Chapter Five.At length General Caulfield, having arranged the affairs of his brother who had died, returned to Luton. He had been made very anxious and unhappy by the letters he received from Harry, who expressed his astonishment at not hearing from Clara. The general, supposing that she was still at home, and fearing that she must be ill, immediately on his arrival set off to pay her a visit.“Miss Maynard is away; Miss Pemberton is at home, sir,” said the servant who opened the door.Miss Pemberton received him in a stiff and freezing manner. He immediately enquired for Clara.“My niece has, for some time, left home, and has not communicated her address to me, nor has she thought fit to write, so that I am in ignorance of where she is,” was the unsatisfactory answer.“That is most extraordinary,” cried the general; “can you not give me any clue by which I may discover her?”“I conclude, as she has not informed me of her abode, that she does not wish it to be known,” answered Miss Pemberton, evasively.“Though you do not know where your niece is, is Mr Lerew, or is her father’s old friend, Mr Lennard, acquainted with her present address?” asked the general.“I should think that she would have informed me rather than any one else,” replied Miss Pemberton; and the general at length, finding that he could get no information out of the lady, took his leave.“I will try, at all events, to ascertain what either Lennard or Lerew know,” said the general to himself, as he drove off. Though he suspected that the vicar knew something about the matter, he decided first to call on Mr Lennard. He believed him to be an honest man, but he had no great opinion of his sense. Mr Lennard was at home; he received the general in a kindly way. The latter observed that his manner was unusually subdued. Without loss of time, the general mentioned Miss Maynard, and expressed his regret at not finding her at home.“Can you tell me where she has gone to?” he asked, “for her aunt declares that she does not know, though it was evident from her manner that she is not anxious about her.”“I regret to say that I know no more than you do,” answered Mr Lennard. “I had been for some time absent, and on my return I was greatly surprised to find that she had left Luton; and when I enquired of the Lerews, they told me that she had resolved to devote herself to works of charity, and was about to enter a sisterhood, but in what neighbourhood they did not inform me.”“In other words, that she is about to become a nun, to discard my poor son, and to give up her property, as soon as she has the power of disposing of it, to the safe keeping of one of those Romish communities,” exclaimed the general, with more vehemence than he was accustomed to exhibit; “what do you say to that, Mr Lennard?”“I don’t suppose that Miss Maynard purposes entering a Romish convent; her intention, I conclude, is to join a sisterhood of the Anglican Church,” said Mr Lennard.“The Church of England, of which I suppose you speak, recognises no such institutions,” replied the general; “they are contrary to the spirit of the Reformation. Unhappy will it be for our country if they ever gain ground.”“I had been inclined to suppose that they would prove a great advantage, by enabling ladies to unite together and work under a good system in visiting the sick and poor, and in the instruction of the children, and in other beneficent labours; and I have, when requested, subscribed towards their support,” remarked Mr Lennard.“I do not insist that ladies should not thus employ themselves,” observed the general; “but my objection is to the mode in which they unite themselves in the so-called religious system under which they are placed. They may, in most instances, serve God far better by staying at home and doing their duty in their families, instead of assuming the dress and imitating the customs of the nuns of the middle ages.”“I do not look at the subject in that light,” observed Mr Lennard, “and I know that it must be a hard matter for some young ladies to be religious at home, where the rest of the family are worldly-minded.”“Much more reason for them to stay at home and endeavour to improve the tone of the rest of the household,” answered the general. “Those who know what human nature is should see that with whatever good intentions these sisterhoods are begun, they must in the end lead to much that is objectionable. If Miss Maynard has joined one of them, I must endeavour to find the means of getting her out, or of ascertaining if she was induced to join it, and remains of her own free will. I fear that Lerew will not afford me any assistance, as from his Romish tendencies he will probably consider them admirable institutions, and would think that he had done a laudable act in inducing Clara to enter one. I must now wish you good-bye. I hope that you have good accounts of your young daughter Mary, and your son at Oxford.”Mr Lennard shook his head. “I received a letter to-day from my little girl, saying that she was very ill, and begging me to come and take her home; but as the mistress did not write, I do not suppose that her illness is serious. However, I intend to go to-morrow to Mary, and ascertain how she is, and I trust that I shall not be obliged to take her away from school.”The general considered whether he should call on Mr Lerew; but he first bethought himself of paying a visit to a lawyer in the neighbouring town, with whom he was well acquainted, and who had been a friend of Captain Maynard’s. He was also an earnest religious man, and strongly opposed to ritualism. The general was not a person to let the grass grow under his feet. He was driving rapidly along, when he met Lieutenant Sims, who made a sign to him to stop. The general did so, and invited the lieutenant to accompany him into the town.“With all my heart, for I want to have a talk with you, general,” answered the lieutenant, springing in. “I have long been wishing for your return. We’ve had some extraordinary goings on in this place. What has concerned me most is the disappearance of my old friend’s daughter, in whom you, I know, take a deep interest. All I know is that she went away with the vicar and his wife, and it is my belief that they had an object in spiriting her off; but whether to shut her up in a Romish or Ritualist convent is more than I can say. I don’t think there is much to choose between them; the vicar might select the Ritualist, or the Anglican, as he would call it, as he, though a Papist at heart, would prefer keeping his living, while his lady would recommend the former; for it is said, and I believe it to be a fact, that she herself has turned Romanist, with her dear friend Lady Bygrave. Haven’t you heard that both Sir Reginald and her ladyship were received last week into the bosom of the Church of Rome, as the expression runs?”“Is it possible!” exclaimed the general; “but I ought not to be surprised when I saw the characters they admitted into their house. I thought that French abbé and Father Lascelles had some other object in view than the establishment of a colony; but perhaps you have been misinformed.”“I tell you, general, I haven’t a doubt about the matter,” answered Mr Sims. “They and Mrs Lerew attended the Romish church together, and I am told had been baptised with all ceremony a few days before. I know that two or three priests have been staying at the Hall ever since, and Mrs Lerew goes there regularly. They are about to have a chapel built in their grounds, and an architect came down from London about it; and in the meantime they have got a room fitted up in the house. What surprises me is that the vicar should allow his wife to turn; but that she has done so seems probable, for she was not at church last Sunday. Should Lerew object to his wife’s perversion, he has only himself to thank for it; he has led her up to the door as carefully as a man could do, and cannot be surprised at her going inside. Of course she thinks it safer to join what she has been taught to look upon as the true church, and has therefore honestly gone over to it; while whatever he may think, putting honesty and honour aside, he considers that it is more to his advantage to retain his living, and lead others in the way he has led his wife.”“I suspect that you are right,” observed the general; “too many have set him the example. He, like them, has been trained in the school of the Jesuits, who are fully persuaded that evil may be done that good may come of it, and banish from their minds the principles which guide honest men, and which they themselves would advocate in the ordinary affairs of life. I can only wish that, unless Mr Lerew’s mind is enlightened, he would go over himself; as I am afraid, while he remains in the Church of England, he may lead others in the same direction.”“Not much fear of that,” observed the lieutenant; “except a few silly young people of the better classes, and the poor, who look out for the loaves and fishes in the shape of coals and blankets and other creature comforts, I don’t think many are influenced by him. He is more likely to empty his church, and to fill the Dissenting chapels.”“Still,” said the general, “he sows broadcast the germs of Romanism through the doctrines he preaches, while he accustoms people to the sight of the ceremonies and paraphernalia of Rome, keeping them in ignorance at the same time of the simple truths of the Gospel, at the bidding of those whose commands he obeys; for he and his ritualistic brethren are but instruments in the hands of more cunning men than themselves. I have little doubt that he was carefully educated at the university for the part he is now playing, though he then had no idea of the designs of his tutor. People laugh at the notion that a Jesuit plot has long existed in England for the subversion of Protestantism; but I have evidence, which receives daily corroboration, that Jesuits in disguise matriculated at the universities for the express purpose of perverting the minds of all whom they could bring under their influence. The pupils in numberless instances went over to Rome, while the tutors remained nominally in the Church of England, for the sake of trapping others. The scheme has succeeded, and has since been greatly enlarged; the Jesuits have now agents in every shape—some as incumbents of parishes, as lay supporters, men and women, guilds and sisterhoods; they have encouraged works of charity, schools, hospitals, refuges for the fallen and destitute,crèches, mothers’ meetings, and other institutions, all excellent in themselves, knowing how much such would forward their object. Of that object, those who take part in them are, I am ready to believe, in many instances utterly ignorant; they are influenced by the desire to obey the commands of Christ, and to make themselves useful to their fellow-creatures, though the idea that they are thereby meriting heaven, and what they call working out their own salvation, underlies all they do, as they misinterpret the passage. They ignore the glorious truth that through simple faith in the atoning blood of Christ salvation is gained—that it is their own, and that the right motive of action must be through love and obedience to Him who has already saved them. All the forms and ceremonies in which they indulge are but will-worship, tending to obscure their view of Him, and to destroy their spiritual life.”“General,” said the lieutenant, “I have seen a good deal of Roman Catholic countries, where the priests have full sway, and I am very sure that the system these Ritualists have introduced is tending in the same direction. I know from experience that true religion makes a man all that can be expected of him. We had a dozen or more such men on board the last ship in which I served, and they were out and out the best men we had; they could be trusted on all occasions; and if any dangerous work had to be done, they were the first to volunteer. They were Dissenters of some sort, I believe, and were not in favour with our ritualistic chaplain, who had his followers both among officers and men. I can’t say much about those officers, and as to the men who pretended to agree with him, they were the most sneaking rascals in the ship. He tried to bring me over to his way of thinking, but my eyes were opened. ‘No, no,’ I answered; ‘if the ship was going down, and you had to take your chance in one of the boats, which would you choose, the one manned by those fellows you anathematise, or with the men you call obedient sons of the Church?’ He couldn’t answer; but one day, he being left on shore, the heretics, as he called them, brought him off through a heavy surf, when no other men would venture. So you see, thanks to our chaplain, when I found the new vicar working changes in the church, I knew pretty well what he was about.”The general found Mr Franklin, his solicitor, at home.“I am very glad you have come, general,” said the latter. “Miss Maynard, as you are probably aware, has been induced to leave home, or, rather, has been entrapped by one of those conventual establishments, to which she will in due course, when she has the power, be persuaded to give up her property. Our business must be to get her out of their hands before that time arrives; and yours, general, more especially to point out to her the errors of the system which has thrown its glamour over her; for, if I understand rightly, she has sacrificed an excellent and satisfactory marriage, as well as the independence and comforts of home. It was not for a considerable time that I discovered her absence from Luton, when her aunt (who, no disrespect to the lady, I consider it a misfortune was left one of her guardians) positively declared that she did not know where she had gone. I, however, took steps to find out, and lately ascertained that she is an inmate of Saint Barbara’s, near Staughton, to which place I discovered that she drove on leaving the railway, in company with Mr and Mrs Lerew. Convinced that Miss Pemberton was not likely to render any willing assistance, I awaited your return to take legal measures to obtain her release. Our first difficulty will be to communicate with her, for the nuns are allowed to receive no letters till they are first seen by the Lady Superior. It would be as well first to ascertain whether the young lady desires of her own free will to leave the convent; she has had some experience of it, and may by this time perhaps have repented of the step she has taken. My belief is that she has been deceived and cajoled. I know well of what those Ritualists are capable, influenced by what they believe the best of motives, and I strongly suspect that there is some misunderstanding between her and your son, brought about, I say without hesitation, by their means. Either her letters have not been forwarded to him, or his have not been received by her—perhaps the entire correspondence has been intercepted—I will not go farther than that. I say this as I wish to plead for your ward, at whose conduct you naturally feel deeply grieved.”“Poor girl! notwithstanding all the pain and suffering she has caused my son, I am not angry with her,” said the general; “my indignation is directed against the system and persons by whom she has been deceived. I suspect as you do with regard to the correspondence between her and my son, for I am very sure she would not have given him up without assigning any reason, or answering his letters.”“Our first object must be to open a free communication with her; letters sent in the ordinary way are sure to be read by the Lady Superior, and the answers dictated by her, so that we shall not be wiser than at first,” remarked Mr Franklin.“I must try that simple plan, however, and if it fails, resort to stronger measures,” observed the general. “I will go to Staughton myself, and write to say that, as her guardian, I wish to have a private interview with her on a matter of importance, and to beg that I may be allowed to call on her at the convent, or that she will come and see me at my hotel.”“I am afraid that means would be taken to prevent her from seeing you alone,” observed Mr Franklin.“What course do you then advise?” asked the general.“We must take legal proceedings, and they are very certain to have their due effect, as the Lady Superior would be exceedingly loth to have the internal arrangements of her convent made public, and she is well aware that if she resists she will run the risk of that being the case. I have already had something to do with her ladyship, as well as with two or three other convents, and I know how jealous the managers are that the secrets of their prison-houses should be revealed. Their aim is to prove they have nothing to conceal, and that all is open as noon-day; but the moment troublesome questions are asked, they exhibit a reticence as to their rules and practices which shows how conscious they are that outsiders will object to them.”Before the general took his leave, it was arranged between him and Mr Franklin that they should go over together to Epsworth, and act according to circumstances. As he drove home he expressed a hope to the honest lieutenant that he might be the means of emancipating Miss Maynard from her present thraldom.“She has too much sense and right feeling not to be open to conviction,” answered Mr Sims; “what she wants is to be freed from the evil influences to which she has of late been exposed, and to have the simple truth placed before her; only don’t let her meet her aunt or Mr Lerew till she has thoroughly got rid of all her erroneous notions, and understands the simple gospel as you well know how to put it.”“You may depend on my following your advice,” said the general.On reaching home, the general found a note from Mr Lennard. He wrote in great distress of mind. He had received a letter from a friend at Oxford, telling him that his son had left the university in company with a Romish priest, and had declared his intention of seeking admission into the Church of Rome. Mr Lennard was anxious, if possible, to find out his son, and prevent him from taking the fatal step, at the same time that he wished to be with his poor little girl at Cheltenham.“I am afraid,” he continued, “that the tutor under whom I placed my boy, by Mr Lerew’s advice, has had much to do with it. I now hear that three or four of his previous pupils have become Romanists, and others, by all accounts, are likely to go over. I object to my son’s becoming a Romanist, though I consider that the Church of Rome is the mother of all Churches, and has the advantage of antiquity on her side.”“The mother of all abominations!” exclaimed the general to himself. “I must endeavour to set my friend right on that subject, if he holds that fundamental error.”The general was a man of action. After taking a hurried meal, he drove on to the house of Mr Lennard. His journey to Cheltenham had been delayed, and he was now hesitating whether first to go in search of his son or to proceed there immediately. The thought at once struck the general that should he succeed in getting Clara out of the convent, he might go on to Cheltenham with her, and that if Mary was fit to be removed from the school, it would give Clara occupation to nurse her friend.“I shall indeed be most grateful to you,” said Mr Lennard, with the tears in his eyes; “I was sorely perplexed what to do, and I specially wish that Mary should not remain longer at the school than can be helped, as from her letter it is evident that she is not only ill, but very miserable there.“You must give me your written authority, and I will act upon it,” said the general. This was done. “Now, my friend,” he continued, “I wish to speak to you on the remark made in your letter, in which you say that you consider the Church of Rome the mother of all Churches, and that it has the advantage of antiquity. You evidently go first on the assumption that our Lord instituted a visible Church on earth, and that that Church, though corrupted, is the Church of Rome. Now I wish to draw your attention to the origin of that wonderful establishment which has for so long exerted a baneful influence over a large portion of the human race. For three centuries true Christians, though becoming less and less pure in their doctrine and form of worship, existed in Rome as a despised and subordinate class, the purity of their faith gradually decreasing as their numbers, wealth, and influence increased. At length the Emperor Constantine professed himself to be a Christian, which he did for the sake of obtaining the assistance of the Christians against his rival Licinius, who was supported by the idolaters. Constantine being victorious, and Licinius slain, the idolaters saw that they could no longer hope to be predominant. There existed in Rome from the days of Numa a college, or curia, the members of which, called pontiffs, had the entire management of all matters connected with religion. The post of head pontiff, or Pontifex Maximus, had been assumed by Julius Caesar and his successors. They had probably no real belief in the idolatrous system they supported; such secret faith as they had was centred in Astarte, the divinity of the ancient Babylonians, whose worship had been introduced at an early period into Etruria, as it had been previously into Egypt and Greece. They were, in reality, the priests of Astarte, and from them we derive our festival of Christmas, our Lady Day, and many other festivals with Christian names. It had been their principle from the first to admit any gods who had become popular, and thus were added in rapid succession the numberless gods and goddesses of the heathen mythology. At length Jesus of Nazareth was added to their pantheon. These pontiffs, on perceiving that Christianity, patronised by the Emperor, was likely to gain the day, saw that to maintain their power they must themselves pretend to belong to the new faith. This they did, and one of their number soon managed to get himself chosen the Bishop of Rome, while the other pontiffs by an easy transition formed the College of Cardinals. The title of Pontifex Maximus, being held by the Emperor, was not assumed by the bishop of Rome till the Emperor Gratian in 376 refused any longer to be addressed by that title. Having banished some of the grosser practices of idolatry, they introduced the remainder under different names, so that the pagans might readily conform to the new worship. The apostles took the place of the various gods, and the martyrs those of the inferior divinities; above them all was raised Astarte, who, now named Mary the Mother of God and Queen of Heaven, became the chief object of adoration. In truth, the established worship at Rome remained as truly idolatrous as it had ever been, while the great aim of the pontiffs was to increase their power, amass wealth, and strengthen their position. From that period they acted, as might have been expected, in direct opposition to all the principles of Christianity. Bloody struggles often took place between rivals aiming at the pontificate, while they endeavoured to destroy all those who refused to obey them. It was not till a somewhat later period, when the head pontiff set up a claim of superiority above all other bishops, that, to strengthen it, it was asserted that he was in direct apostolic succession from the apostle Peter, the pontiff who first made it being ignorant, probably, that the Christian Church at Rome was founded exclusively by Paul, and that the apostle Peter never was at Rome, he having been all his life employed in founding churches in the East. ‘By their fruits ye shall know them;’ and we have only to reflect on the lives of the popes, many of them monsters of atrocity, and the fearful acts of persecution which they encouraged and authorised, to be convinced that paganism, the invention of Satan, had usurped the name of Christianity, and that the Romish Church, as it is called, instead of being the mother of all Churches, is truly the Babylon of the Apocalypse; yet this is the system which ministers of the Church of England are endeavouring to introduce into our country, with its idolatrous rites and dogmas, and which you and many excellent men like yourself look at with a lenient eye, instead of regarding it with the abhorrence it deserves.”“My dear friend,” said Mr Lennard, greatly astonished, “I certainly had never regarded the Church of Rome in that light; I looked upon it as the ancient Church, corrupted in the course of ages.”“It has no true claim to be a Christian Church at all,” said the general; “it is like the cuckoo, which, hatched in the nest of the hedge-warbler, by degrees forces out the other fledglings, and usurps their place. So did paganism treat Christianity; although, fostered by God, the latter was enabled to exist, persecuted and oppressed as it was, and still to exert a benign influence in the world. On examining the tenets of many who are called heretics, we find that it was not the creed they held, but the opposition they offered to the Romish system, which was their crime, and brought down persecution on their heads. When we read of the horrible cruelties practised on the Waldenses and Albigenses, the followers of Huss in Bohemia, the true Protestants of all ages down to the time of Luther, the detestable system of the Inquisition, the treatment of the inhabitants of the Netherlands by Alva and the Spaniards, when whole hecatombs of victims were put to death at the instigation of the pope and his cardinals, the destruction of thousands and tens of thousands of Huguenots in France, the martyrdoms of the noble Protestants of Spain, the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, and the fires of Smithfield—all these diabolical acts performed with the concurrence and approval of the papal power—can we for a moment hesitate to believe that that power owes its origin, not to the Divine Head of the Church, but to that spirit of evil, Satan, the deadly foe of the human race? Can any system founded on it, however much reformed it may appear, fail to partake of the evil inherent in the original itself. It is from not seeing this that so many are led to embrace the errors—I would rather say the abominations—of Rome; while others are taught to look at them with lenient eyes, and to believe that the system itself is capable of reformation. Before true and simple faith can be established throughout the world the whole must be overthrown and hurled into the depths of the sea, as completely as have been the idols and idolatrous practices of the inhabitants of the South Sea Islands, where Christianity has been established.”Mr Lennard leant his head on his hand. “I must think deeply of what you say; you put the whole matter in a new light to me. I have had no affection for Rome; still, I have always regarded her as a Church founded on the apostles and prophets.”“Yet which virtually forbids its followers to study those prophets and apostles,” remarked the general. “But what I want you to do is to look into the subject for yourself. I have merely given you a hint for your guidance; by referring carefully to the Scriptures, you will find more and more light thrown on it, till you must be convinced that the view I have taken is the correct one; and would that every clergyman and layman in England might do the same! these ritualistic practices would then soon be banished from the land.”Never in his life had poor Mr Lennard been so perplexed and troubled. He was invited to reconsider opinions which he had held, in a somewhat lax fashion it may be granted, all his life. He had to search for his son, and prevent him if possible from becoming a slave to the system he had just heard so strongly denounced, and he was painfully anxious about the health of his dear little Mary. While he was still in this unhappy state of mind, the general left him to return home. The next morning they both set off to their respective destinations, the general to Epsworth, having called for Mr Franklin on his way, and Mr Lennard to London.On reaching Epsworth, the general wrote a note to Clara, saying that as her guardian it was necessary for him to see her at once, and that he would either pay her a visit at the convent, or would request her to come to his hotel. After waiting for some time, he received a note in a strange handwriting; it was from a lady, who signed herself Sister Agatha. She stated that she wrote by the command of the Lady Superior, who was at present unwell, but would, on her recovery, reply to the letter General Caulfield had addressed to Sister Clare, or, as she was called in the world, Miss Clara Maynard.“We must give her ladyship a taste of the law,” said Mr Franklin; “she fancies that she can play the same game with us which she has successfully employed with others. You shall write a note, stating that your legal adviser, Mr Franklin, is with you; address it to the Lady Superior, and say that you insist on seeing Miss Maynard at once.”As soon as the letter was despatched, Mr Franklin, observing that he had some business to transact, went out, leaving the general engaged in writing. He had been for some time absent, when he hurriedly entered the room.“I thought it would be so,” he observed. “The Lady Superior is about to remove Miss Maynard to some other establishment, and she will then coolly inform you that, Sister Clare not being an inmate of the convent, she cannot be answerable for her. I learnt this from one of several people I placed on the watch, and I find that one of the serving Sisters has come in to say that a conveyance is wanted immediately at the convent. I have ordered our carriage, and we will follow the other; and you can either speak to Miss Maynard as she comes out of the convent, or meet her at whatever railway station she goes to.”The general did not quite like this plan; he had hoped to see Clara alone, and be able to speak to her for as long as might be necessary, so as to convince her of the fearful mistake she had made, should she at first show an unwillingness to leave the convent; still, he had no other course but to follow Mr Franklin’s advice. They accordingly entered their carriage, and soon overtook another driving in the direction of the convent. At a short distance from it, Mr Franklin ordered the coachman to pull up, and got out. He and the general then walked leisurely towards the gate, just as they got in sight of which, they caught a glimpse of three muffled figures stepping into the carriage.“Now is our time,” exclaimed Mr Franklin; “I’ve bribed the coachman not to move on till I have given him leave, so that should one of those dames prove to be the Lady Superior—and I know her very well—we shall have an opportunity of addressing her; and I think what I say will make her hesitate to use force in preventing Miss Maynard from accompanying you, should you desire her to do so.”The next instant they were alongside the carriage, just as the Lady Superior—for she was one of those inside—had put her head out of the window, peremptorily ordering the coachman to drive on as fast as he could. Though he flourished his whip, he kept his reins tight; but Mr Franklin, putting his hand on the door said, “Madam, my friend General Caulfield, whom I have the honour to introduce to you, desires to have some conversation on a matter of importance with Miss Maynard, and I am glad to see that she is here to answer for herself.”As he spoke, Clara sprang up, and though the Lady Superior and the other Sister attempted to hold her back, she threw herself forward into the general’s arms.“Sister Clare, remember your vow of obedience; sit quiet, I order you,” cried the Lady Superior, in a stern tone; but Clara paid no attention to the command. With an imploring look for protection, she gazed into the general’s countenance.“I wish to accompany you,” she whispered; “take me, take me away! don’t scold me!”The general recognised the features of the once bright and blooming girl, though her dress looked strange.“I have come on purpose to take you, my dear girl,” he answered, holding her tightly. “I am in your good father’s place—trust to me.” He then, turning to the Lady Superior, said, “I have the right, as this young lady’s guardian, to take her away from you, as she has expressed her wish to accompany me. Mr Franklin will explain all that is necessary. I bid you good morning, Madam.”“Sister Clare, remember your vows,” again repeated the Lady Superior, in a solemn voice; “the anathema—”“I cannot allow such language to be uttered to my client,” said Mr Franklin; and he went on to explain the legal rights of guardians in a way which was calculated to keep the Lady Superior silent. The general, meantime, half leading, half carrying poor Clara, reached his carriage, which at a sign to the coachman approached to receive them. Mr Franklin, observing that the general had handed in Clara, followed, having directed the coachman to drive off, leaving the Lady Superior and her companion in a state better imagined than described. Looking back, the lawyer observed that they had re-entered the convent.Clara was no sooner seated than she burst into tears. “I have been very miserable, but I have myself alone to blame,” she said. “I knew what you would think, while I obstinately listened to Mr and Mrs Lerew, and to what they had taught Aunt Sarah to say to me. Still, I wanted to consult you, but as you were too angry with me to write, I could not have my doubts solved; and even Harry cast me off, and refused to have any further correspondence with me. I don’t blame him, for I knew his opinions, and he warned me—”“My dear Clara, do you think it possible that I should not have written to you, or that Harry should have neglected to do so?” interrupted the general. “I wrote letter upon letter, and got no answer, and Harry told me that he had written over and over again, and at last had enclosed a letter to your aunt, but that she had returned it, saying that she did so at the recommendation of your spiritual adviser, who considered that it would be highly improper for you, who had become a bride of the Church, to receive a letter from a mortal lover.”“Then I have been deceived and betrayed,” exclaimed Clara, “entirely through my own folly, and I have caused Harry terrible pain and annoyance.”“There is no doubt that you have been deceived and betrayed,” said the general; “but we do not blame you, except that instead of seeking guidance and direction from the loving Father who is ever ready to afford it, you allowed yourself to be led by fallible human beings, who in this instance had, I suspect, an object in inducing you to follow the line they had pointed out. You did not distinguish between the works which these Sisters of Charity propose undertaking and the system and principles by which they are guided. The works themselves are such as all Christians are bound to engage in or support, whereas the system is idolatrous, and encourages will-worship; the works are made to support the system, instead of, as it should be, love and obedience to our heavenly Master producing the works. Our loving Father wishes His children to be happy and to enjoy the good things with which He provides them. No monastic rules, no peculiar dress, no vows of obedience to fallible mortals like ourselves, no fasts or penances are required to enable us to obey His laws; all we need is to seek for grace and strength from Him to do His will; and knowing that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin, we can go boldly to Him in prayer, offered up through our sole High Priest and Mediator, who ever pleads the efficacy of that blood.”“I know you speak the truth,” said Clara; “but I felt myself so unworthy, I fancied that God would not receive me unless I made some sacrifices in His service.”“You dishonoured Him, my dear child, by thinking so,” answered the general; “He will in no wise cast out those who come to Him, and He desires all to come just as they are, with humble and contrite spirits; but not under the idea that they can first put away their sins, and merit His love by any good deeds or penances they may perform. Such acts as are pleasing in His sight must spring from loving obedience to Him; all He does is of free grace; we can merit nothing, because we owe Him everything. When you see this clearly, you will understand more perfectly the wrong principles on which the whole Romish and ritualistic systems, and, believe me, they are identical, are founded.”Through the general’s remarks Clara’s eyes were quickly opened; it appeared as if a thick veil had been thrown over them, which had suddenly been removed, and she wondered how she could have been so lamentably deceived. She looked upon her convent life, with its rigid rules, its senseless silence, its hours of solitude, its meagre fare, the cold and suffering uselessly endured, its unnatural vigils, its mockeries of religious observances, the cruelties she had seen practised, all tending to depress the spirits and lower the physical powers, with just abhorrence; and then a choking sensation came into her throat, and the colour rose to her cheeks as she thought of the abominable confessional, the questions asked her, and the answers she had had to give. She tried to shut them out from her thoughts. Could she ever be worthy of the pure, honest-minded, open-hearted, noble Harry?On reaching their sitting-room at the inn, the general looked at Clara’s costume.“I suppose, my dear child, that you would like to assume the ordinary dress of a young lady of the nineteenth century,” he said with a smile, “in lieu of those garments of the dark ages.”A smile almost rose to Clara’s lips, though her cheeks were blushing and her eyes suffused with tears as she answered, “Yes, I should very much, and I must ask if you will be good enough to send them back to the convent, as they belong to the community, and I have no right to keep them.”“With all imaginable pleasure,” exclaimed Mr Franklin; “and I am happy to say that I can assist you in procuring a desirable costume. I have a relative residing here who is much about your height and figure, and as she has some interest with the mantua-makers, I have no doubt that by to-morrow morning she will induce them to supply you with a travelling-dress and such other articles of apparel as you may require.”Clara expressed her thankfulness, and added, “Pray let it be as simple as possible.”“Oh yes, it shall be such as will become a quakeress if you wish it; I will lose no time about it,” said Mr Franklin, hurrying out of the room.“Why, he has gone without taking anything to eat; he must be almost starving,” observed the general. “I know that I am; and, my dear, I am afraid that you must be hungry, unless you took a late luncheon.”“We had dinner at ten, though I took but little,” answered Clara; “but we are accustomed to go a long time without food.”“Your looks tell me that, my dear,” exclaimed the general, ringing the bell. “We must take more care of you in future than you have received lately. I never knew starving enable a person the better to go through the duties of life.”The waiter entered, and the general ordered luncheon to be brought up at once, in a tone which showed that he intended to be obeyed, adding, “Let there be as many delicacies as your cook can provide off-hand.”The lawyer had not returned when luncheon was placed on the table. “Come, my dear, I want to see you do justice to some of these nice things,” said the general.Poor Clara hesitated; it was a fast-day in the convent—could she at once transgress the rule? She was going to take simply some bread and preserve, but the general placed a cutlet on her plate. “I must insist on your eating that, and taking a glass or two of good wine to give you strength for your journey to-morrow,” he said. Clara had to explain her difficulty. “I know of no command of the Lord to fast,” he observed, “though He stigmatised vain fasts and oblations. The apostles nowhere command it, and the early Christians, until error crept in among them, did not consider fasting a religious duty. In your case let me assure you that it would be a sin to fast when you require your strength restored. You have had much mental trial, and will have more to go through. The mind suffers with the body, and it is your duty to strengthen both. Come, come, eat up the cutlet, and take this glass of sherry.”Clara obeyed, and in a wonderfully short time began to see matters in a brighter light. The general did not fail to explain that one of the great objects of the system from which he wished to emancipate her was that of weakening the minds of those it got into its toils to keep them in subjection. “Such was their aim in insisting on confession, on fasting, and on vigils. What is even a strong man fit for, who is deprived of his sleep and half-starved? How completely does a man become the slave of the fellow mortal to whom he confides every secret of his heart! and how much more thoroughly must a weak woman become a slave, who is subjected to the same system! Add to that the rule of obedience which you tell me is so much insisted on. Obedience to whom? to a woman as full of faults and weaknesses as other human beings. How sad must be the result! It is terrible to see the name of religion prostituted in such a cause.”Clara ate up the cutlet without any further objection, and meekly submitted to take some of the other delicacies the general placed before her.“You’ll do, my dear,” he said, smiling; “we shall have the roses in your cheeks again, I hope, in a few weeks. What I want you to do is to distinguish between God’s and man’s religions. You have erred from confounding the two. Our loving Father wants a joyous, willing obedience; He allows no one to come between Him and us poor sinners, but our one Mediator and great High Priest, to whom we must confess our sins. He invites us to come direct to Him in prayer. Those dishonour Him who fancy that either ministering angels or departed saints can interfere with our glorious privilege. He who said, ‘Rend your heart, and not your garments,’ desires no debasing penances, no fasts, nothing which could weaken the powers of the mind. When you come to look into the subject, you will see that all such practices were invented by the great enemy of souls to draw men off from their reliance on their loving Father, who is ever ready to give grace and help in time of need.”Before luncheon was quite over Mr Franklin returned. “You will excuse us for not waiting for you,” said the general. “Miss Maynard was nearly starving.”“I am glad you did not wait, indeed,” answered Mr Franklin, “for I may compliment Miss Maynard on looking much better than she did an hour ago. I have been entirely successful in my mission; my cousin and her milliner will be here in a few minutes. I have a message from my aunt, Mrs Lawson, who begs that you and Miss Maynard will stay the night at her house, as she can there make the arrangements about her dress with far more convenience than here.”The general, without stopping to consult Clara, at once accepted the offer. Clara herself was thankful to move to a quiet house. Miss Lawson, who was a sensible girl, understanding Clara’s position and feelings, with much thoughtfulness made every arrangement she could require. Having supplied her from her own wardrobe, she took away the conventual garments, which Mr Franklin with infinite satisfaction carefully packed up and sent with a note, couched in legal phraseology, to the Lady Superior, requesting that Miss Maynard’s property might be sent back by return. “I don’t suppose we shall get it,” he remarked to his cousin; “but it is as well to see what her ladyship has to say about the matter.”Late in the evening a note arrived from the Lady Superior, who had to assure Mr Franklin that she possessed nothing belonging to Miss Maynard, who was well aware that any articles brought into the convent became the property of the community, and that all secular dresses were immediately disposed of as useless to those devoted to the service of the Church.“I call it a perfect swindle,” observed Mrs Lawson, who was not an admirer of convents. “Miss Maynard tells me she took two trunks full of summer and winter clothing. She had not a notion before she went to the convent how she was to dress or what she was to do.”“I am afraid, notwithstanding, that we cannot indict the Lady Superior as a swindler, whatever opinion we may secretly form of her,” answered Mr Franklin, laughing. “I daresay that Miss Maynard will soon be able to replace her loss. We would rather not have her adventure made public, except for the sake of a warning to others.”Miss Lawson, whose garments fortunately fitted Clara, begged that she would take such as she might require until the dressmaker could forward those which had been ordered. The next morning, heartily thanking Mr Franklin and his relations, Clara and the general set off for Cheltenham. It was not to be expected that Clara would at once recover her spirits and serenity of mind; but fortunately they had the carriage to themselves, and thus the general had an opportunity of further explaining the subjects he had touched on on the previous day. As he never was without his Bible, he was able to refer to that, and to point to many texts which of late Clara had heard sadly perverted, or which had been carefully avoided. He explained to her the origin of the whole Romish system, and showed her how identical that of the Ritualists was with it; the great object being to exalt and give power to a priestly caste, who, pretending to stand between God and the sinner, thus obtain power over the minds and property of their fellow-creatures. “Such has been the object of certain men imbued with a desire to rule their more ignorant and more superstitious fellows, from the earliest ages; it was this spirit which influenced the priests of Egypt, Greece, and Rome; it exists throughout India, among the savages of America in their medicine—men, in the islands of the Pacific, and indeed in every region of the world. It is the object of the Romish system, and is now exhibiting itself in a more subtle form among the ministers of the Church of England. We properly apply the term sacerdotalism to any system the spirit of which seeks to place a human being in any intermediate character between God and man. Sacerdotalism is in direct opposition and antagonistic to the genius of the Gospel, which enunciates the great truth that there is but one Mediator between God and man, the Man Jesus Christ; that through the atoning blood of Christ, man, if truly turning to Him, and heartily believing, receives directly, and without any other agency whatever, pardon and absolution. He, and He alone, pardoneth and absolveth all them that truly repent, that is, look to Him and unfeignedly believe His holy Gospel. Christ, and Christ alone, is the Way, the Truth, and the Life to seeking, travailing, heavy-laden man; whereas the Romanists, as do the Ritualists, assert that without the priestly function there is no complete remission, no claim to all the benefit of the Passion, no assurance of God’s sanctifying grace. There must be, say these people, contrition, confession, and satisfaction united with the sacerdotal function, a succession of acts, the priest being the organ of God’s sanctifying grace.”“Oh, then, of what mockery, of what sin, have I been guilty?” exclaimed Clara.“Turn from it, and look to Jesus, and He grants immediate forgiveness,” answered the general.“Would that all who are misled as I have been might receive that glorious truth!” cried Clara. “Oh, general, tell it everywhere, and show me how I may help to open the eyes of others as mine have been opened.”“God alone can open the eyes of the blind; but we can become active instruments in His hands by conveying to them the remedy for their blindness,” said the general, taking Clara’s hand. “Your words afford me infinite satisfaction, and remove an anxious weight from my heart on your own account, and on that of one naturally still dearer to me. Depend on it that, with God’s grace, I will not relax in my efforts to make known the simple Gospel, and to exhibit the sacerdotal system of Rome, and of the so-called ritualism of England, in its true light.”
At length General Caulfield, having arranged the affairs of his brother who had died, returned to Luton. He had been made very anxious and unhappy by the letters he received from Harry, who expressed his astonishment at not hearing from Clara. The general, supposing that she was still at home, and fearing that she must be ill, immediately on his arrival set off to pay her a visit.
“Miss Maynard is away; Miss Pemberton is at home, sir,” said the servant who opened the door.
Miss Pemberton received him in a stiff and freezing manner. He immediately enquired for Clara.
“My niece has, for some time, left home, and has not communicated her address to me, nor has she thought fit to write, so that I am in ignorance of where she is,” was the unsatisfactory answer.
“That is most extraordinary,” cried the general; “can you not give me any clue by which I may discover her?”
“I conclude, as she has not informed me of her abode, that she does not wish it to be known,” answered Miss Pemberton, evasively.
“Though you do not know where your niece is, is Mr Lerew, or is her father’s old friend, Mr Lennard, acquainted with her present address?” asked the general.
“I should think that she would have informed me rather than any one else,” replied Miss Pemberton; and the general at length, finding that he could get no information out of the lady, took his leave.
“I will try, at all events, to ascertain what either Lennard or Lerew know,” said the general to himself, as he drove off. Though he suspected that the vicar knew something about the matter, he decided first to call on Mr Lennard. He believed him to be an honest man, but he had no great opinion of his sense. Mr Lennard was at home; he received the general in a kindly way. The latter observed that his manner was unusually subdued. Without loss of time, the general mentioned Miss Maynard, and expressed his regret at not finding her at home.
“Can you tell me where she has gone to?” he asked, “for her aunt declares that she does not know, though it was evident from her manner that she is not anxious about her.”
“I regret to say that I know no more than you do,” answered Mr Lennard. “I had been for some time absent, and on my return I was greatly surprised to find that she had left Luton; and when I enquired of the Lerews, they told me that she had resolved to devote herself to works of charity, and was about to enter a sisterhood, but in what neighbourhood they did not inform me.”
“In other words, that she is about to become a nun, to discard my poor son, and to give up her property, as soon as she has the power of disposing of it, to the safe keeping of one of those Romish communities,” exclaimed the general, with more vehemence than he was accustomed to exhibit; “what do you say to that, Mr Lennard?”
“I don’t suppose that Miss Maynard purposes entering a Romish convent; her intention, I conclude, is to join a sisterhood of the Anglican Church,” said Mr Lennard.
“The Church of England, of which I suppose you speak, recognises no such institutions,” replied the general; “they are contrary to the spirit of the Reformation. Unhappy will it be for our country if they ever gain ground.”
“I had been inclined to suppose that they would prove a great advantage, by enabling ladies to unite together and work under a good system in visiting the sick and poor, and in the instruction of the children, and in other beneficent labours; and I have, when requested, subscribed towards their support,” remarked Mr Lennard.
“I do not insist that ladies should not thus employ themselves,” observed the general; “but my objection is to the mode in which they unite themselves in the so-called religious system under which they are placed. They may, in most instances, serve God far better by staying at home and doing their duty in their families, instead of assuming the dress and imitating the customs of the nuns of the middle ages.”
“I do not look at the subject in that light,” observed Mr Lennard, “and I know that it must be a hard matter for some young ladies to be religious at home, where the rest of the family are worldly-minded.”
“Much more reason for them to stay at home and endeavour to improve the tone of the rest of the household,” answered the general. “Those who know what human nature is should see that with whatever good intentions these sisterhoods are begun, they must in the end lead to much that is objectionable. If Miss Maynard has joined one of them, I must endeavour to find the means of getting her out, or of ascertaining if she was induced to join it, and remains of her own free will. I fear that Lerew will not afford me any assistance, as from his Romish tendencies he will probably consider them admirable institutions, and would think that he had done a laudable act in inducing Clara to enter one. I must now wish you good-bye. I hope that you have good accounts of your young daughter Mary, and your son at Oxford.”
Mr Lennard shook his head. “I received a letter to-day from my little girl, saying that she was very ill, and begging me to come and take her home; but as the mistress did not write, I do not suppose that her illness is serious. However, I intend to go to-morrow to Mary, and ascertain how she is, and I trust that I shall not be obliged to take her away from school.”
The general considered whether he should call on Mr Lerew; but he first bethought himself of paying a visit to a lawyer in the neighbouring town, with whom he was well acquainted, and who had been a friend of Captain Maynard’s. He was also an earnest religious man, and strongly opposed to ritualism. The general was not a person to let the grass grow under his feet. He was driving rapidly along, when he met Lieutenant Sims, who made a sign to him to stop. The general did so, and invited the lieutenant to accompany him into the town.
“With all my heart, for I want to have a talk with you, general,” answered the lieutenant, springing in. “I have long been wishing for your return. We’ve had some extraordinary goings on in this place. What has concerned me most is the disappearance of my old friend’s daughter, in whom you, I know, take a deep interest. All I know is that she went away with the vicar and his wife, and it is my belief that they had an object in spiriting her off; but whether to shut her up in a Romish or Ritualist convent is more than I can say. I don’t think there is much to choose between them; the vicar might select the Ritualist, or the Anglican, as he would call it, as he, though a Papist at heart, would prefer keeping his living, while his lady would recommend the former; for it is said, and I believe it to be a fact, that she herself has turned Romanist, with her dear friend Lady Bygrave. Haven’t you heard that both Sir Reginald and her ladyship were received last week into the bosom of the Church of Rome, as the expression runs?”
“Is it possible!” exclaimed the general; “but I ought not to be surprised when I saw the characters they admitted into their house. I thought that French abbé and Father Lascelles had some other object in view than the establishment of a colony; but perhaps you have been misinformed.”
“I tell you, general, I haven’t a doubt about the matter,” answered Mr Sims. “They and Mrs Lerew attended the Romish church together, and I am told had been baptised with all ceremony a few days before. I know that two or three priests have been staying at the Hall ever since, and Mrs Lerew goes there regularly. They are about to have a chapel built in their grounds, and an architect came down from London about it; and in the meantime they have got a room fitted up in the house. What surprises me is that the vicar should allow his wife to turn; but that she has done so seems probable, for she was not at church last Sunday. Should Lerew object to his wife’s perversion, he has only himself to thank for it; he has led her up to the door as carefully as a man could do, and cannot be surprised at her going inside. Of course she thinks it safer to join what she has been taught to look upon as the true church, and has therefore honestly gone over to it; while whatever he may think, putting honesty and honour aside, he considers that it is more to his advantage to retain his living, and lead others in the way he has led his wife.”
“I suspect that you are right,” observed the general; “too many have set him the example. He, like them, has been trained in the school of the Jesuits, who are fully persuaded that evil may be done that good may come of it, and banish from their minds the principles which guide honest men, and which they themselves would advocate in the ordinary affairs of life. I can only wish that, unless Mr Lerew’s mind is enlightened, he would go over himself; as I am afraid, while he remains in the Church of England, he may lead others in the same direction.”
“Not much fear of that,” observed the lieutenant; “except a few silly young people of the better classes, and the poor, who look out for the loaves and fishes in the shape of coals and blankets and other creature comforts, I don’t think many are influenced by him. He is more likely to empty his church, and to fill the Dissenting chapels.”
“Still,” said the general, “he sows broadcast the germs of Romanism through the doctrines he preaches, while he accustoms people to the sight of the ceremonies and paraphernalia of Rome, keeping them in ignorance at the same time of the simple truths of the Gospel, at the bidding of those whose commands he obeys; for he and his ritualistic brethren are but instruments in the hands of more cunning men than themselves. I have little doubt that he was carefully educated at the university for the part he is now playing, though he then had no idea of the designs of his tutor. People laugh at the notion that a Jesuit plot has long existed in England for the subversion of Protestantism; but I have evidence, which receives daily corroboration, that Jesuits in disguise matriculated at the universities for the express purpose of perverting the minds of all whom they could bring under their influence. The pupils in numberless instances went over to Rome, while the tutors remained nominally in the Church of England, for the sake of trapping others. The scheme has succeeded, and has since been greatly enlarged; the Jesuits have now agents in every shape—some as incumbents of parishes, as lay supporters, men and women, guilds and sisterhoods; they have encouraged works of charity, schools, hospitals, refuges for the fallen and destitute,crèches, mothers’ meetings, and other institutions, all excellent in themselves, knowing how much such would forward their object. Of that object, those who take part in them are, I am ready to believe, in many instances utterly ignorant; they are influenced by the desire to obey the commands of Christ, and to make themselves useful to their fellow-creatures, though the idea that they are thereby meriting heaven, and what they call working out their own salvation, underlies all they do, as they misinterpret the passage. They ignore the glorious truth that through simple faith in the atoning blood of Christ salvation is gained—that it is their own, and that the right motive of action must be through love and obedience to Him who has already saved them. All the forms and ceremonies in which they indulge are but will-worship, tending to obscure their view of Him, and to destroy their spiritual life.”
“General,” said the lieutenant, “I have seen a good deal of Roman Catholic countries, where the priests have full sway, and I am very sure that the system these Ritualists have introduced is tending in the same direction. I know from experience that true religion makes a man all that can be expected of him. We had a dozen or more such men on board the last ship in which I served, and they were out and out the best men we had; they could be trusted on all occasions; and if any dangerous work had to be done, they were the first to volunteer. They were Dissenters of some sort, I believe, and were not in favour with our ritualistic chaplain, who had his followers both among officers and men. I can’t say much about those officers, and as to the men who pretended to agree with him, they were the most sneaking rascals in the ship. He tried to bring me over to his way of thinking, but my eyes were opened. ‘No, no,’ I answered; ‘if the ship was going down, and you had to take your chance in one of the boats, which would you choose, the one manned by those fellows you anathematise, or with the men you call obedient sons of the Church?’ He couldn’t answer; but one day, he being left on shore, the heretics, as he called them, brought him off through a heavy surf, when no other men would venture. So you see, thanks to our chaplain, when I found the new vicar working changes in the church, I knew pretty well what he was about.”
The general found Mr Franklin, his solicitor, at home.
“I am very glad you have come, general,” said the latter. “Miss Maynard, as you are probably aware, has been induced to leave home, or, rather, has been entrapped by one of those conventual establishments, to which she will in due course, when she has the power, be persuaded to give up her property. Our business must be to get her out of their hands before that time arrives; and yours, general, more especially to point out to her the errors of the system which has thrown its glamour over her; for, if I understand rightly, she has sacrificed an excellent and satisfactory marriage, as well as the independence and comforts of home. It was not for a considerable time that I discovered her absence from Luton, when her aunt (who, no disrespect to the lady, I consider it a misfortune was left one of her guardians) positively declared that she did not know where she had gone. I, however, took steps to find out, and lately ascertained that she is an inmate of Saint Barbara’s, near Staughton, to which place I discovered that she drove on leaving the railway, in company with Mr and Mrs Lerew. Convinced that Miss Pemberton was not likely to render any willing assistance, I awaited your return to take legal measures to obtain her release. Our first difficulty will be to communicate with her, for the nuns are allowed to receive no letters till they are first seen by the Lady Superior. It would be as well first to ascertain whether the young lady desires of her own free will to leave the convent; she has had some experience of it, and may by this time perhaps have repented of the step she has taken. My belief is that she has been deceived and cajoled. I know well of what those Ritualists are capable, influenced by what they believe the best of motives, and I strongly suspect that there is some misunderstanding between her and your son, brought about, I say without hesitation, by their means. Either her letters have not been forwarded to him, or his have not been received by her—perhaps the entire correspondence has been intercepted—I will not go farther than that. I say this as I wish to plead for your ward, at whose conduct you naturally feel deeply grieved.”
“Poor girl! notwithstanding all the pain and suffering she has caused my son, I am not angry with her,” said the general; “my indignation is directed against the system and persons by whom she has been deceived. I suspect as you do with regard to the correspondence between her and my son, for I am very sure she would not have given him up without assigning any reason, or answering his letters.”
“Our first object must be to open a free communication with her; letters sent in the ordinary way are sure to be read by the Lady Superior, and the answers dictated by her, so that we shall not be wiser than at first,” remarked Mr Franklin.
“I must try that simple plan, however, and if it fails, resort to stronger measures,” observed the general. “I will go to Staughton myself, and write to say that, as her guardian, I wish to have a private interview with her on a matter of importance, and to beg that I may be allowed to call on her at the convent, or that she will come and see me at my hotel.”
“I am afraid that means would be taken to prevent her from seeing you alone,” observed Mr Franklin.
“What course do you then advise?” asked the general.
“We must take legal proceedings, and they are very certain to have their due effect, as the Lady Superior would be exceedingly loth to have the internal arrangements of her convent made public, and she is well aware that if she resists she will run the risk of that being the case. I have already had something to do with her ladyship, as well as with two or three other convents, and I know how jealous the managers are that the secrets of their prison-houses should be revealed. Their aim is to prove they have nothing to conceal, and that all is open as noon-day; but the moment troublesome questions are asked, they exhibit a reticence as to their rules and practices which shows how conscious they are that outsiders will object to them.”
Before the general took his leave, it was arranged between him and Mr Franklin that they should go over together to Epsworth, and act according to circumstances. As he drove home he expressed a hope to the honest lieutenant that he might be the means of emancipating Miss Maynard from her present thraldom.
“She has too much sense and right feeling not to be open to conviction,” answered Mr Sims; “what she wants is to be freed from the evil influences to which she has of late been exposed, and to have the simple truth placed before her; only don’t let her meet her aunt or Mr Lerew till she has thoroughly got rid of all her erroneous notions, and understands the simple gospel as you well know how to put it.”
“You may depend on my following your advice,” said the general.
On reaching home, the general found a note from Mr Lennard. He wrote in great distress of mind. He had received a letter from a friend at Oxford, telling him that his son had left the university in company with a Romish priest, and had declared his intention of seeking admission into the Church of Rome. Mr Lennard was anxious, if possible, to find out his son, and prevent him from taking the fatal step, at the same time that he wished to be with his poor little girl at Cheltenham.
“I am afraid,” he continued, “that the tutor under whom I placed my boy, by Mr Lerew’s advice, has had much to do with it. I now hear that three or four of his previous pupils have become Romanists, and others, by all accounts, are likely to go over. I object to my son’s becoming a Romanist, though I consider that the Church of Rome is the mother of all Churches, and has the advantage of antiquity on her side.”
“The mother of all abominations!” exclaimed the general to himself. “I must endeavour to set my friend right on that subject, if he holds that fundamental error.”
The general was a man of action. After taking a hurried meal, he drove on to the house of Mr Lennard. His journey to Cheltenham had been delayed, and he was now hesitating whether first to go in search of his son or to proceed there immediately. The thought at once struck the general that should he succeed in getting Clara out of the convent, he might go on to Cheltenham with her, and that if Mary was fit to be removed from the school, it would give Clara occupation to nurse her friend.
“I shall indeed be most grateful to you,” said Mr Lennard, with the tears in his eyes; “I was sorely perplexed what to do, and I specially wish that Mary should not remain longer at the school than can be helped, as from her letter it is evident that she is not only ill, but very miserable there.
“You must give me your written authority, and I will act upon it,” said the general. This was done. “Now, my friend,” he continued, “I wish to speak to you on the remark made in your letter, in which you say that you consider the Church of Rome the mother of all Churches, and that it has the advantage of antiquity. You evidently go first on the assumption that our Lord instituted a visible Church on earth, and that that Church, though corrupted, is the Church of Rome. Now I wish to draw your attention to the origin of that wonderful establishment which has for so long exerted a baneful influence over a large portion of the human race. For three centuries true Christians, though becoming less and less pure in their doctrine and form of worship, existed in Rome as a despised and subordinate class, the purity of their faith gradually decreasing as their numbers, wealth, and influence increased. At length the Emperor Constantine professed himself to be a Christian, which he did for the sake of obtaining the assistance of the Christians against his rival Licinius, who was supported by the idolaters. Constantine being victorious, and Licinius slain, the idolaters saw that they could no longer hope to be predominant. There existed in Rome from the days of Numa a college, or curia, the members of which, called pontiffs, had the entire management of all matters connected with religion. The post of head pontiff, or Pontifex Maximus, had been assumed by Julius Caesar and his successors. They had probably no real belief in the idolatrous system they supported; such secret faith as they had was centred in Astarte, the divinity of the ancient Babylonians, whose worship had been introduced at an early period into Etruria, as it had been previously into Egypt and Greece. They were, in reality, the priests of Astarte, and from them we derive our festival of Christmas, our Lady Day, and many other festivals with Christian names. It had been their principle from the first to admit any gods who had become popular, and thus were added in rapid succession the numberless gods and goddesses of the heathen mythology. At length Jesus of Nazareth was added to their pantheon. These pontiffs, on perceiving that Christianity, patronised by the Emperor, was likely to gain the day, saw that to maintain their power they must themselves pretend to belong to the new faith. This they did, and one of their number soon managed to get himself chosen the Bishop of Rome, while the other pontiffs by an easy transition formed the College of Cardinals. The title of Pontifex Maximus, being held by the Emperor, was not assumed by the bishop of Rome till the Emperor Gratian in 376 refused any longer to be addressed by that title. Having banished some of the grosser practices of idolatry, they introduced the remainder under different names, so that the pagans might readily conform to the new worship. The apostles took the place of the various gods, and the martyrs those of the inferior divinities; above them all was raised Astarte, who, now named Mary the Mother of God and Queen of Heaven, became the chief object of adoration. In truth, the established worship at Rome remained as truly idolatrous as it had ever been, while the great aim of the pontiffs was to increase their power, amass wealth, and strengthen their position. From that period they acted, as might have been expected, in direct opposition to all the principles of Christianity. Bloody struggles often took place between rivals aiming at the pontificate, while they endeavoured to destroy all those who refused to obey them. It was not till a somewhat later period, when the head pontiff set up a claim of superiority above all other bishops, that, to strengthen it, it was asserted that he was in direct apostolic succession from the apostle Peter, the pontiff who first made it being ignorant, probably, that the Christian Church at Rome was founded exclusively by Paul, and that the apostle Peter never was at Rome, he having been all his life employed in founding churches in the East. ‘By their fruits ye shall know them;’ and we have only to reflect on the lives of the popes, many of them monsters of atrocity, and the fearful acts of persecution which they encouraged and authorised, to be convinced that paganism, the invention of Satan, had usurped the name of Christianity, and that the Romish Church, as it is called, instead of being the mother of all Churches, is truly the Babylon of the Apocalypse; yet this is the system which ministers of the Church of England are endeavouring to introduce into our country, with its idolatrous rites and dogmas, and which you and many excellent men like yourself look at with a lenient eye, instead of regarding it with the abhorrence it deserves.”
“My dear friend,” said Mr Lennard, greatly astonished, “I certainly had never regarded the Church of Rome in that light; I looked upon it as the ancient Church, corrupted in the course of ages.”
“It has no true claim to be a Christian Church at all,” said the general; “it is like the cuckoo, which, hatched in the nest of the hedge-warbler, by degrees forces out the other fledglings, and usurps their place. So did paganism treat Christianity; although, fostered by God, the latter was enabled to exist, persecuted and oppressed as it was, and still to exert a benign influence in the world. On examining the tenets of many who are called heretics, we find that it was not the creed they held, but the opposition they offered to the Romish system, which was their crime, and brought down persecution on their heads. When we read of the horrible cruelties practised on the Waldenses and Albigenses, the followers of Huss in Bohemia, the true Protestants of all ages down to the time of Luther, the detestable system of the Inquisition, the treatment of the inhabitants of the Netherlands by Alva and the Spaniards, when whole hecatombs of victims were put to death at the instigation of the pope and his cardinals, the destruction of thousands and tens of thousands of Huguenots in France, the martyrdoms of the noble Protestants of Spain, the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, and the fires of Smithfield—all these diabolical acts performed with the concurrence and approval of the papal power—can we for a moment hesitate to believe that that power owes its origin, not to the Divine Head of the Church, but to that spirit of evil, Satan, the deadly foe of the human race? Can any system founded on it, however much reformed it may appear, fail to partake of the evil inherent in the original itself. It is from not seeing this that so many are led to embrace the errors—I would rather say the abominations—of Rome; while others are taught to look at them with lenient eyes, and to believe that the system itself is capable of reformation. Before true and simple faith can be established throughout the world the whole must be overthrown and hurled into the depths of the sea, as completely as have been the idols and idolatrous practices of the inhabitants of the South Sea Islands, where Christianity has been established.”
Mr Lennard leant his head on his hand. “I must think deeply of what you say; you put the whole matter in a new light to me. I have had no affection for Rome; still, I have always regarded her as a Church founded on the apostles and prophets.”
“Yet which virtually forbids its followers to study those prophets and apostles,” remarked the general. “But what I want you to do is to look into the subject for yourself. I have merely given you a hint for your guidance; by referring carefully to the Scriptures, you will find more and more light thrown on it, till you must be convinced that the view I have taken is the correct one; and would that every clergyman and layman in England might do the same! these ritualistic practices would then soon be banished from the land.”
Never in his life had poor Mr Lennard been so perplexed and troubled. He was invited to reconsider opinions which he had held, in a somewhat lax fashion it may be granted, all his life. He had to search for his son, and prevent him if possible from becoming a slave to the system he had just heard so strongly denounced, and he was painfully anxious about the health of his dear little Mary. While he was still in this unhappy state of mind, the general left him to return home. The next morning they both set off to their respective destinations, the general to Epsworth, having called for Mr Franklin on his way, and Mr Lennard to London.
On reaching Epsworth, the general wrote a note to Clara, saying that as her guardian it was necessary for him to see her at once, and that he would either pay her a visit at the convent, or would request her to come to his hotel. After waiting for some time, he received a note in a strange handwriting; it was from a lady, who signed herself Sister Agatha. She stated that she wrote by the command of the Lady Superior, who was at present unwell, but would, on her recovery, reply to the letter General Caulfield had addressed to Sister Clare, or, as she was called in the world, Miss Clara Maynard.
“We must give her ladyship a taste of the law,” said Mr Franklin; “she fancies that she can play the same game with us which she has successfully employed with others. You shall write a note, stating that your legal adviser, Mr Franklin, is with you; address it to the Lady Superior, and say that you insist on seeing Miss Maynard at once.”
As soon as the letter was despatched, Mr Franklin, observing that he had some business to transact, went out, leaving the general engaged in writing. He had been for some time absent, when he hurriedly entered the room.
“I thought it would be so,” he observed. “The Lady Superior is about to remove Miss Maynard to some other establishment, and she will then coolly inform you that, Sister Clare not being an inmate of the convent, she cannot be answerable for her. I learnt this from one of several people I placed on the watch, and I find that one of the serving Sisters has come in to say that a conveyance is wanted immediately at the convent. I have ordered our carriage, and we will follow the other; and you can either speak to Miss Maynard as she comes out of the convent, or meet her at whatever railway station she goes to.”
The general did not quite like this plan; he had hoped to see Clara alone, and be able to speak to her for as long as might be necessary, so as to convince her of the fearful mistake she had made, should she at first show an unwillingness to leave the convent; still, he had no other course but to follow Mr Franklin’s advice. They accordingly entered their carriage, and soon overtook another driving in the direction of the convent. At a short distance from it, Mr Franklin ordered the coachman to pull up, and got out. He and the general then walked leisurely towards the gate, just as they got in sight of which, they caught a glimpse of three muffled figures stepping into the carriage.
“Now is our time,” exclaimed Mr Franklin; “I’ve bribed the coachman not to move on till I have given him leave, so that should one of those dames prove to be the Lady Superior—and I know her very well—we shall have an opportunity of addressing her; and I think what I say will make her hesitate to use force in preventing Miss Maynard from accompanying you, should you desire her to do so.”
The next instant they were alongside the carriage, just as the Lady Superior—for she was one of those inside—had put her head out of the window, peremptorily ordering the coachman to drive on as fast as he could. Though he flourished his whip, he kept his reins tight; but Mr Franklin, putting his hand on the door said, “Madam, my friend General Caulfield, whom I have the honour to introduce to you, desires to have some conversation on a matter of importance with Miss Maynard, and I am glad to see that she is here to answer for herself.”
As he spoke, Clara sprang up, and though the Lady Superior and the other Sister attempted to hold her back, she threw herself forward into the general’s arms.
“Sister Clare, remember your vow of obedience; sit quiet, I order you,” cried the Lady Superior, in a stern tone; but Clara paid no attention to the command. With an imploring look for protection, she gazed into the general’s countenance.
“I wish to accompany you,” she whispered; “take me, take me away! don’t scold me!”
The general recognised the features of the once bright and blooming girl, though her dress looked strange.
“I have come on purpose to take you, my dear girl,” he answered, holding her tightly. “I am in your good father’s place—trust to me.” He then, turning to the Lady Superior, said, “I have the right, as this young lady’s guardian, to take her away from you, as she has expressed her wish to accompany me. Mr Franklin will explain all that is necessary. I bid you good morning, Madam.”
“Sister Clare, remember your vows,” again repeated the Lady Superior, in a solemn voice; “the anathema—”
“I cannot allow such language to be uttered to my client,” said Mr Franklin; and he went on to explain the legal rights of guardians in a way which was calculated to keep the Lady Superior silent. The general, meantime, half leading, half carrying poor Clara, reached his carriage, which at a sign to the coachman approached to receive them. Mr Franklin, observing that the general had handed in Clara, followed, having directed the coachman to drive off, leaving the Lady Superior and her companion in a state better imagined than described. Looking back, the lawyer observed that they had re-entered the convent.
Clara was no sooner seated than she burst into tears. “I have been very miserable, but I have myself alone to blame,” she said. “I knew what you would think, while I obstinately listened to Mr and Mrs Lerew, and to what they had taught Aunt Sarah to say to me. Still, I wanted to consult you, but as you were too angry with me to write, I could not have my doubts solved; and even Harry cast me off, and refused to have any further correspondence with me. I don’t blame him, for I knew his opinions, and he warned me—”
“My dear Clara, do you think it possible that I should not have written to you, or that Harry should have neglected to do so?” interrupted the general. “I wrote letter upon letter, and got no answer, and Harry told me that he had written over and over again, and at last had enclosed a letter to your aunt, but that she had returned it, saying that she did so at the recommendation of your spiritual adviser, who considered that it would be highly improper for you, who had become a bride of the Church, to receive a letter from a mortal lover.”
“Then I have been deceived and betrayed,” exclaimed Clara, “entirely through my own folly, and I have caused Harry terrible pain and annoyance.”
“There is no doubt that you have been deceived and betrayed,” said the general; “but we do not blame you, except that instead of seeking guidance and direction from the loving Father who is ever ready to afford it, you allowed yourself to be led by fallible human beings, who in this instance had, I suspect, an object in inducing you to follow the line they had pointed out. You did not distinguish between the works which these Sisters of Charity propose undertaking and the system and principles by which they are guided. The works themselves are such as all Christians are bound to engage in or support, whereas the system is idolatrous, and encourages will-worship; the works are made to support the system, instead of, as it should be, love and obedience to our heavenly Master producing the works. Our loving Father wishes His children to be happy and to enjoy the good things with which He provides them. No monastic rules, no peculiar dress, no vows of obedience to fallible mortals like ourselves, no fasts or penances are required to enable us to obey His laws; all we need is to seek for grace and strength from Him to do His will; and knowing that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin, we can go boldly to Him in prayer, offered up through our sole High Priest and Mediator, who ever pleads the efficacy of that blood.”
“I know you speak the truth,” said Clara; “but I felt myself so unworthy, I fancied that God would not receive me unless I made some sacrifices in His service.”
“You dishonoured Him, my dear child, by thinking so,” answered the general; “He will in no wise cast out those who come to Him, and He desires all to come just as they are, with humble and contrite spirits; but not under the idea that they can first put away their sins, and merit His love by any good deeds or penances they may perform. Such acts as are pleasing in His sight must spring from loving obedience to Him; all He does is of free grace; we can merit nothing, because we owe Him everything. When you see this clearly, you will understand more perfectly the wrong principles on which the whole Romish and ritualistic systems, and, believe me, they are identical, are founded.”
Through the general’s remarks Clara’s eyes were quickly opened; it appeared as if a thick veil had been thrown over them, which had suddenly been removed, and she wondered how she could have been so lamentably deceived. She looked upon her convent life, with its rigid rules, its senseless silence, its hours of solitude, its meagre fare, the cold and suffering uselessly endured, its unnatural vigils, its mockeries of religious observances, the cruelties she had seen practised, all tending to depress the spirits and lower the physical powers, with just abhorrence; and then a choking sensation came into her throat, and the colour rose to her cheeks as she thought of the abominable confessional, the questions asked her, and the answers she had had to give. She tried to shut them out from her thoughts. Could she ever be worthy of the pure, honest-minded, open-hearted, noble Harry?
On reaching their sitting-room at the inn, the general looked at Clara’s costume.
“I suppose, my dear child, that you would like to assume the ordinary dress of a young lady of the nineteenth century,” he said with a smile, “in lieu of those garments of the dark ages.”
A smile almost rose to Clara’s lips, though her cheeks were blushing and her eyes suffused with tears as she answered, “Yes, I should very much, and I must ask if you will be good enough to send them back to the convent, as they belong to the community, and I have no right to keep them.”
“With all imaginable pleasure,” exclaimed Mr Franklin; “and I am happy to say that I can assist you in procuring a desirable costume. I have a relative residing here who is much about your height and figure, and as she has some interest with the mantua-makers, I have no doubt that by to-morrow morning she will induce them to supply you with a travelling-dress and such other articles of apparel as you may require.”
Clara expressed her thankfulness, and added, “Pray let it be as simple as possible.”
“Oh yes, it shall be such as will become a quakeress if you wish it; I will lose no time about it,” said Mr Franklin, hurrying out of the room.
“Why, he has gone without taking anything to eat; he must be almost starving,” observed the general. “I know that I am; and, my dear, I am afraid that you must be hungry, unless you took a late luncheon.”
“We had dinner at ten, though I took but little,” answered Clara; “but we are accustomed to go a long time without food.”
“Your looks tell me that, my dear,” exclaimed the general, ringing the bell. “We must take more care of you in future than you have received lately. I never knew starving enable a person the better to go through the duties of life.”
The waiter entered, and the general ordered luncheon to be brought up at once, in a tone which showed that he intended to be obeyed, adding, “Let there be as many delicacies as your cook can provide off-hand.”
The lawyer had not returned when luncheon was placed on the table. “Come, my dear, I want to see you do justice to some of these nice things,” said the general.
Poor Clara hesitated; it was a fast-day in the convent—could she at once transgress the rule? She was going to take simply some bread and preserve, but the general placed a cutlet on her plate. “I must insist on your eating that, and taking a glass or two of good wine to give you strength for your journey to-morrow,” he said. Clara had to explain her difficulty. “I know of no command of the Lord to fast,” he observed, “though He stigmatised vain fasts and oblations. The apostles nowhere command it, and the early Christians, until error crept in among them, did not consider fasting a religious duty. In your case let me assure you that it would be a sin to fast when you require your strength restored. You have had much mental trial, and will have more to go through. The mind suffers with the body, and it is your duty to strengthen both. Come, come, eat up the cutlet, and take this glass of sherry.”
Clara obeyed, and in a wonderfully short time began to see matters in a brighter light. The general did not fail to explain that one of the great objects of the system from which he wished to emancipate her was that of weakening the minds of those it got into its toils to keep them in subjection. “Such was their aim in insisting on confession, on fasting, and on vigils. What is even a strong man fit for, who is deprived of his sleep and half-starved? How completely does a man become the slave of the fellow mortal to whom he confides every secret of his heart! and how much more thoroughly must a weak woman become a slave, who is subjected to the same system! Add to that the rule of obedience which you tell me is so much insisted on. Obedience to whom? to a woman as full of faults and weaknesses as other human beings. How sad must be the result! It is terrible to see the name of religion prostituted in such a cause.”
Clara ate up the cutlet without any further objection, and meekly submitted to take some of the other delicacies the general placed before her.
“You’ll do, my dear,” he said, smiling; “we shall have the roses in your cheeks again, I hope, in a few weeks. What I want you to do is to distinguish between God’s and man’s religions. You have erred from confounding the two. Our loving Father wants a joyous, willing obedience; He allows no one to come between Him and us poor sinners, but our one Mediator and great High Priest, to whom we must confess our sins. He invites us to come direct to Him in prayer. Those dishonour Him who fancy that either ministering angels or departed saints can interfere with our glorious privilege. He who said, ‘Rend your heart, and not your garments,’ desires no debasing penances, no fasts, nothing which could weaken the powers of the mind. When you come to look into the subject, you will see that all such practices were invented by the great enemy of souls to draw men off from their reliance on their loving Father, who is ever ready to give grace and help in time of need.”
Before luncheon was quite over Mr Franklin returned. “You will excuse us for not waiting for you,” said the general. “Miss Maynard was nearly starving.”
“I am glad you did not wait, indeed,” answered Mr Franklin, “for I may compliment Miss Maynard on looking much better than she did an hour ago. I have been entirely successful in my mission; my cousin and her milliner will be here in a few minutes. I have a message from my aunt, Mrs Lawson, who begs that you and Miss Maynard will stay the night at her house, as she can there make the arrangements about her dress with far more convenience than here.”
The general, without stopping to consult Clara, at once accepted the offer. Clara herself was thankful to move to a quiet house. Miss Lawson, who was a sensible girl, understanding Clara’s position and feelings, with much thoughtfulness made every arrangement she could require. Having supplied her from her own wardrobe, she took away the conventual garments, which Mr Franklin with infinite satisfaction carefully packed up and sent with a note, couched in legal phraseology, to the Lady Superior, requesting that Miss Maynard’s property might be sent back by return. “I don’t suppose we shall get it,” he remarked to his cousin; “but it is as well to see what her ladyship has to say about the matter.”
Late in the evening a note arrived from the Lady Superior, who had to assure Mr Franklin that she possessed nothing belonging to Miss Maynard, who was well aware that any articles brought into the convent became the property of the community, and that all secular dresses were immediately disposed of as useless to those devoted to the service of the Church.
“I call it a perfect swindle,” observed Mrs Lawson, who was not an admirer of convents. “Miss Maynard tells me she took two trunks full of summer and winter clothing. She had not a notion before she went to the convent how she was to dress or what she was to do.”
“I am afraid, notwithstanding, that we cannot indict the Lady Superior as a swindler, whatever opinion we may secretly form of her,” answered Mr Franklin, laughing. “I daresay that Miss Maynard will soon be able to replace her loss. We would rather not have her adventure made public, except for the sake of a warning to others.”
Miss Lawson, whose garments fortunately fitted Clara, begged that she would take such as she might require until the dressmaker could forward those which had been ordered. The next morning, heartily thanking Mr Franklin and his relations, Clara and the general set off for Cheltenham. It was not to be expected that Clara would at once recover her spirits and serenity of mind; but fortunately they had the carriage to themselves, and thus the general had an opportunity of further explaining the subjects he had touched on on the previous day. As he never was without his Bible, he was able to refer to that, and to point to many texts which of late Clara had heard sadly perverted, or which had been carefully avoided. He explained to her the origin of the whole Romish system, and showed her how identical that of the Ritualists was with it; the great object being to exalt and give power to a priestly caste, who, pretending to stand between God and the sinner, thus obtain power over the minds and property of their fellow-creatures. “Such has been the object of certain men imbued with a desire to rule their more ignorant and more superstitious fellows, from the earliest ages; it was this spirit which influenced the priests of Egypt, Greece, and Rome; it exists throughout India, among the savages of America in their medicine—men, in the islands of the Pacific, and indeed in every region of the world. It is the object of the Romish system, and is now exhibiting itself in a more subtle form among the ministers of the Church of England. We properly apply the term sacerdotalism to any system the spirit of which seeks to place a human being in any intermediate character between God and man. Sacerdotalism is in direct opposition and antagonistic to the genius of the Gospel, which enunciates the great truth that there is but one Mediator between God and man, the Man Jesus Christ; that through the atoning blood of Christ, man, if truly turning to Him, and heartily believing, receives directly, and without any other agency whatever, pardon and absolution. He, and He alone, pardoneth and absolveth all them that truly repent, that is, look to Him and unfeignedly believe His holy Gospel. Christ, and Christ alone, is the Way, the Truth, and the Life to seeking, travailing, heavy-laden man; whereas the Romanists, as do the Ritualists, assert that without the priestly function there is no complete remission, no claim to all the benefit of the Passion, no assurance of God’s sanctifying grace. There must be, say these people, contrition, confession, and satisfaction united with the sacerdotal function, a succession of acts, the priest being the organ of God’s sanctifying grace.”
“Oh, then, of what mockery, of what sin, have I been guilty?” exclaimed Clara.
“Turn from it, and look to Jesus, and He grants immediate forgiveness,” answered the general.
“Would that all who are misled as I have been might receive that glorious truth!” cried Clara. “Oh, general, tell it everywhere, and show me how I may help to open the eyes of others as mine have been opened.”
“God alone can open the eyes of the blind; but we can become active instruments in His hands by conveying to them the remedy for their blindness,” said the general, taking Clara’s hand. “Your words afford me infinite satisfaction, and remove an anxious weight from my heart on your own account, and on that of one naturally still dearer to me. Depend on it that, with God’s grace, I will not relax in my efforts to make known the simple Gospel, and to exhibit the sacerdotal system of Rome, and of the so-called ritualism of England, in its true light.”
Chapter Six.On reaching Cheltenham, the general took Clara to the house of his sister-in-law, a Scotch lady, who received her with the most motherly kindness.“I very well know the sort of glamour which has been thrown around you, my dear,” she said, “so that I can heartily sympathise with you; and I praise God that it has been removed. You can now therefore look with confidence for grace and strength from Him who is the giver of all good, to walk forward in the enjoyment of that true happiness which God in His mercy affords to His creatures. There is abundance of work for our sex, which can be carried out in a straightforward, Protestant, English fashion.”“I shall be thankful to find it,” said Clara.“You will not have long to wait, my dear,” answered Mrs Caulfield; “but at present you require being nursed yourself: you must let me take you in hand.”As soon as the general had deposited Clara with his sister-in-law, he set off and paid his promised visit to Mary Lennard. On reaching Mrs Barnett’s establishment, he was shown into a handsome drawing-room, where that lady soon presented herself, under the belief that he had come to place a daughter with her. She bowed gracefully as she glided into a seat, and smilingly enquired the object of his visit.“I have come to see Miss Mary Lennard, daughter of my particular friend, the Reverend John Lennard,” answered he.“She is too ill, I regret to say, to see visitors,” answered the schoolmistress. “Had her father come, I of course should not have objected.”“I am acting in the place of her father,” said the general, “and I must insist on seeing the young lady, who has, I understand, been made ill by a system of fasting and penances which all right-minded people must consider objectionable.”“Sir, you astonish me,” exclaimed Mrs Barnett. “I should suppose that every clergyman would wish his daughter to fast on Fridays and other days ordered by the Church; and with regard to penances, such have been imposed by the priest to whom she has duly gone to confession.”“Why, I thought this was a Protestant school,” exclaimed the general, astonished.“That term I repudiate,” answered the lady. “I am a daughter of the Anglican Church, and as such I wish to bring up all my pupils.”“You may act according to your conscience, but parents may differ from you as to whether you are right in compelling growing children to fast, as also in allowing them to confess to a person whom you call a priest,” answered the general. “I regret having to act in any way which is disagreeable to you, but I must insist, madam, with the authority given me by Mr Lennard, on seeing his daughter alone, and judging what steps I shall take.”The lady hesitated; the general put Mr Lennard’s letter into her hand. She still hesitated.“Have you any reason for wishing me not to see Mary?” he asked.“She may appear worse than she really is,” said Mrs Barnett. “Our medical attendant has visited her daily.”“That makes it more necessary for me to see her and judge for myself,” said the general, in a firm tone.Mrs Barnett rang the bell, and a servant appearing, she told her to inform Miss Lennard that a friend of her father wished to see her.“She isn’t able to get up, marm, I’m afraid,” was the answer.“Then show me her room,” said the general, rising; and without waiting to hear Mrs Barnett’s remarks, he followed the servant, who led the way upstairs to a room containing four beds. A cough struck his ears as he entered. On one of the beds lay poor Mary; her once rosy cheek was pale and thin, and her large eyes unusually bright. She knew him at once, and stretching out both her hands, said, “I am glad to see you; but I thought papa would come.”The general explained that Mr Lennard was prevented from doing what he wished.“Then, will you take me away from this?” she asked, in a whisper; “I am sure that papa would do so. I am not happy here; but do not let Mrs Barnett know I said so.”“If you can be removed without risk, I certainly will take you,” answered the general.“Oh, yes, yes! I shall be well soon. I could get up now if they will give me my clothes,” exclaimed Mary.The day was bright and warm; and as the general felt sure that Mary could be removed without danger, he determined to take her to his sister-in-law’s immediately.“Take me! take me!” said Mary; “I feel quite strong enough, and the doctor said that there was nothing particularly the matter with me.”Her eagerness to go was still further increased when she heard that she was to be taken care of by Clara Maynard.“I thought that she had been shut up in a convent,” she exclaimed. “The girls here were saying that it is a very holy life, though I don’t know that there are many who wish to lead it; but I was very, very sorry to hear of Clara’s being a nun, because I thought that perhaps I might never see her again, and of all people I wondered that she should turn nun.”“I trust that she has given up all intention of becoming one,” said the general; “but you will see her soon, and she will tell you what she thinks about the matter.”The general then told the servant to assist Miss Lennard in dressing, while he went out to obtain a conveyance. On returning to the house, he desired again to see Mrs Barnett. The lady was somewhat indignant, and warned him that he must be responsible for the consequences of removing Miss Lennard.“Of course I am, and I am taking her where she can be more carefully nursed than is possible in a school,” answered the general.Mary was soon ready, and her box packed up. The thoughts of going away restored her strength, and she walked downstairs without difficulty. The general carefully wrapped her up, and telling her to keep the shawl over her head and mouth, lifted her into the carriage. They had but a short distance to go. Clara was delighted to find that Mary was to remain; but on perceiving how ill the poor girl evidently was, she felt very sad. Mary was, however, not at all the worse for being removed, and Mrs Caulfield immediately sent for her own medical man to see her. He looked very grave, but gave no decided opinion. “She has been poorly fed, and her mind overtaxed for one so young,” he remarked. “We must see what proper care and nourishment will effect; but I must not disguise from you that I am anxious about her.”Clara begged that Mary might be placed in her bed, while she occupied a small camp-bed at its foot.“But you will have no room to turn,” observed Mrs Caulfield.“It is wider and far softer than the one to which I have been accustomed,” she answered, smiling, “and I shall be much happier to be near Mary than away from her.”Clara had now ample occupation in attending on her sick friend, though Mrs Caulfield insisted on her driving out every day, and advised her to receive the visits of several friends who called. With the consciousness that she was of essential use to Mary, her own spirits returned and her health improved. The rest of her time was spent in working, or reading to Mary, or playing and singing to her. The healthy literature the general procured for Mary benefited Clara as much as it did her friend; it was an invigorating change from the monastic legends and similar works which were alone allowed to be perused in the convent. She thought it better not to say much about her own life there; but Mary was not so reticent with regard to her school existence. The only books allowed to be read were those written by priests, ritualists, or Roman Catholics. “The books were mostly very dull,” said Mary; “but as we had no others, we were glad to get them. Then a clergyman came, who told us that we were all very sinful, but that when we came to him at confession he would give us absolution; and as we thought that very nice, we did as he advised us; but I did not at all like the questions he put; some of them were dreadful, and I know he said the same to the other girls. Still, as we were kept very strict in school, we were glad to get out to church as often as we could; there was the walk, which was pleasant in fine weather; and then we could look at the people who were there, and the music was often very fine, and the sermon was never very long; and sometimes the young gentlemen used to come and sit near us, and talk to the elder girls when no one was looking—at least, we thought they were young gentlemen, but, as it turned out, they were anything but such. One of them, especially, used to give notes to one of the girls, and she wrote others in return, and we thought it very romantic, and of course no one would tell Mrs Barnett of it. At last, one day, we thought that the girl had gone into confession; but instead of joining us she slipped out of the church at a side door, where her lover was waiting to receive her. Away they went by the train to a distance, where they were married, and could not be found for some time. At last they came back, when it was discovered that the young man was the son of a small tradesman in the place, though he had pretended that he had a good fortune and excellent prospects. Mrs Barnett was horrified, and tried to hush matters up, and I believe the parents of the girl did not like to expose her for their own sakes. I know that I and the rest were very wrong in our behaviour, and I will not excuse myself, except to say that everything was done to make us hypocrites. Religion was very much talked about on Sundays and saints’ days; but I have learnt more of the Gospel since I came here, from you and dear General Caulfield, than I ever knew before.”Clara sighed as she thought how little she herself had known till lately.“You had better not talk any more about your school,” she said; “let us speak rather about what we read, and things of real importance.”Clara had become very much alarmed about Mary. Wholesome and regular food, and gentle exercise in the carriage when the weather was fine, somewhat restored her strength; but there was the hectic spot on her check, and the brightness of the eyes, which too surely told of consumption. Mr Lennard at length arrived; he looked much depressed, and was shocked at seeing the change in his daughter. He had a most unsatisfactory account to give of his son, whom he had searched for for some time in vain. At last he discovered that the young gentleman had been formally received into the Romish Church, and that his friend the priest was concealing him somewhere in London. The poor father found out where his son was through a letter which was forwarded from Luton, in which the youth asked for a remittance for his support, as he had expended all his means, and could not longer, he observed, encroach on the limited stipend of his friend, Father Lascelles. Mr Lennard, still hoping that it might be possible to win back the youth, wrote entreating him to return home, and on his declining to do this, he offered to let him continue his course at Oxford, that he might fit himself for entering one of the learned professions. After a delay of two or three days, Alfred wrote saying that he had applied to his bishop, who would not consent to his doing so, and that as he was now under his spiritual guidance, he must obey him rather than a heretic father.“You will pardon me for calling you so,” continued Master Alfred; “but while you remain severed from the one true Church, such you must be in the eyes of all Catholics, one of whom I have become.”“I was too much grieved to laugh, as I might otherwise have done, at the boy’s impertinence,” observed Mr Lennard to the general; “but as I look upon him as deceived by artful men, I cannot treat him with the rigour he deserves. What do you recommend, general?”“We must, if possible, get him to come home, and then put the truth clearly before him,” remarked the general.“I am afraid that I cannot say enough to induce him to change,” said Mr Lennard, with a deep sigh.“We must have recourse, whatever we do, to earnest prayer,” observed the general. “I cannot suppose that your son’s mind is already so completely perverted as to be impregnable to the truth.”“Alas, it is not for so short a time,” answered Mr Lennard; “the seed was sown by the tutor with whom he spent a year or more, and finally matured by this same Father Lascelles and his tutor at college. He is the very man with whom Mr Lerew read, I find. I wonder that he was not the means of his older pupil’s perversion.”“Mr Lerew is not so honest a man as your son,” answered the general; “Mr Lerew was about to take orders, and would prove a useful tool, while it was more prudent to secure your son at once, as he, it was supposed, would inherit your property. I wish that I could offer you consolation; but I fear that you would consider me a Job’s comforter at the best.”Mr Lennard had come hoping to take Mary home; but she appeared scarcely able to undertake so long a journey, and Clara confessed that she herself was unwilling to return as yet to Luton. Poor Mr Lennard was nearly heart-broken on hearing from the doctor that he thought very badly of Mary’s case.“Could I not take her abroad, to Madeira, or the south of France?” he asked.“It would be, I feel confident, useless,” was the melancholy answer; “had she strength to stand the journey, her life might possibly be prolonged for a few weeks; but she would probably lose more by the exertion of travelling than she would gain by the change. Here she is under loving care, and we may alleviate her sufferings.”Some more weeks wore by, and Mary grew worse. Mr Lennard felt, what some parents do not, that it was his duty, though a painful one, to tell his daughter that her days were numbered, and at the same time to afford her such comfort as, according to his knowledge, he could. He gently broke the subject.“I know it,” she answered. “I asked Clara if she thought I was dying, and she told me that the doctor said I could not recover; but, dear papa, I am prepared to go away to One who loves me, though I am sorry, very sorry, to leave you, and Clara, and the general, and those who have been kind to me.”The tears were falling from Mr Lennard’s eyes.“You have been a dear good girl, and have enjoyed the blessing of baptism, and have been confirmed, and have received the sacrament; you shall receive it again if you wish, and I hope that God will take you to heaven.”“Oh, dear, dear papa, don’t speak so,” answered Mary; “I know that I am a wretched sinner; I have done nothing to merit God’s love and mercy; but I know that Jesus Christ died for me, and that His blood cleanseth from all sin; and, trusting to Him, I am sure that He will receive me in the place He has gone before to prepare for those who love Him. I have faith in Christ; that is my happiness, hope, and confidence. I am not afraid to die, for I know that He will be with me through the shadow of the valley of death.”Mr Lennard gazed at her, unable to speak. He could not ask her further questions, but was revolving in his own mind the meaning of what she had said. She had no confidence in any of the objects which he had been accustomed to present to the minds of the dying, if he believed them to be good Churchmen, and if not, he had always urged them to repent of their sins and to take the sacrament, in the hope that thus God might receive them into heaven. Mary’s remarks had brought new light to his soul; she trusted solely to theall-finished workof Christ, to whom she looked as her Saviour, with full assurance that He would welcome her to heaven. She thought not, she spoke not, of any of the rites and ceremonies in which he had trusted himself, and had taught others to trust, rather than to the blood of the Atonement. She did not ask even him, her father, and, as he had fancied himself, a priest, to offer a prayer on her behalf. No, she was resting joyfully on Christ as her all-sufficient Saviour.“I see it all now,” he said, half aloud; “it is this of which the general has been speaking to me lately, but which I did not comprehend.”“Yes, dear papa; Jesus did it all long ago; He saved me then, and I am trusting in Him; that makes me so happy, so very happy,” exclaimed Mary.“I believe as you do,” answered Mr Lennard; “would that I had known and taught your poor brother the same truth! it would have prevented him from falling into the toils of Rome.”“We can pray for him, that he may be rescued from them,” said Mary.“I wished to make him a sound Churchman, and taught him that there is but one true Church, and that that is the Church of England; and miserable has been the result,” said Mr Lennard.“Alfred may be brought back. God will hear our united prayers,” whispered Mary.“I cannot pray with faith that my prayer will be answered,” he murmured. “I did my utmost to instil the belief into him, and he has ever since been with those who have done their utmost to forward the same notion.”Mary now became her father’s comforter. She lingered with those who loved her for some time longer, proving an especial blessing to Clara, who had, as her ever-watchful nurse, constant employment and occupation for her thoughts and feelings. The general remained with his sister, and afforded Clara that instruction and guidance she so much needed, while he put into her hands such books as were best calculated to strengthen her mind and to do away with all traces of that mysticism which she had imbibed both before and during her life in the convent. With clearer perceptions of truth than she had ever before enjoyed, she was now better able to perform her duties in life. She had written to her aunt, saying that she hoped some day to return home, but was at present employed in nursing her young friend Mary Lennard, whom she could not at present leave; but she did not think it necessary to speak of her escape from the convent, or to enter into other particulars, so that Miss Pemberton remained in ignorance of her change of opinions.Mr Lennard had twice gone away in the hope of meeting his son and inducing him to attend the death-bed of his sister; but the priests, who were well-informed of the religious opinions of those who had taken charge of Mary, made him send various excuses, and poor Mary was deprived of the satisfaction of seeing her brother again. When Mr Lennard returned, Mary had become much weaker, and she could only whisper, “Pray for poor Alfred; don’t be angry with him—he may be brought back;” and her young spirit went to be with the Saviour in whom she trusted. Clara aided the general in comforting their friend.The bereaved father found peace at last; but often before that, in the bitterness of his heart, he would exclaim, “It was that school, that abominable system of fasting and penance, and that accursed confessional, which killed her; and to have my poor weak misguided boy carried off and enslaved body and soul by those wolves in sheep’s clothing, it is more than I can bear! It was I—I alone, who in my blindness and ignorance and folly exposed them to the malign influences which have caused their destruction. I have been the murderer of my children!”A few days after Mary’s funeral, Clara, with the general and Mr Lennard, returned to Luton. Miss Pemberton received her niece with a look of astonishment.“Why, I expected to see you dressed as a nun, Clara,” she exclaimed; “have you given up your vocation? Dear me! Mr Lerew will be very much disappointed; he fully expected that you would devote your fortune to Saint Agatha’s.”“I will explain matters to you, aunt, by-and-by,” answered Clara, not wishing on her first arrival at home to enter into any discussion. “I hope that you have not felt yourself very solitary during my long absence.”“As to that, I can’t say I have been very lively, for the whole neighbourhood is divided, and because I go to church and confession, all of your father’s old friends have ceased to call on me; but of late I have begun to think that they are not altogether wrong. I must acknowledge that since Sir Reginald and Lady Bygrave, and Mrs Lerew, and two or three other people turned Catholics, my confidence in the vicar and the High Church has been a little shaken. Mrs Lerew wanted me to turn too; but I was not going to do that, and even the vicar did not advise it, though he said he couldn’t help his wife going over; for if so many went, people’s suspicions would be aroused, and he should be unable to establish his college.”“I am truly thankful that you did not go over,” answered Clara. “I have learnt a good deal about the Ritualists of late, and I am very sure that their tendency is towards Rome. I have one favour to ask, that is, should Mr Lerew call, that you will not admit him, as it would be painful to me to see him again, for I cannot receive him as a friend.”“Why, have you found out anything about him?” asked Miss Pemberton, her conscience accusing her.“There is much, aunt, to which, I object in him,” answered Clara, firmly.“Well, I don’t wish you to be annoyed, my dear, in any way,” said Miss Pemberton; “and, in truth, I suspect that he wanted to get hold of your fortune for his new college. If he finds that he has no chance of that, I don’t think he will trouble you much.”“I would rather not think about him in any way,” said Clara; “and do pray tell me how Widow Jones and Mrs Humble and her blind daughter, and the poor Hobbies, with their idiot boy, are getting on. I must go and see them and my other friends as soon as possible.”Clara then went on to make further enquiries about her poorer neighbours, and was grieved to find that her aunt had not troubled herself about them during her absence.“It was all my fault,” she said to herself; “I was placed here to help them, and I have neglected that very clear duty by giving way to delusive fancies.”Clara lost no time in carrying out her intentions, and was received with a hearty welcome wherever she went. Very frequently remarks were made which showed her that the poor had a clearer perception of the tendencies of the ritualistic system than she herself had previously possessed.“We be main glad to see you again looking so like yourself, Miss,” exclaimed Dame Hobby. “They said as how the vicar had got you to go into a monkery that he might spend your money to pay for his fripperies in the church, his candles, and that smoky stuff, and his pictures and gold-embroidered dresses, and flags and crosses, and all they singing men and women, and dressing up the little boys, as if God cared for such things, or they could make us love Him and serve Him better, for that’s my notion of what religion should do. The Bible says we can go straight to God through Jesus Christ, and pray to Him as our Father; and all these things seem to me only to stand in the way; and when we want to be praying, we are instead looking about at the goings on, and listening to the music. ’Tisn’t that I haven’t a respect for the parson and the church; but when I go to church, I go to pray and to hear God’s word read and explained from the pulpit in a way simple people can understand.”Clara found much the same opinions expressed by all she visited. The general came every day to see her, to strengthen and support her. His conversation had a very good effect on Miss Pemberton, whose eyes having once been opened to the tendencies of the ritualistic system, she was enabled to see it in its true light. She resolved to have nothing more to say to Mr Lerew, and to refuse to receive him, should he call. Soon after Clara returned home he had started on a tour to collect funds for his college, and as he was absent, Clara was saved from the annoyance she had expected. The general was fortunately paying a visit to Clara and her aunt when Mr Lerew at length came to call on Miss Pemberton to enquire why she had not during his absence attended church. It was agreed that it would be better to admit him. He tried to assume his usual unimpassioned manner as he entered the room; but the frown on his brow and his puckered lips showed his annoyance and anger. He had not had the early training which enables the Jesuit priest effectually to conceal his feelings. He had evidently heard that Clara had left the convent, as he showed no surprise at seeing her. He probably would have behaved very differently to what he did, had not the general been present. Shaking hands with all the party, he took a seat, and brushing his hat with his glove, cleared his throat, and then said, “I was afraid, Miss Pemberton, that you were ill, as you have not, I understand, favoured the church with your presence for the last two Sundays.”“I had my reasons for not going,” answered Miss Pemberton; “and I may as well tell you that I purpose in future not to attend your church, as I see clearly that your preaching and the system carried on there leads Romeward; and I have no wish to become a Romanist or to encourage others by my presence to run the risk of becoming so either.”“Romanist! Romanist!” exclaimed Mr Lerew; “I have no dealings with Rome; I don’t want my people to become Romanists.”“The proof of the pudding is in the eating, Mr Lerew,” answered Miss Pemberton, dryly. “I have expressed my resolution, and I hope to adhere to it.”Mr Lerew was not prepared with an answer; but turning to Clara, he said, “I trust, Miss Maynard, that though you have thought fit to abandon the sacred calling to which I had hoped you would have devoted yourself, you will still remain faithful to the Church.”“I cannot make any promise on the subject,” answered Clara, being anxious not to say anything to irritate the vicar. “I believe that I was before blinded and led away from the truth, when I was induced to enter the sisterhood of Saint Barbara, and I now desire to retrieve my error.”“I understand you, ladies,” exclaimed the vicar, losing command of his temper. “Remember that by deserting the Church you are guilty of the heinous crime of schism, for which, till repented of, there is no pardon here or hereafter. General Caulfield, I fear that you have much to answer for in having set the example in my parish; you will excuse me for saying so.”“It is you and those who side with you who are guilty of the schism of which you speak,” said the general, mildly. “The Church of England protests clearly against the errors of Rome; and you, by adopting many, if not all those errors, are virtually cutting yourself off from that Church, although you retain a post in it. But let me explain that the schism spoken of in the New Testament is the departing from the truth of the Gospel, and the practices it inculcates; in other words, those who leave Christ’s spiritual Church. My great object is to draw my fellow-creatures into that Church; to induce them to accept Christ as the Way, the Truth, and the Life; to persuade them to grasp that hand so lovingly stretched forth to lead them to the Father. I ignore the schism of which you speak, invented by the sacerdotalists to alarm the uneducated. You have my reply, Mr Lerew, and I wish you clearly to understand that I purpose, with God’s assistance, by every means in my power to make known the truth of the Gospel in this parish and in every place where false teaching prevails.”“Then I shall look upon you as a schismatic and a foe to our Church,” exclaimed Mr Lerew, rising.“I have already explained to you the true meaning of schism,” said the general, quietly, “and have particularly to request that all further discussion on this subject may cease. Miss Pemberton and her niece have expressed their sentiments, and you have long known mine. I trust that none of us will change; and anything further said on the subject can only cause annoyance.”Mr Lerew saw that he had lost his influence over Clara and her aunt, and not wishing to remain longer than he could help in the general’s society, quickly took his departure. He had not as yet seen Mr Lennard since his return, nor had he heard the cause of poor Mary’s death; he at once drove over to his house. Instead of the hearty manner Mr Lennard usually exhibited, he received his visitor with marked coldness. Mr Lerew was puzzled.“I am sorry that my absence from home has prevented me hitherto from calling on you,” he said; “but I rejoice to have you back, and I hope that you will assist at the celebrations in my church.”“I come to a sad home, deprived of my young daughter by death, and my son by his perversion to the Church of Rome,” answered Mr Lennard, gravely, not noticing the last remark. “I know that my child has left this world for a far better; but I cannot forget that the seeds of her disease were produced by the system practised at the school you recommended, Mr Lerew, as also that my son’s perversion was much owing to the instruction received from the tutor under whom, by your advice, I placed him. The daughter of my late friend Captain Maynard has happily escaped from the toils you threw around her; and though I am ready heartily to forgive the injuries you have inflicted on me, I feel myself called on to expose the traitorous efforts you and others with whom you are associated are making to uproot the Protestant principles of the Church. I believe that I am actuated by no hostile feeling towards yourself personally; but I will take every means in my power to put a stop to the practices which you pursue in your church.”“You acknowledge yourself, then, an enemy to me and to the Church!” exclaimed Mr Lerew, who felt braver in the presence of Mr Lennard, whom he considered a weak man, than he had in that of General Caulfield.“I desire not to be an enemy to you personally,” answered Mr Lennard, mildly; “but to your system, which is calculated to lead your flock fearfully astray, I am, and trust I shall ever remain, an inveterate foe.”In vain did Mr Lerew endeavour to win back his former dupe. Mr Lennard had clearly seen the chasm which divides the Protestant Church of England from the Romish system and its counterpart, Ritualism, and, as an honest man, he was not to be drawn over. Again defeated, the vicar of Luton-cum-Crosham had to take his departure. He still, however, found dupes to subscribe sufficient funds for the establishment of his college, and a Lady Superior of high ritualistic proclivities to take charge of it, and masters who, provided they got their stipends, cared nothing about the object of the institution. By putting out his candles and omitting some of the ceremonies at his church whenever the bishop or rural dean came to visit it, he was able to retain his living. By means of a plausible prospectus, he, with other ritualistic brethren, induced the parents and guardians of a number of young ladies, tempted by the moderate expense and advantages offered, to send them to the college, where, with the usual superficial accomplishments they received, their minds were thoroughly imbued with ritualistic principles. General Caulfield and Mr Lennard prevented several of their friends from being thus taken in. A good many people were staggered when they heard that the vicar’s wife and his patrons—Lady Bygrave and Sir Reginald—had become Romanists. They had all three lately set off for Rome itself, under the escort of the Abbé Henon. They were there received with due honour by the Pope, and had the satisfaction of hearing from the infallible lips of his Holiness that England would, ere long, be won from the power of the infidel Protestants, and restored to the bosom of the Catholic Church; and believing themselves to be not the least important members of the British race, they returned home to spread the joyful intelligence among those who were ready to believe them. The chapel erected in their park had almost as large a congregation as that of the parish church, especially as winter approached, and blankets and coals were liberally distributed among the worshippers.Clara, meantime, had pursued the even tenor of her way. Her aunt was greatly changed for the better; she had become kind and considerate to her, and frequently accompanied her in her visits among the poor and suffering in the wide district she had taken under her charge. Though Clara generally drove in her pony-carriage, she occasionally, when the distance was not too great, went on foot. She had one day thus gone out, carrying a basket stored with delicacies for several sick people, when, as she was proceeding along a sheltered lane, overhung with trees, she heard a quick footstep behind her. She turned her head and saw Harry. Her first impulse was to rush towards him—then for a moment she stopped. He held out his arms.“Can you forgive me for my folly, and the pain and grief I have caused you?” she exclaimed.“I have forgotten it all in the happiness of seeing you thus employed, exactly as I should wish,” he answered; “never let us speak about it; my father has told me all. You were ever dear to me, even when I thought that I had lost you. You have learned to distinguish the true from the false, and I shall never for a moment, in future, have the slightest fear that, seeking for guidance from above, you will mistake the one for the other.”The End.
On reaching Cheltenham, the general took Clara to the house of his sister-in-law, a Scotch lady, who received her with the most motherly kindness.
“I very well know the sort of glamour which has been thrown around you, my dear,” she said, “so that I can heartily sympathise with you; and I praise God that it has been removed. You can now therefore look with confidence for grace and strength from Him who is the giver of all good, to walk forward in the enjoyment of that true happiness which God in His mercy affords to His creatures. There is abundance of work for our sex, which can be carried out in a straightforward, Protestant, English fashion.”
“I shall be thankful to find it,” said Clara.
“You will not have long to wait, my dear,” answered Mrs Caulfield; “but at present you require being nursed yourself: you must let me take you in hand.”
As soon as the general had deposited Clara with his sister-in-law, he set off and paid his promised visit to Mary Lennard. On reaching Mrs Barnett’s establishment, he was shown into a handsome drawing-room, where that lady soon presented herself, under the belief that he had come to place a daughter with her. She bowed gracefully as she glided into a seat, and smilingly enquired the object of his visit.
“I have come to see Miss Mary Lennard, daughter of my particular friend, the Reverend John Lennard,” answered he.
“She is too ill, I regret to say, to see visitors,” answered the schoolmistress. “Had her father come, I of course should not have objected.”
“I am acting in the place of her father,” said the general, “and I must insist on seeing the young lady, who has, I understand, been made ill by a system of fasting and penances which all right-minded people must consider objectionable.”
“Sir, you astonish me,” exclaimed Mrs Barnett. “I should suppose that every clergyman would wish his daughter to fast on Fridays and other days ordered by the Church; and with regard to penances, such have been imposed by the priest to whom she has duly gone to confession.”
“Why, I thought this was a Protestant school,” exclaimed the general, astonished.
“That term I repudiate,” answered the lady. “I am a daughter of the Anglican Church, and as such I wish to bring up all my pupils.”
“You may act according to your conscience, but parents may differ from you as to whether you are right in compelling growing children to fast, as also in allowing them to confess to a person whom you call a priest,” answered the general. “I regret having to act in any way which is disagreeable to you, but I must insist, madam, with the authority given me by Mr Lennard, on seeing his daughter alone, and judging what steps I shall take.”
The lady hesitated; the general put Mr Lennard’s letter into her hand. She still hesitated.
“Have you any reason for wishing me not to see Mary?” he asked.
“She may appear worse than she really is,” said Mrs Barnett. “Our medical attendant has visited her daily.”
“That makes it more necessary for me to see her and judge for myself,” said the general, in a firm tone.
Mrs Barnett rang the bell, and a servant appearing, she told her to inform Miss Lennard that a friend of her father wished to see her.
“She isn’t able to get up, marm, I’m afraid,” was the answer.
“Then show me her room,” said the general, rising; and without waiting to hear Mrs Barnett’s remarks, he followed the servant, who led the way upstairs to a room containing four beds. A cough struck his ears as he entered. On one of the beds lay poor Mary; her once rosy cheek was pale and thin, and her large eyes unusually bright. She knew him at once, and stretching out both her hands, said, “I am glad to see you; but I thought papa would come.”
The general explained that Mr Lennard was prevented from doing what he wished.
“Then, will you take me away from this?” she asked, in a whisper; “I am sure that papa would do so. I am not happy here; but do not let Mrs Barnett know I said so.”
“If you can be removed without risk, I certainly will take you,” answered the general.
“Oh, yes, yes! I shall be well soon. I could get up now if they will give me my clothes,” exclaimed Mary.
The day was bright and warm; and as the general felt sure that Mary could be removed without danger, he determined to take her to his sister-in-law’s immediately.
“Take me! take me!” said Mary; “I feel quite strong enough, and the doctor said that there was nothing particularly the matter with me.”
Her eagerness to go was still further increased when she heard that she was to be taken care of by Clara Maynard.
“I thought that she had been shut up in a convent,” she exclaimed. “The girls here were saying that it is a very holy life, though I don’t know that there are many who wish to lead it; but I was very, very sorry to hear of Clara’s being a nun, because I thought that perhaps I might never see her again, and of all people I wondered that she should turn nun.”
“I trust that she has given up all intention of becoming one,” said the general; “but you will see her soon, and she will tell you what she thinks about the matter.”
The general then told the servant to assist Miss Lennard in dressing, while he went out to obtain a conveyance. On returning to the house, he desired again to see Mrs Barnett. The lady was somewhat indignant, and warned him that he must be responsible for the consequences of removing Miss Lennard.
“Of course I am, and I am taking her where she can be more carefully nursed than is possible in a school,” answered the general.
Mary was soon ready, and her box packed up. The thoughts of going away restored her strength, and she walked downstairs without difficulty. The general carefully wrapped her up, and telling her to keep the shawl over her head and mouth, lifted her into the carriage. They had but a short distance to go. Clara was delighted to find that Mary was to remain; but on perceiving how ill the poor girl evidently was, she felt very sad. Mary was, however, not at all the worse for being removed, and Mrs Caulfield immediately sent for her own medical man to see her. He looked very grave, but gave no decided opinion. “She has been poorly fed, and her mind overtaxed for one so young,” he remarked. “We must see what proper care and nourishment will effect; but I must not disguise from you that I am anxious about her.”
Clara begged that Mary might be placed in her bed, while she occupied a small camp-bed at its foot.
“But you will have no room to turn,” observed Mrs Caulfield.
“It is wider and far softer than the one to which I have been accustomed,” she answered, smiling, “and I shall be much happier to be near Mary than away from her.”
Clara had now ample occupation in attending on her sick friend, though Mrs Caulfield insisted on her driving out every day, and advised her to receive the visits of several friends who called. With the consciousness that she was of essential use to Mary, her own spirits returned and her health improved. The rest of her time was spent in working, or reading to Mary, or playing and singing to her. The healthy literature the general procured for Mary benefited Clara as much as it did her friend; it was an invigorating change from the monastic legends and similar works which were alone allowed to be perused in the convent. She thought it better not to say much about her own life there; but Mary was not so reticent with regard to her school existence. The only books allowed to be read were those written by priests, ritualists, or Roman Catholics. “The books were mostly very dull,” said Mary; “but as we had no others, we were glad to get them. Then a clergyman came, who told us that we were all very sinful, but that when we came to him at confession he would give us absolution; and as we thought that very nice, we did as he advised us; but I did not at all like the questions he put; some of them were dreadful, and I know he said the same to the other girls. Still, as we were kept very strict in school, we were glad to get out to church as often as we could; there was the walk, which was pleasant in fine weather; and then we could look at the people who were there, and the music was often very fine, and the sermon was never very long; and sometimes the young gentlemen used to come and sit near us, and talk to the elder girls when no one was looking—at least, we thought they were young gentlemen, but, as it turned out, they were anything but such. One of them, especially, used to give notes to one of the girls, and she wrote others in return, and we thought it very romantic, and of course no one would tell Mrs Barnett of it. At last, one day, we thought that the girl had gone into confession; but instead of joining us she slipped out of the church at a side door, where her lover was waiting to receive her. Away they went by the train to a distance, where they were married, and could not be found for some time. At last they came back, when it was discovered that the young man was the son of a small tradesman in the place, though he had pretended that he had a good fortune and excellent prospects. Mrs Barnett was horrified, and tried to hush matters up, and I believe the parents of the girl did not like to expose her for their own sakes. I know that I and the rest were very wrong in our behaviour, and I will not excuse myself, except to say that everything was done to make us hypocrites. Religion was very much talked about on Sundays and saints’ days; but I have learnt more of the Gospel since I came here, from you and dear General Caulfield, than I ever knew before.”
Clara sighed as she thought how little she herself had known till lately.
“You had better not talk any more about your school,” she said; “let us speak rather about what we read, and things of real importance.”
Clara had become very much alarmed about Mary. Wholesome and regular food, and gentle exercise in the carriage when the weather was fine, somewhat restored her strength; but there was the hectic spot on her check, and the brightness of the eyes, which too surely told of consumption. Mr Lennard at length arrived; he looked much depressed, and was shocked at seeing the change in his daughter. He had a most unsatisfactory account to give of his son, whom he had searched for for some time in vain. At last he discovered that the young gentleman had been formally received into the Romish Church, and that his friend the priest was concealing him somewhere in London. The poor father found out where his son was through a letter which was forwarded from Luton, in which the youth asked for a remittance for his support, as he had expended all his means, and could not longer, he observed, encroach on the limited stipend of his friend, Father Lascelles. Mr Lennard, still hoping that it might be possible to win back the youth, wrote entreating him to return home, and on his declining to do this, he offered to let him continue his course at Oxford, that he might fit himself for entering one of the learned professions. After a delay of two or three days, Alfred wrote saying that he had applied to his bishop, who would not consent to his doing so, and that as he was now under his spiritual guidance, he must obey him rather than a heretic father.
“You will pardon me for calling you so,” continued Master Alfred; “but while you remain severed from the one true Church, such you must be in the eyes of all Catholics, one of whom I have become.”
“I was too much grieved to laugh, as I might otherwise have done, at the boy’s impertinence,” observed Mr Lennard to the general; “but as I look upon him as deceived by artful men, I cannot treat him with the rigour he deserves. What do you recommend, general?”
“We must, if possible, get him to come home, and then put the truth clearly before him,” remarked the general.
“I am afraid that I cannot say enough to induce him to change,” said Mr Lennard, with a deep sigh.
“We must have recourse, whatever we do, to earnest prayer,” observed the general. “I cannot suppose that your son’s mind is already so completely perverted as to be impregnable to the truth.”
“Alas, it is not for so short a time,” answered Mr Lennard; “the seed was sown by the tutor with whom he spent a year or more, and finally matured by this same Father Lascelles and his tutor at college. He is the very man with whom Mr Lerew read, I find. I wonder that he was not the means of his older pupil’s perversion.”
“Mr Lerew is not so honest a man as your son,” answered the general; “Mr Lerew was about to take orders, and would prove a useful tool, while it was more prudent to secure your son at once, as he, it was supposed, would inherit your property. I wish that I could offer you consolation; but I fear that you would consider me a Job’s comforter at the best.”
Mr Lennard had come hoping to take Mary home; but she appeared scarcely able to undertake so long a journey, and Clara confessed that she herself was unwilling to return as yet to Luton. Poor Mr Lennard was nearly heart-broken on hearing from the doctor that he thought very badly of Mary’s case.
“Could I not take her abroad, to Madeira, or the south of France?” he asked.
“It would be, I feel confident, useless,” was the melancholy answer; “had she strength to stand the journey, her life might possibly be prolonged for a few weeks; but she would probably lose more by the exertion of travelling than she would gain by the change. Here she is under loving care, and we may alleviate her sufferings.”
Some more weeks wore by, and Mary grew worse. Mr Lennard felt, what some parents do not, that it was his duty, though a painful one, to tell his daughter that her days were numbered, and at the same time to afford her such comfort as, according to his knowledge, he could. He gently broke the subject.
“I know it,” she answered. “I asked Clara if she thought I was dying, and she told me that the doctor said I could not recover; but, dear papa, I am prepared to go away to One who loves me, though I am sorry, very sorry, to leave you, and Clara, and the general, and those who have been kind to me.”
The tears were falling from Mr Lennard’s eyes.
“You have been a dear good girl, and have enjoyed the blessing of baptism, and have been confirmed, and have received the sacrament; you shall receive it again if you wish, and I hope that God will take you to heaven.”
“Oh, dear, dear papa, don’t speak so,” answered Mary; “I know that I am a wretched sinner; I have done nothing to merit God’s love and mercy; but I know that Jesus Christ died for me, and that His blood cleanseth from all sin; and, trusting to Him, I am sure that He will receive me in the place He has gone before to prepare for those who love Him. I have faith in Christ; that is my happiness, hope, and confidence. I am not afraid to die, for I know that He will be with me through the shadow of the valley of death.”
Mr Lennard gazed at her, unable to speak. He could not ask her further questions, but was revolving in his own mind the meaning of what she had said. She had no confidence in any of the objects which he had been accustomed to present to the minds of the dying, if he believed them to be good Churchmen, and if not, he had always urged them to repent of their sins and to take the sacrament, in the hope that thus God might receive them into heaven. Mary’s remarks had brought new light to his soul; she trusted solely to theall-finished workof Christ, to whom she looked as her Saviour, with full assurance that He would welcome her to heaven. She thought not, she spoke not, of any of the rites and ceremonies in which he had trusted himself, and had taught others to trust, rather than to the blood of the Atonement. She did not ask even him, her father, and, as he had fancied himself, a priest, to offer a prayer on her behalf. No, she was resting joyfully on Christ as her all-sufficient Saviour.
“I see it all now,” he said, half aloud; “it is this of which the general has been speaking to me lately, but which I did not comprehend.”
“Yes, dear papa; Jesus did it all long ago; He saved me then, and I am trusting in Him; that makes me so happy, so very happy,” exclaimed Mary.
“I believe as you do,” answered Mr Lennard; “would that I had known and taught your poor brother the same truth! it would have prevented him from falling into the toils of Rome.”
“We can pray for him, that he may be rescued from them,” said Mary.
“I wished to make him a sound Churchman, and taught him that there is but one true Church, and that that is the Church of England; and miserable has been the result,” said Mr Lennard.
“Alfred may be brought back. God will hear our united prayers,” whispered Mary.
“I cannot pray with faith that my prayer will be answered,” he murmured. “I did my utmost to instil the belief into him, and he has ever since been with those who have done their utmost to forward the same notion.”
Mary now became her father’s comforter. She lingered with those who loved her for some time longer, proving an especial blessing to Clara, who had, as her ever-watchful nurse, constant employment and occupation for her thoughts and feelings. The general remained with his sister, and afforded Clara that instruction and guidance she so much needed, while he put into her hands such books as were best calculated to strengthen her mind and to do away with all traces of that mysticism which she had imbibed both before and during her life in the convent. With clearer perceptions of truth than she had ever before enjoyed, she was now better able to perform her duties in life. She had written to her aunt, saying that she hoped some day to return home, but was at present employed in nursing her young friend Mary Lennard, whom she could not at present leave; but she did not think it necessary to speak of her escape from the convent, or to enter into other particulars, so that Miss Pemberton remained in ignorance of her change of opinions.
Mr Lennard had twice gone away in the hope of meeting his son and inducing him to attend the death-bed of his sister; but the priests, who were well-informed of the religious opinions of those who had taken charge of Mary, made him send various excuses, and poor Mary was deprived of the satisfaction of seeing her brother again. When Mr Lennard returned, Mary had become much weaker, and she could only whisper, “Pray for poor Alfred; don’t be angry with him—he may be brought back;” and her young spirit went to be with the Saviour in whom she trusted. Clara aided the general in comforting their friend.
The bereaved father found peace at last; but often before that, in the bitterness of his heart, he would exclaim, “It was that school, that abominable system of fasting and penance, and that accursed confessional, which killed her; and to have my poor weak misguided boy carried off and enslaved body and soul by those wolves in sheep’s clothing, it is more than I can bear! It was I—I alone, who in my blindness and ignorance and folly exposed them to the malign influences which have caused their destruction. I have been the murderer of my children!”
A few days after Mary’s funeral, Clara, with the general and Mr Lennard, returned to Luton. Miss Pemberton received her niece with a look of astonishment.
“Why, I expected to see you dressed as a nun, Clara,” she exclaimed; “have you given up your vocation? Dear me! Mr Lerew will be very much disappointed; he fully expected that you would devote your fortune to Saint Agatha’s.”
“I will explain matters to you, aunt, by-and-by,” answered Clara, not wishing on her first arrival at home to enter into any discussion. “I hope that you have not felt yourself very solitary during my long absence.”
“As to that, I can’t say I have been very lively, for the whole neighbourhood is divided, and because I go to church and confession, all of your father’s old friends have ceased to call on me; but of late I have begun to think that they are not altogether wrong. I must acknowledge that since Sir Reginald and Lady Bygrave, and Mrs Lerew, and two or three other people turned Catholics, my confidence in the vicar and the High Church has been a little shaken. Mrs Lerew wanted me to turn too; but I was not going to do that, and even the vicar did not advise it, though he said he couldn’t help his wife going over; for if so many went, people’s suspicions would be aroused, and he should be unable to establish his college.”
“I am truly thankful that you did not go over,” answered Clara. “I have learnt a good deal about the Ritualists of late, and I am very sure that their tendency is towards Rome. I have one favour to ask, that is, should Mr Lerew call, that you will not admit him, as it would be painful to me to see him again, for I cannot receive him as a friend.”
“Why, have you found out anything about him?” asked Miss Pemberton, her conscience accusing her.
“There is much, aunt, to which, I object in him,” answered Clara, firmly.
“Well, I don’t wish you to be annoyed, my dear, in any way,” said Miss Pemberton; “and, in truth, I suspect that he wanted to get hold of your fortune for his new college. If he finds that he has no chance of that, I don’t think he will trouble you much.”
“I would rather not think about him in any way,” said Clara; “and do pray tell me how Widow Jones and Mrs Humble and her blind daughter, and the poor Hobbies, with their idiot boy, are getting on. I must go and see them and my other friends as soon as possible.”
Clara then went on to make further enquiries about her poorer neighbours, and was grieved to find that her aunt had not troubled herself about them during her absence.
“It was all my fault,” she said to herself; “I was placed here to help them, and I have neglected that very clear duty by giving way to delusive fancies.”
Clara lost no time in carrying out her intentions, and was received with a hearty welcome wherever she went. Very frequently remarks were made which showed her that the poor had a clearer perception of the tendencies of the ritualistic system than she herself had previously possessed.
“We be main glad to see you again looking so like yourself, Miss,” exclaimed Dame Hobby. “They said as how the vicar had got you to go into a monkery that he might spend your money to pay for his fripperies in the church, his candles, and that smoky stuff, and his pictures and gold-embroidered dresses, and flags and crosses, and all they singing men and women, and dressing up the little boys, as if God cared for such things, or they could make us love Him and serve Him better, for that’s my notion of what religion should do. The Bible says we can go straight to God through Jesus Christ, and pray to Him as our Father; and all these things seem to me only to stand in the way; and when we want to be praying, we are instead looking about at the goings on, and listening to the music. ’Tisn’t that I haven’t a respect for the parson and the church; but when I go to church, I go to pray and to hear God’s word read and explained from the pulpit in a way simple people can understand.”
Clara found much the same opinions expressed by all she visited. The general came every day to see her, to strengthen and support her. His conversation had a very good effect on Miss Pemberton, whose eyes having once been opened to the tendencies of the ritualistic system, she was enabled to see it in its true light. She resolved to have nothing more to say to Mr Lerew, and to refuse to receive him, should he call. Soon after Clara returned home he had started on a tour to collect funds for his college, and as he was absent, Clara was saved from the annoyance she had expected. The general was fortunately paying a visit to Clara and her aunt when Mr Lerew at length came to call on Miss Pemberton to enquire why she had not during his absence attended church. It was agreed that it would be better to admit him. He tried to assume his usual unimpassioned manner as he entered the room; but the frown on his brow and his puckered lips showed his annoyance and anger. He had not had the early training which enables the Jesuit priest effectually to conceal his feelings. He had evidently heard that Clara had left the convent, as he showed no surprise at seeing her. He probably would have behaved very differently to what he did, had not the general been present. Shaking hands with all the party, he took a seat, and brushing his hat with his glove, cleared his throat, and then said, “I was afraid, Miss Pemberton, that you were ill, as you have not, I understand, favoured the church with your presence for the last two Sundays.”
“I had my reasons for not going,” answered Miss Pemberton; “and I may as well tell you that I purpose in future not to attend your church, as I see clearly that your preaching and the system carried on there leads Romeward; and I have no wish to become a Romanist or to encourage others by my presence to run the risk of becoming so either.”
“Romanist! Romanist!” exclaimed Mr Lerew; “I have no dealings with Rome; I don’t want my people to become Romanists.”
“The proof of the pudding is in the eating, Mr Lerew,” answered Miss Pemberton, dryly. “I have expressed my resolution, and I hope to adhere to it.”
Mr Lerew was not prepared with an answer; but turning to Clara, he said, “I trust, Miss Maynard, that though you have thought fit to abandon the sacred calling to which I had hoped you would have devoted yourself, you will still remain faithful to the Church.”
“I cannot make any promise on the subject,” answered Clara, being anxious not to say anything to irritate the vicar. “I believe that I was before blinded and led away from the truth, when I was induced to enter the sisterhood of Saint Barbara, and I now desire to retrieve my error.”
“I understand you, ladies,” exclaimed the vicar, losing command of his temper. “Remember that by deserting the Church you are guilty of the heinous crime of schism, for which, till repented of, there is no pardon here or hereafter. General Caulfield, I fear that you have much to answer for in having set the example in my parish; you will excuse me for saying so.”
“It is you and those who side with you who are guilty of the schism of which you speak,” said the general, mildly. “The Church of England protests clearly against the errors of Rome; and you, by adopting many, if not all those errors, are virtually cutting yourself off from that Church, although you retain a post in it. But let me explain that the schism spoken of in the New Testament is the departing from the truth of the Gospel, and the practices it inculcates; in other words, those who leave Christ’s spiritual Church. My great object is to draw my fellow-creatures into that Church; to induce them to accept Christ as the Way, the Truth, and the Life; to persuade them to grasp that hand so lovingly stretched forth to lead them to the Father. I ignore the schism of which you speak, invented by the sacerdotalists to alarm the uneducated. You have my reply, Mr Lerew, and I wish you clearly to understand that I purpose, with God’s assistance, by every means in my power to make known the truth of the Gospel in this parish and in every place where false teaching prevails.”
“Then I shall look upon you as a schismatic and a foe to our Church,” exclaimed Mr Lerew, rising.
“I have already explained to you the true meaning of schism,” said the general, quietly, “and have particularly to request that all further discussion on this subject may cease. Miss Pemberton and her niece have expressed their sentiments, and you have long known mine. I trust that none of us will change; and anything further said on the subject can only cause annoyance.”
Mr Lerew saw that he had lost his influence over Clara and her aunt, and not wishing to remain longer than he could help in the general’s society, quickly took his departure. He had not as yet seen Mr Lennard since his return, nor had he heard the cause of poor Mary’s death; he at once drove over to his house. Instead of the hearty manner Mr Lennard usually exhibited, he received his visitor with marked coldness. Mr Lerew was puzzled.
“I am sorry that my absence from home has prevented me hitherto from calling on you,” he said; “but I rejoice to have you back, and I hope that you will assist at the celebrations in my church.”
“I come to a sad home, deprived of my young daughter by death, and my son by his perversion to the Church of Rome,” answered Mr Lennard, gravely, not noticing the last remark. “I know that my child has left this world for a far better; but I cannot forget that the seeds of her disease were produced by the system practised at the school you recommended, Mr Lerew, as also that my son’s perversion was much owing to the instruction received from the tutor under whom, by your advice, I placed him. The daughter of my late friend Captain Maynard has happily escaped from the toils you threw around her; and though I am ready heartily to forgive the injuries you have inflicted on me, I feel myself called on to expose the traitorous efforts you and others with whom you are associated are making to uproot the Protestant principles of the Church. I believe that I am actuated by no hostile feeling towards yourself personally; but I will take every means in my power to put a stop to the practices which you pursue in your church.”
“You acknowledge yourself, then, an enemy to me and to the Church!” exclaimed Mr Lerew, who felt braver in the presence of Mr Lennard, whom he considered a weak man, than he had in that of General Caulfield.
“I desire not to be an enemy to you personally,” answered Mr Lennard, mildly; “but to your system, which is calculated to lead your flock fearfully astray, I am, and trust I shall ever remain, an inveterate foe.”
In vain did Mr Lerew endeavour to win back his former dupe. Mr Lennard had clearly seen the chasm which divides the Protestant Church of England from the Romish system and its counterpart, Ritualism, and, as an honest man, he was not to be drawn over. Again defeated, the vicar of Luton-cum-Crosham had to take his departure. He still, however, found dupes to subscribe sufficient funds for the establishment of his college, and a Lady Superior of high ritualistic proclivities to take charge of it, and masters who, provided they got their stipends, cared nothing about the object of the institution. By putting out his candles and omitting some of the ceremonies at his church whenever the bishop or rural dean came to visit it, he was able to retain his living. By means of a plausible prospectus, he, with other ritualistic brethren, induced the parents and guardians of a number of young ladies, tempted by the moderate expense and advantages offered, to send them to the college, where, with the usual superficial accomplishments they received, their minds were thoroughly imbued with ritualistic principles. General Caulfield and Mr Lennard prevented several of their friends from being thus taken in. A good many people were staggered when they heard that the vicar’s wife and his patrons—Lady Bygrave and Sir Reginald—had become Romanists. They had all three lately set off for Rome itself, under the escort of the Abbé Henon. They were there received with due honour by the Pope, and had the satisfaction of hearing from the infallible lips of his Holiness that England would, ere long, be won from the power of the infidel Protestants, and restored to the bosom of the Catholic Church; and believing themselves to be not the least important members of the British race, they returned home to spread the joyful intelligence among those who were ready to believe them. The chapel erected in their park had almost as large a congregation as that of the parish church, especially as winter approached, and blankets and coals were liberally distributed among the worshippers.
Clara, meantime, had pursued the even tenor of her way. Her aunt was greatly changed for the better; she had become kind and considerate to her, and frequently accompanied her in her visits among the poor and suffering in the wide district she had taken under her charge. Though Clara generally drove in her pony-carriage, she occasionally, when the distance was not too great, went on foot. She had one day thus gone out, carrying a basket stored with delicacies for several sick people, when, as she was proceeding along a sheltered lane, overhung with trees, she heard a quick footstep behind her. She turned her head and saw Harry. Her first impulse was to rush towards him—then for a moment she stopped. He held out his arms.
“Can you forgive me for my folly, and the pain and grief I have caused you?” she exclaimed.
“I have forgotten it all in the happiness of seeing you thus employed, exactly as I should wish,” he answered; “never let us speak about it; my father has told me all. You were ever dear to me, even when I thought that I had lost you. You have learned to distinguish the true from the false, and I shall never for a moment, in future, have the slightest fear that, seeking for guidance from above, you will mistake the one for the other.”