi-. Carse. Harold continued reading : — " We started early, to avoid the heat — long before the sun was up. The police knew the way to the village, RESTORATION. 423 SO my weary wanderings would not be repeated. I was mounted on a good horse which the magistrate kindly lent me. But we were never to reach nor come in .sii-ht of the village. We were proceeding rather slowly through a tangled jungle with scarcely enough of twi- light to guide us on our way, when suddenly the sound of a groan struck on my ear." " Oh, go on, do go on ! " exclaimed Robin, as the reader paused. " I dismounted and threw my bridle to one of the men, for I could not reach on horseback the spot from whence the sound proceeded. I forced my way through thick brambles, only guided by an occasional moan. 1 reached the place at last, and what did I see ? There was my poor Prem Das lying in a pool of his own blood ! Faint as he was, he gave a joyful cry of recognition on seeing me, and then fainted away. I thought at first that the swoon was death, as the first ray of the rising sun fell on that pallid face." " But Prem Das revived ; you know that father said that he was sleeping, sleeping beside him ! " cried Robin, " I bound my poor servant's bleeding side as well as I could, and poured water into his mouth, as our party was provided with a supply. Prem Dds was then gently lifted on the horse, which was led, I trying to support the helpless form in my arms. It seemed a weary way that we had to traverse ; T feared that Prem Dtis would 424 RESTORATION. expire on the road. When at last Ave reached the magistrate's house, a doctor was called in at once. He treated the wound with skill, but looked grave over the case. In the course of the day, however, our poor friend recovered sufficiently to tell me his story by snatches, only a sentence or two at a time. I will try to join these sentences together, so as to give, if possible, a connected account, Prem Das spoke something as follows : — " ' sahib, you know not what I have suffered ; only the Merciful knows. My parents, my brothers, would not let me return to you, though I entreated them with tears and weeping. They would have me a Hindoo again; but I would not, I could not deny the Lord Jesus, Then they refused to give me water. O sahib ! the weather was very, very hot ; my tongue was parched, — it cleaved to the roof of my mouth. My relations kept drawing water from the well and pouring it out before me ! I longed to drink, but I was sure that even if drink were given the lota would be druffffed. For one day, for two days I held out, though my brain seemed on fire ! ' " " Oh, then he did resist temptation ! " exclaimed Robin, "'At the end of the second day I could stand the torment no more, I must drink, if I died ! I snatched up a lota full of water and drained it at a draught. RESTORATION. 425 The effect was to make me quite mad ! I may have danced, I may have sung, I may have done 'piija to an idol — I cannot tell what I did. I could have eaten fire,* I should not have felt the pain.' " It is very distressing to me, my sons, to transcribe this terrible story, and yet you ought to know all. It was only this morning that Prem Das was able to con- clude it, for I rather discouraged his speaking, lest he should exhaust what little strength remained to him. But to-day he was eager to tell me the rest, as if he felt that his hours were numbered, and that if he delayed he might not again be able to speak. His story I give, as nearly as I can, in his own words :— " ' I remember nothing, nothing, sahib, except your eyes, and the look in them ! It was as if something red hot had pierced to my brain. I fled and hid myself in the temple ; but your eyes seemed gazing at me still, even in the hours of darkness. Perhaps I was mad ; I know not ; I was very, very wretched. I awoke, I do not know when. It seemed as if Harold, sahib, had laid his hand on my brow; and I heard plainly the little sahib say the words which he taught me first — What shall I do to be saved ? I opened my eyes, half * Let not the picture be thought over-coloured. A. L. O. E. is herself acquainted with a convert from Hindooism who will, she fears, never entirely recover from the effects of a drug given when he had been baptized. She knows well a convert from Mohammedanism whose life was attempted by poison. 426 RESTORATION. hoping that 1 niight see the English home, and the roses, and tlie little white children ; but, alas ! I saw the walls of the temple around me, and the black many- armed idol in front. I lay very, very still. Some one came in and dashed water over my face ; perhaps it was my poor mother. I drank milk — it was not poisoned ; then I fell asleep again. When I awoke I felt my brain more clear ; but I made no movement. I would not show that the effects of the drug were passing away, lest my relatives should give me more. I had resolved to run away, but I could not do so while people were about. I was glad when the dancing and shouting and tom-toming (drumming) were over. A great deal of baTig had been drunk. People were lying about, but they did not stir when I softly, softly arose. I had to step over a priest on my way to the door, and I walked with a staggering step ; but I prayed to the Lord, and He helped me.' " Robin. Oh, surely there was an angel guiding poor Prem Das, only the angel could not be seen. Harold went on with the readino- : — " ' I got right out into the jungle, and walked a good way, feeling like one in a dream. After a while I heard the noise of people coming after me. I knew that I was pursued. I was like the deer that hears the dogs — T was very much afraid. I hid as well as I could amongst bushes. Then I got up and went on again. But still RFMTORATION. 427 I heard those voices — one was my brother's. I knew that he had a gun. He called out my name, but I would not answer. I was glad that the night was dark. He called out my name, then fired. I don't think that he meant to hit me, but the bullet struck me lieve, — and I fell. " ' Then there was a sudden roar not far oft' for the noise of the gun had startled some beast that lay in the thicket. Perhaps it was a cheetah [leopard], perhaps a tio-er, I do not know which, for I never saw it. I could hear it go crashing through the bushes, and rushing towards my pursuers; their cries told me that they were fleeing away. So the Lord saved me by means of a fierce wild beast. It did not come near me. I think that angels were standing around.' " Robin's eyes were streaming with tears, and Harold was obliged to give up the reading to Clarence, who went on with the letter. " Preni Das has just awaked from his sleep — he calls me." There was a break in the letter, and then, evi- dently written by a trembling, agitated hand, came the conclusion : — "All is over — my, or rather Christ's, dear, faithful servant has joined the noble army of martyi\s ! When I went to him I saw the death-shade on his brow. T knew that Prem Das was passing away. He had only strength to gasp out the words, ' Oh, write to the j'oung 428 RESTORATION. sahibs. Tell them that 1 thank them — bless them. They were the first to speak to me of Christ. Tell them that I never meant to deny Him ; that He has forgiven me, and will receive me ; and that my last prayer is, that they will come and teach my people as they taught me ; and I will wait to welcome them at the golden gate.' The last words were uttered with a smile, and in the act of smiling the spirit departed." Any one who had entered the room as Clarence con- cluded the letter might have thought that some heavy blow of affliction had fallen on the family, so truly did the Lauries and Hartleys mourn for the humble Hindoo bearer. Robin's grief appeared most bitter ; but per- haps the deepest impression was made upon Harold. He looked on Prem Das's dying message as a kind of answer to his own prayer for guidance and acceptance. The resolution formed in the preceding year by Harold, that he would devote himself to a missionary life, was now, as it were, sealed by the blood of the first native of India to whom he had spoken of the Saviour. That resolution, now renewed in humble penitence and faith, was one from which Harold Hartley never again shrank. Years afterwards the two brothers thanked God for being permitted to offer their young lives to God for the most glorious of works, when, with their father, they stood silently and reverentially beside the little cross which marked the tomb of Prem Das, the Indian martyr. RESTORATION. 429 Here my story closes ; but the reader may wish to know something of the career of Clarence. He was to pursue a different but scarcely less noble course than that of the Hartley brothers. Whilst following his daily rather monotonous business in the bank, Clarence threw himself heart and soul into the great work of evano-elizino- the heathen in London. Clarence's voice was heard at temperance and religious meetings, and he tausxht in a ragged school. In course of time Clarence found a wife worthy of him, and became the father of a numerous family, who were trained to follow in their parents' steps. Clarence took a warm and active in- terest in the missionary cause, and with many a hand- some cheque strengthened the hands of the friends of his youth. " I shall never forget," Clarence wrote to Harold, " that it was under your dear mother's roof that I learned to distinguish the false from the true. My earliest desires for something better than the pomps and vanities of this world, my first aspirations to be a Christian indeed, were raised by hearing the Word of God read in its simple purity, whilst, asking a blessing from above, we contemplated the Pictures of St. Peter in an English Home." THE END. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form Ij!)-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 A ^:€' UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 369 267 o iv ^'■^