Chapter Three.

Chapter Three.Clara was seated in the drawing-room. She had just written a long letter to Harry, in which she told him of the various events which had taken place in the neighbourhood. She wrote unreservedly, describing, among other persons, Mr and Mrs Lerew, and the constant attention and kindness they had shown her. She naturally spoke of the church, and of the various improvements, as she called them, which had been introduced. “Nothing can be more elegant than the reredos which our excellent vicar has erected at his own expense,” she wrote. “The altar, too, is beautifully adorned, and the music, considering the performers, is wonderfully good; for Mrs Lerew has taken great pains to instruct the choir, and we occasionally have a first-rate musician from London to lead them; while an air of solemnity pervades the service, both on Sundays and week-days, very different to anything we have before had in this neighbourhood.” She did not say that she went to confession, but she remarked that she derived great comfort from the spiritual advice of the vicar. The letter was closed ready for the post, when General Caulfield was announced. He came to bid her and her father a hurried farewell, as he had just been summoned by telegram to the north of England, to the bedside of a dying brother, whose executor he was, and he greatly feared that some time might elapse before he should be able to return.“I wish to suggest to you, my dear Clara, before I go,” he said, “that it will be well, in the position in which you are placed, to avoid too great an intimacy with the vicar and his wife, of whose constant visits to you I have heard. He may be, according to his own notions, a religious man, but he is not acting faithfully to the Church of which he is a minister. He has already made many innovations in this parish which are contrary to the spirit and practice of that Protestant Church, and, from what I hear and observe, he intends to make others; while he has openly pleached several Romish doctrines, and I see his name among the members of the Church Union, which avowedly repudiates Protestant principles. I am sure that Harry would give you the advice I do, and I deeply regret that I cannot remain to afford you any assistance you may require.”A blush rose on Clara’s brow. She could not openly express any disagreement with the general, but she thought he was harsh and illiberal in the opinion he had uttered. She replied that she had already written to Harry, and told him all about the church and the vicar, and hoped that he would not find any great fault with her.The general appeared satisfied. He remained but a short time with his poor friend, whom he believed that he should never again see on earth; for he remarked, what Clara had failed to do, the great change in her father’s countenance since his last visit. He took an affectionate farewell of his intended daughter-in-law and, not being aware of the influence the vicar had already obtained over her and her aunt, he did not further warn her against him. Still, he left her with some anxious forebodings, regretting the stern necessity which compelled him to be away from her at the time when his advice might be of so much importance. The general’s absence was felt by others in the parish; he was looked upon as the person best calculated, from his position and truly Christian character, to lead those desirous of opposing the ritualistic practices introduced by the new vicar, which were already making rapid progress. The general had been faithfully attached to the establishment; he had gone, as usual, to the parish church, in spite of the introduction of the surpliced choir, of “Hymns Ancient and Modern,” the richly adorned communion-table, and several other additions which had been cautiously introduced; but when he heard from the lips of the vicar the doctrine of transubstantiation clearly and unmistakably enounced, and afterwards saw him habited in a robe resembling that of a Romish priest elevate the elements, he felt compelled to absent himself, and on the next Sunday to attend the service at a Congregational chapel. He had, in in the meantime, expostulated with Mr Lerew, both personally and by letter, but had received only a curt and unsatisfactory reply. He had afterwards heard, from undoubted authority, that the doctrine of purgatory was taught to the schoolchildren; that prayers for the dead were offered up, as also prayers to the Virgin Mary; that the saints were invoked; that a font had been placed at the entrance of the church for the reception of holy water. A considerable number of the parishioners had for some time withdrawn themselves from the church; Lieutenant Sims had declared that he would never enter it to listen to Mr Lerew, after he had heard him say that the Bible was a dangerous book. Many sided with the lieutenant; others asserted that he must have misunderstood the vicar—he could not have uttered such an opinion; some even went so far as to say Mr Sims had through envy, hatred, and malice stated what he knew to be a falsehood. The lieutenant, supported by his wife, boldly adhered to what he had said; the parishioners were by the ears on the subject. Miss Pemberton had been appealed to, but declared she could not understand what Mr Lerew had said, and her evidence went rather against Mr Sims; but when candles and flowers appeared on the altar, and a rich cross rose above it, and the vicar, habited in new-fangled robes, turned his back on the congregation, the partisans of the gallant lieutenant increased, and each innovation introduced by the vicar brought Mr Sims a fresh accession of supporters. They talked seriously of building another church, and made arrangements to apply to the bishop; but it was found that both parties were so scattered over the two parishes, which were of very considerable extent, that their object was unattainable. While General Caulfield remained among them, he prevented the flame of discord from bursting forth. He allowed no angry word to escape his lips, but contented himself with simply preaching the Gospel, either in the Congregational Chapel on a week-day evening, or in a large barn he had hired and fitted up for the purpose of holding meetings. It was always full, and many came from the farther end of the parish. Calm and calculating as Mr Lerew generally was, he became excessively indignant on hearing of this; but he considered the general too important a person to be attacked personally, though he spoke everywhere in the strongest terms of his unwarrantable conduct, denominating him as a schismatic of the worst description. Great was his satisfaction when he heard that the general had gone away. He now fancied that he could carry on his proceedings without opposition. He was mistaken, however; for Lieutenant Sims and his party ceased not to protest against all he did; and petitions were sent to the bishop, who, however, if he did not encourage Mr Lerew’s proceedings, took no steps to put a stop to them. Mr Lennard was appealed to, but he declined to interfere, declaring that he saw nothing so very objectionable in the changes which had been made; and as to doctrines, the vicar of the parish was more likely to know what was right or wrong than the parishioners whom he came to teach.“In my opinion, our late vicar is as bad as the present one,” exclaimed Lieutenant Sims; “but how the poor man, whom all thought so much of, has been so completely bamboozled is more than I can tell.”Mr Lerew had lately, by the advice of Lady Bygrave, designed a grand scheme. It was the establishment of a college or school for eighty young ladies in the parish, for whose accommodation handsome buildings were to be erected; and Lady Bygrave, with other ladies of consequence in the county, undertook to be patronesses. In his prospectus Mr Lerew dwelt especially on the importance of young ladies being carefully trained in religious principles, and removed from the pernicious influence of unauthorised instructors; whereas at Saint Agatha’s they would be placed under the direct superintendence of their lawful priests, and instructed in catholic doctrine. Lady Bygrave had already recommended as mother superior a lady of great piety and experience, and the teachers were to be sisters of the community of Saint Mary the Virgin, in the neighbouring town of Bansfield, who were celebrated for their truly religious and self-denying lives. The young ladies, thus judiciously trained, would, it was hoped, become the mothers of England’s future legislators, and materially contribute to the establishment of catholic principles throughout the land. Mr Lerew had, however, another prospectus more generally circulated among those of whose principles he was uncertain, and in which he simply set forth that an excellent first-class school was about to be established for the benefit of their own and neighbouring counties, and asking for subscriptions and support to so desirable an institution. Subscriptions, however, did not come in with the same rapidity as he had hoped, and he saw that he must employ other means for raising the necessary funds. Mrs Lerew wrote to all her more wealthy acquaintances, and Lady Bygrave was, as usual, most liberal. Few of the parishioners would subscribe, with the exception of some of the principal tradesmen, who hoped to do business with the new establishment, Mr Rowe, an apothecary, who expected to be employed as medical attendant, and the solicitor who had been engaged in making the legal arrangements.People had begun to grow suspicious of the vicar, and even of Lady Bygrave, in consequence of the long stay at the Hall of the abbé and Father Lascelles. Lady Bygrave did her utmost to maintain her popularity by incessantly driving about and visiting the houses of the better-to-do people and the cottages of the poor, much as she would have done on an electioneering canvass. She was, of course, politely received by all classes; but though she won over some, a large number of people were too sound Protestants to be influenced by her plausible and attractive manners. It would have been happy for poor Clara and her Aunt Sarah, had they been equally on their guard. Miss Pemberton, indeed, declared that whatever so charming a person as Lady Bygrave did must be right, and she now not only attended all the services at the church on Sundays and week-days, but induced Clara to accompany her. Though Clara went, she often felt that it was her duty to be watching by the bedside of her father; she, indeed, sometimes begged on that plea to remain at home.“But, my dear, your duties to God and the commands of our Holy Church are superior to those you owe to a human parent, and you should therefore not allow yourself to be influenced by the natural affections of your heart,” observed Miss Pemberton, using the argument she had previously learned from Mr Lerew.Clara had been absent at one of these week-day services, and the vicar had promised to call and have some conversation with her and her aunt, when on her return she observed an expression of subdued sorrow and alarm on the countenances of the servants.“Is my father worse?” she asked anxiously; and before any one could stop her, she rushed upstairs, and entered Captain Maynard’s room. She approached the bed. There was no movement—his eyes were closed, and the nurse was standing by the bedside—her father was dead. She knew it at once, and as she leant over him, she sank fainting on his inanimate body. Miss Pemberton, having learned the truth, quickly followed, and directed that she should be carried from the room. On the application of restoratives Clara revived; but scarcely had she returned to consciousness than Mr Lerew drove up to the door. Though he was told what had happened, he insisted on seeing Miss Maynard.“As a priest, I can afford her spiritual comfort and support,” he said, almost forcing his way in. Miss Pemberton, not daring to decline his visit, ushered him into Clara’s room. He took a seat by her side. He spoke softly and gently.“We must look at what has happened as a dispensation of heaven,” he remarked; “but though, unhappily, your father to the last refused the ordinances of our Church, I am fain to believe that he did so under malign influence, and from weakness of mind induced by sickness. It is a consolation to know that prayers continually offered in his behalf by a true votaress to the loving Mother of God can in time release him from the condition in which I fear he is placed. With what thankfulness you should receive this glorious doctrine, my dear Miss Maynard! what calm should it bring to your troubled heart! I will not fail, believe me, to offer the prayers of the Church for the same object; and if you did but consider their efficacy, you would cease to mourn as you now do.”Poor Clara was too completely overwhelmed by grief to understand the meaning of what the vicar said, though she heard the words issuing from his mouth.“I will relieve you,” he continued, “from all the painful arrangements connected with the funeral, in conjunction with your aunt, whom I will now join in the drawing-room.”“Oh! thank you! thank you!” exclaimed Clara, between her sobs. “I shall be most grateful—do whatever you think best.”Mr Lerew retired; and after a conversation of some length with Miss Pemberton he drove away. Clara—so absorbing was her grief—could with difficulty regain her power of thought. She felt alone in the world. Had General Caulfield been at home, she would have had him to consult; but she had no confidence in her Aunt Sarah’s judgment, though she had of late been more guided by her than she was aware of.“Our excellent vicar and I have arranged everything,” said Miss Pemberton, on entering the room some time afterwards; “so do not further trouble yourself about the matter.”Clara expressed her thanks to her aunt. Completely prostrate, she remained in bed. Workmen sent by the vicar came to the house, and were employed for some time in her father’s room. She dared not inquire what they were about. At length she arose and dressed. She felt a longing desire once more to gaze on those dear features. She inquired whether she might go to the room.“Oh, yes, miss,” was the answer. “It’s all done up on purpose, and looks so grand.”She hurried on, and, entering, what was her astonishment to find the room draped in black, the windows closed, and several long wax candles arranged round the bed on which her father’s body lay, dressed in his naval uniform. She approached, and leant over the bed, on which, after standing gazing at his features for some minutes, she sank down with her arms extended, almost fainting. At that instant the vicar appeared at the doorway.“What a lovely picture!” he whispered, as if to himself; “can anything surpass it?”Clara heard him, and had still strength sufficient to rise.“We have done what we can to do honour to your father,” he said, advancing and taking her hand. “Had General Caulfield been present, we should have been prevented from making these arrangements; and I lay all the blame of Captain Maynard’s neglect of the sacred ordinances on him, as I am sure it will be laid at the day of judgment; therefore, my sweet young lady, I would urge you to mourn not as those without hope. I come to console and sympathise with you. Let me lead you from the room, as others are anxious to pay their last respects to your parent; it will be trying to your feelings to receive them.”Clara submitted, and was led by the vicar into the drawing-room, where she found her aunt. Mr Lerew now became more cheerful in his conversation, and spoke of his new college, and of a society of Anglican sisters of mercy, in which he was deeply interested. He enlarged on their pious, self-denying labours, so admirably adapted to distract the minds of the sorrowing from worldly cares and the thoughts of the past, and the charming qualities of the lady superior, and of the calm happiness enjoyed by all under her rule.“You will find subjects for consideration in these volumes,” said Mr Lerew, taking two books from his pocket; “the one describes fully the joys of a religious life, and the other points out to you rules for your daily government. Your aunt has already several works I left with her some time ago, to which I would also draw your attention; and may they prove a blessing to your soul.”Saying this, the vicar took his leave. In the meantime several persons had come to the house; and scarcely had the vicar left the room than the voice of Mr Sims was heard exclaiming, “By whose authority, I should like to know, has the death-bed of my poor friend been surrounded by those popish play-acting mummeries which I witnessed just now? He was one of the last men on earth who would have sanctioned such proceedings.”“Sir, sir!” exclaimed Mr Lerew in an angry tone, “I scarcely understand your meaning; but if you allude to the arrangements in the chamber of death above, I have to inform you that they were made by those who had ample authority for doing as they thought right; and I have to add that I consider your remarks indecorous and highly impertinent.”“I differ with you on that point,” answered the lieutenant, restraining his anger; “and I only hope my poor friend’s daughter has had nothing to do with the matter. It signifies very little to him, or I believe he’d get up and capsize all the candles, and cut down the black cloth rigged round his bed. Why, I’m as sure as I am of my own existence that he died like a true Christian, and is now in the glorious realms of the blest, or I don’t know what the Gospel means. What does he want with all that black stuff round him? It’s just robbing the orphan to put money in the pockets of the undertakers. And now you’ve got my opinion, I’ll wish you good morning;” and Mr Sims walked out of the house, leaving the vicar fuming and boiling with unwonted rage.Mr Sims had intended leaving a message expressive of his and his wife’s sympathy for poor Clara; but his indignation at what he had witnessed very naturally threw everything else out of his head. He notwithstanding attended Captain Maynard’s funeral, which was conducted with more ceremonies than had ever yet taken place in the parish. Numerous carriages followed the hearse, and the procession formed in the church walked after the coffin, the individuals forming it surrounding the grave, chanting a requiem as the coffin was committed to its last resting-place.The vicar had kept secret the last interview he had had with Captain Maynard, who, he let it be supposed, had gone through all the required ordinances of the Church before the last seizure, which had deprived him of the power of speech. Those who knew the captain best averred that he would never have consented to the performance in his presence of any Romish ceremony, and that the vicar had some object in view in allowing the idea to get abroad. The parish became more divided than ever, but the original cause of dispute held its ground, and those who sided with the vicar would no longer visit or speak to those who believed that he had declared the Bible to be a dangerous book.Clara’s grief for the loss of her father was sincere and deep. Her nature was one requiring such consolation as a sympathising friend could afford. Her aunt was never sympathising or gentle, and she had become still less so since she had attended the frequent services of the Church. Early rising did not suit her constitution; but though she thoroughly disliked it, she considered it her duty to induce her niece to accompany her.Thus time went on at Luton. General Caulfield was detained in the North; he wrote frequently to Clara. Not aware of the influences to which she was exposed, he did not mention the vicar, and failed to caution her, as he otherwise would have done. She, knowing his opinions, did not venture to tell him all that was occurring, though he saw by the tone of her letters that she was unhappy and ill at ease from some cause or other, besides the natural grief she felt for the loss of her father, and her anxiety about Harry. She had heard of his arrival, and that his regiment was ordered up the country, but she had received no answer to the letter she wrote, describing the services at the church, and the various changes introduced by the vicar. Her aunt had, in the meantime, become less agreeable and communicative even than before. She was constantly absorbed in the books lent her by Mr Lerew, and she very frequently drove over to the Vicarage to see him. Clara had at first felt but little interest in the two works he had presented to her; she had glanced over their pages, and was somewhat startled at the language used and the advice given in them, so different to that to which she had been accustomed. On one of his visits he inquired whether she had studied them, and she had to confess the truth. He then entreated her not to risk her spiritual welfare by any longer neglecting to read the works so calculated to advance it. She promised to follow his advice. Had Clara known more of the world, and possessed more self-reliance, her eyes might have been opened by what she read; but she wanted some one to lean on, and on her aunt’s judgment she had no reliance. The vicar appeared, from his position and serious manner, to be the person in whom she ought to confide. Had the general been at Luton, she would have gone to him; but she could not write what she might have spoken; and she finally gave herself up to the guidance of Mr Lerew, as her aunt had long since done.The following Sunday the communion was to be held, or, as the vicar expressed it, the Holy Eucharist was to be celebrated; “But,” he added, “I have made it a rule that I will administer it to none who have not made confession and received that absolution I am authorised to grant.”“I was not aware of that,” said Clara; “how long has that rule existed?”“I have only lately made it,” he replied, “and from it I cannot depart.”Clara hesitated; but her aunt, who had several times gone to confession, assured her that there was nothing in it very terrible, and overcame her scruples. Clara promised to go. It was held in the vestry, one person at a time only being admitted. The questions asked and the answers given cannot be repeated. Clara, as she knelt leaning on a chair in front of the priest, could with difficulty support herself; her heart felt bursting; she was nearly fainting; the colour mounted to her cheeks and brow; she could not lift her eyes from the ground towards the man who was questioning her. More than once she was inclined to rise and flee from the room rather than continue to undergo the mental torture she was suffering. Never afterwards did she look the vicar in the face. At length the ordeal was over, theTe absolvowas pronounced, and she, with trembling knees, hanging down her head, tottered to her pew by the side of her aunt, where she knelt to conceal her features, while uncontrollable sobs burst from her bosom.“What’s the matter?” whispered Miss Pemberton. “Take my smelling-bottle. Don’t let people hear you; they’ll fancy there must be something very dreadful.”The music that day was unusually good. Several first-rate performers had been engaged to attend, with three or four clergymen from various parts of the county. They, in their richest robes, glittering with embroidery, walked round the church. There were the acolytes with lighted candles, the thurifer, with the cross-bearer, and others carrying banners; while the organ played, and the fumes of incense filled the church. Clara’s agitation ceased, but no peace was brought to her soul. She returned home with her aunt, humbled and more wretched than she had ever before felt in her life.

Clara was seated in the drawing-room. She had just written a long letter to Harry, in which she told him of the various events which had taken place in the neighbourhood. She wrote unreservedly, describing, among other persons, Mr and Mrs Lerew, and the constant attention and kindness they had shown her. She naturally spoke of the church, and of the various improvements, as she called them, which had been introduced. “Nothing can be more elegant than the reredos which our excellent vicar has erected at his own expense,” she wrote. “The altar, too, is beautifully adorned, and the music, considering the performers, is wonderfully good; for Mrs Lerew has taken great pains to instruct the choir, and we occasionally have a first-rate musician from London to lead them; while an air of solemnity pervades the service, both on Sundays and week-days, very different to anything we have before had in this neighbourhood.” She did not say that she went to confession, but she remarked that she derived great comfort from the spiritual advice of the vicar. The letter was closed ready for the post, when General Caulfield was announced. He came to bid her and her father a hurried farewell, as he had just been summoned by telegram to the north of England, to the bedside of a dying brother, whose executor he was, and he greatly feared that some time might elapse before he should be able to return.

“I wish to suggest to you, my dear Clara, before I go,” he said, “that it will be well, in the position in which you are placed, to avoid too great an intimacy with the vicar and his wife, of whose constant visits to you I have heard. He may be, according to his own notions, a religious man, but he is not acting faithfully to the Church of which he is a minister. He has already made many innovations in this parish which are contrary to the spirit and practice of that Protestant Church, and, from what I hear and observe, he intends to make others; while he has openly pleached several Romish doctrines, and I see his name among the members of the Church Union, which avowedly repudiates Protestant principles. I am sure that Harry would give you the advice I do, and I deeply regret that I cannot remain to afford you any assistance you may require.”

A blush rose on Clara’s brow. She could not openly express any disagreement with the general, but she thought he was harsh and illiberal in the opinion he had uttered. She replied that she had already written to Harry, and told him all about the church and the vicar, and hoped that he would not find any great fault with her.

The general appeared satisfied. He remained but a short time with his poor friend, whom he believed that he should never again see on earth; for he remarked, what Clara had failed to do, the great change in her father’s countenance since his last visit. He took an affectionate farewell of his intended daughter-in-law and, not being aware of the influence the vicar had already obtained over her and her aunt, he did not further warn her against him. Still, he left her with some anxious forebodings, regretting the stern necessity which compelled him to be away from her at the time when his advice might be of so much importance. The general’s absence was felt by others in the parish; he was looked upon as the person best calculated, from his position and truly Christian character, to lead those desirous of opposing the ritualistic practices introduced by the new vicar, which were already making rapid progress. The general had been faithfully attached to the establishment; he had gone, as usual, to the parish church, in spite of the introduction of the surpliced choir, of “Hymns Ancient and Modern,” the richly adorned communion-table, and several other additions which had been cautiously introduced; but when he heard from the lips of the vicar the doctrine of transubstantiation clearly and unmistakably enounced, and afterwards saw him habited in a robe resembling that of a Romish priest elevate the elements, he felt compelled to absent himself, and on the next Sunday to attend the service at a Congregational chapel. He had, in in the meantime, expostulated with Mr Lerew, both personally and by letter, but had received only a curt and unsatisfactory reply. He had afterwards heard, from undoubted authority, that the doctrine of purgatory was taught to the schoolchildren; that prayers for the dead were offered up, as also prayers to the Virgin Mary; that the saints were invoked; that a font had been placed at the entrance of the church for the reception of holy water. A considerable number of the parishioners had for some time withdrawn themselves from the church; Lieutenant Sims had declared that he would never enter it to listen to Mr Lerew, after he had heard him say that the Bible was a dangerous book. Many sided with the lieutenant; others asserted that he must have misunderstood the vicar—he could not have uttered such an opinion; some even went so far as to say Mr Sims had through envy, hatred, and malice stated what he knew to be a falsehood. The lieutenant, supported by his wife, boldly adhered to what he had said; the parishioners were by the ears on the subject. Miss Pemberton had been appealed to, but declared she could not understand what Mr Lerew had said, and her evidence went rather against Mr Sims; but when candles and flowers appeared on the altar, and a rich cross rose above it, and the vicar, habited in new-fangled robes, turned his back on the congregation, the partisans of the gallant lieutenant increased, and each innovation introduced by the vicar brought Mr Sims a fresh accession of supporters. They talked seriously of building another church, and made arrangements to apply to the bishop; but it was found that both parties were so scattered over the two parishes, which were of very considerable extent, that their object was unattainable. While General Caulfield remained among them, he prevented the flame of discord from bursting forth. He allowed no angry word to escape his lips, but contented himself with simply preaching the Gospel, either in the Congregational Chapel on a week-day evening, or in a large barn he had hired and fitted up for the purpose of holding meetings. It was always full, and many came from the farther end of the parish. Calm and calculating as Mr Lerew generally was, he became excessively indignant on hearing of this; but he considered the general too important a person to be attacked personally, though he spoke everywhere in the strongest terms of his unwarrantable conduct, denominating him as a schismatic of the worst description. Great was his satisfaction when he heard that the general had gone away. He now fancied that he could carry on his proceedings without opposition. He was mistaken, however; for Lieutenant Sims and his party ceased not to protest against all he did; and petitions were sent to the bishop, who, however, if he did not encourage Mr Lerew’s proceedings, took no steps to put a stop to them. Mr Lennard was appealed to, but he declined to interfere, declaring that he saw nothing so very objectionable in the changes which had been made; and as to doctrines, the vicar of the parish was more likely to know what was right or wrong than the parishioners whom he came to teach.

“In my opinion, our late vicar is as bad as the present one,” exclaimed Lieutenant Sims; “but how the poor man, whom all thought so much of, has been so completely bamboozled is more than I can tell.”

Mr Lerew had lately, by the advice of Lady Bygrave, designed a grand scheme. It was the establishment of a college or school for eighty young ladies in the parish, for whose accommodation handsome buildings were to be erected; and Lady Bygrave, with other ladies of consequence in the county, undertook to be patronesses. In his prospectus Mr Lerew dwelt especially on the importance of young ladies being carefully trained in religious principles, and removed from the pernicious influence of unauthorised instructors; whereas at Saint Agatha’s they would be placed under the direct superintendence of their lawful priests, and instructed in catholic doctrine. Lady Bygrave had already recommended as mother superior a lady of great piety and experience, and the teachers were to be sisters of the community of Saint Mary the Virgin, in the neighbouring town of Bansfield, who were celebrated for their truly religious and self-denying lives. The young ladies, thus judiciously trained, would, it was hoped, become the mothers of England’s future legislators, and materially contribute to the establishment of catholic principles throughout the land. Mr Lerew had, however, another prospectus more generally circulated among those of whose principles he was uncertain, and in which he simply set forth that an excellent first-class school was about to be established for the benefit of their own and neighbouring counties, and asking for subscriptions and support to so desirable an institution. Subscriptions, however, did not come in with the same rapidity as he had hoped, and he saw that he must employ other means for raising the necessary funds. Mrs Lerew wrote to all her more wealthy acquaintances, and Lady Bygrave was, as usual, most liberal. Few of the parishioners would subscribe, with the exception of some of the principal tradesmen, who hoped to do business with the new establishment, Mr Rowe, an apothecary, who expected to be employed as medical attendant, and the solicitor who had been engaged in making the legal arrangements.

People had begun to grow suspicious of the vicar, and even of Lady Bygrave, in consequence of the long stay at the Hall of the abbé and Father Lascelles. Lady Bygrave did her utmost to maintain her popularity by incessantly driving about and visiting the houses of the better-to-do people and the cottages of the poor, much as she would have done on an electioneering canvass. She was, of course, politely received by all classes; but though she won over some, a large number of people were too sound Protestants to be influenced by her plausible and attractive manners. It would have been happy for poor Clara and her Aunt Sarah, had they been equally on their guard. Miss Pemberton, indeed, declared that whatever so charming a person as Lady Bygrave did must be right, and she now not only attended all the services at the church on Sundays and week-days, but induced Clara to accompany her. Though Clara went, she often felt that it was her duty to be watching by the bedside of her father; she, indeed, sometimes begged on that plea to remain at home.

“But, my dear, your duties to God and the commands of our Holy Church are superior to those you owe to a human parent, and you should therefore not allow yourself to be influenced by the natural affections of your heart,” observed Miss Pemberton, using the argument she had previously learned from Mr Lerew.

Clara had been absent at one of these week-day services, and the vicar had promised to call and have some conversation with her and her aunt, when on her return she observed an expression of subdued sorrow and alarm on the countenances of the servants.

“Is my father worse?” she asked anxiously; and before any one could stop her, she rushed upstairs, and entered Captain Maynard’s room. She approached the bed. There was no movement—his eyes were closed, and the nurse was standing by the bedside—her father was dead. She knew it at once, and as she leant over him, she sank fainting on his inanimate body. Miss Pemberton, having learned the truth, quickly followed, and directed that she should be carried from the room. On the application of restoratives Clara revived; but scarcely had she returned to consciousness than Mr Lerew drove up to the door. Though he was told what had happened, he insisted on seeing Miss Maynard.

“As a priest, I can afford her spiritual comfort and support,” he said, almost forcing his way in. Miss Pemberton, not daring to decline his visit, ushered him into Clara’s room. He took a seat by her side. He spoke softly and gently.

“We must look at what has happened as a dispensation of heaven,” he remarked; “but though, unhappily, your father to the last refused the ordinances of our Church, I am fain to believe that he did so under malign influence, and from weakness of mind induced by sickness. It is a consolation to know that prayers continually offered in his behalf by a true votaress to the loving Mother of God can in time release him from the condition in which I fear he is placed. With what thankfulness you should receive this glorious doctrine, my dear Miss Maynard! what calm should it bring to your troubled heart! I will not fail, believe me, to offer the prayers of the Church for the same object; and if you did but consider their efficacy, you would cease to mourn as you now do.”

Poor Clara was too completely overwhelmed by grief to understand the meaning of what the vicar said, though she heard the words issuing from his mouth.

“I will relieve you,” he continued, “from all the painful arrangements connected with the funeral, in conjunction with your aunt, whom I will now join in the drawing-room.”

“Oh! thank you! thank you!” exclaimed Clara, between her sobs. “I shall be most grateful—do whatever you think best.”

Mr Lerew retired; and after a conversation of some length with Miss Pemberton he drove away. Clara—so absorbing was her grief—could with difficulty regain her power of thought. She felt alone in the world. Had General Caulfield been at home, she would have had him to consult; but she had no confidence in her Aunt Sarah’s judgment, though she had of late been more guided by her than she was aware of.

“Our excellent vicar and I have arranged everything,” said Miss Pemberton, on entering the room some time afterwards; “so do not further trouble yourself about the matter.”

Clara expressed her thanks to her aunt. Completely prostrate, she remained in bed. Workmen sent by the vicar came to the house, and were employed for some time in her father’s room. She dared not inquire what they were about. At length she arose and dressed. She felt a longing desire once more to gaze on those dear features. She inquired whether she might go to the room.

“Oh, yes, miss,” was the answer. “It’s all done up on purpose, and looks so grand.”

She hurried on, and, entering, what was her astonishment to find the room draped in black, the windows closed, and several long wax candles arranged round the bed on which her father’s body lay, dressed in his naval uniform. She approached, and leant over the bed, on which, after standing gazing at his features for some minutes, she sank down with her arms extended, almost fainting. At that instant the vicar appeared at the doorway.

“What a lovely picture!” he whispered, as if to himself; “can anything surpass it?”

Clara heard him, and had still strength sufficient to rise.

“We have done what we can to do honour to your father,” he said, advancing and taking her hand. “Had General Caulfield been present, we should have been prevented from making these arrangements; and I lay all the blame of Captain Maynard’s neglect of the sacred ordinances on him, as I am sure it will be laid at the day of judgment; therefore, my sweet young lady, I would urge you to mourn not as those without hope. I come to console and sympathise with you. Let me lead you from the room, as others are anxious to pay their last respects to your parent; it will be trying to your feelings to receive them.”

Clara submitted, and was led by the vicar into the drawing-room, where she found her aunt. Mr Lerew now became more cheerful in his conversation, and spoke of his new college, and of a society of Anglican sisters of mercy, in which he was deeply interested. He enlarged on their pious, self-denying labours, so admirably adapted to distract the minds of the sorrowing from worldly cares and the thoughts of the past, and the charming qualities of the lady superior, and of the calm happiness enjoyed by all under her rule.

“You will find subjects for consideration in these volumes,” said Mr Lerew, taking two books from his pocket; “the one describes fully the joys of a religious life, and the other points out to you rules for your daily government. Your aunt has already several works I left with her some time ago, to which I would also draw your attention; and may they prove a blessing to your soul.”

Saying this, the vicar took his leave. In the meantime several persons had come to the house; and scarcely had the vicar left the room than the voice of Mr Sims was heard exclaiming, “By whose authority, I should like to know, has the death-bed of my poor friend been surrounded by those popish play-acting mummeries which I witnessed just now? He was one of the last men on earth who would have sanctioned such proceedings.”

“Sir, sir!” exclaimed Mr Lerew in an angry tone, “I scarcely understand your meaning; but if you allude to the arrangements in the chamber of death above, I have to inform you that they were made by those who had ample authority for doing as they thought right; and I have to add that I consider your remarks indecorous and highly impertinent.”

“I differ with you on that point,” answered the lieutenant, restraining his anger; “and I only hope my poor friend’s daughter has had nothing to do with the matter. It signifies very little to him, or I believe he’d get up and capsize all the candles, and cut down the black cloth rigged round his bed. Why, I’m as sure as I am of my own existence that he died like a true Christian, and is now in the glorious realms of the blest, or I don’t know what the Gospel means. What does he want with all that black stuff round him? It’s just robbing the orphan to put money in the pockets of the undertakers. And now you’ve got my opinion, I’ll wish you good morning;” and Mr Sims walked out of the house, leaving the vicar fuming and boiling with unwonted rage.

Mr Sims had intended leaving a message expressive of his and his wife’s sympathy for poor Clara; but his indignation at what he had witnessed very naturally threw everything else out of his head. He notwithstanding attended Captain Maynard’s funeral, which was conducted with more ceremonies than had ever yet taken place in the parish. Numerous carriages followed the hearse, and the procession formed in the church walked after the coffin, the individuals forming it surrounding the grave, chanting a requiem as the coffin was committed to its last resting-place.

The vicar had kept secret the last interview he had had with Captain Maynard, who, he let it be supposed, had gone through all the required ordinances of the Church before the last seizure, which had deprived him of the power of speech. Those who knew the captain best averred that he would never have consented to the performance in his presence of any Romish ceremony, and that the vicar had some object in view in allowing the idea to get abroad. The parish became more divided than ever, but the original cause of dispute held its ground, and those who sided with the vicar would no longer visit or speak to those who believed that he had declared the Bible to be a dangerous book.

Clara’s grief for the loss of her father was sincere and deep. Her nature was one requiring such consolation as a sympathising friend could afford. Her aunt was never sympathising or gentle, and she had become still less so since she had attended the frequent services of the Church. Early rising did not suit her constitution; but though she thoroughly disliked it, she considered it her duty to induce her niece to accompany her.

Thus time went on at Luton. General Caulfield was detained in the North; he wrote frequently to Clara. Not aware of the influences to which she was exposed, he did not mention the vicar, and failed to caution her, as he otherwise would have done. She, knowing his opinions, did not venture to tell him all that was occurring, though he saw by the tone of her letters that she was unhappy and ill at ease from some cause or other, besides the natural grief she felt for the loss of her father, and her anxiety about Harry. She had heard of his arrival, and that his regiment was ordered up the country, but she had received no answer to the letter she wrote, describing the services at the church, and the various changes introduced by the vicar. Her aunt had, in the meantime, become less agreeable and communicative even than before. She was constantly absorbed in the books lent her by Mr Lerew, and she very frequently drove over to the Vicarage to see him. Clara had at first felt but little interest in the two works he had presented to her; she had glanced over their pages, and was somewhat startled at the language used and the advice given in them, so different to that to which she had been accustomed. On one of his visits he inquired whether she had studied them, and she had to confess the truth. He then entreated her not to risk her spiritual welfare by any longer neglecting to read the works so calculated to advance it. She promised to follow his advice. Had Clara known more of the world, and possessed more self-reliance, her eyes might have been opened by what she read; but she wanted some one to lean on, and on her aunt’s judgment she had no reliance. The vicar appeared, from his position and serious manner, to be the person in whom she ought to confide. Had the general been at Luton, she would have gone to him; but she could not write what she might have spoken; and she finally gave herself up to the guidance of Mr Lerew, as her aunt had long since done.

The following Sunday the communion was to be held, or, as the vicar expressed it, the Holy Eucharist was to be celebrated; “But,” he added, “I have made it a rule that I will administer it to none who have not made confession and received that absolution I am authorised to grant.”

“I was not aware of that,” said Clara; “how long has that rule existed?”

“I have only lately made it,” he replied, “and from it I cannot depart.”

Clara hesitated; but her aunt, who had several times gone to confession, assured her that there was nothing in it very terrible, and overcame her scruples. Clara promised to go. It was held in the vestry, one person at a time only being admitted. The questions asked and the answers given cannot be repeated. Clara, as she knelt leaning on a chair in front of the priest, could with difficulty support herself; her heart felt bursting; she was nearly fainting; the colour mounted to her cheeks and brow; she could not lift her eyes from the ground towards the man who was questioning her. More than once she was inclined to rise and flee from the room rather than continue to undergo the mental torture she was suffering. Never afterwards did she look the vicar in the face. At length the ordeal was over, theTe absolvowas pronounced, and she, with trembling knees, hanging down her head, tottered to her pew by the side of her aunt, where she knelt to conceal her features, while uncontrollable sobs burst from her bosom.

“What’s the matter?” whispered Miss Pemberton. “Take my smelling-bottle. Don’t let people hear you; they’ll fancy there must be something very dreadful.”

The music that day was unusually good. Several first-rate performers had been engaged to attend, with three or four clergymen from various parts of the county. They, in their richest robes, glittering with embroidery, walked round the church. There were the acolytes with lighted candles, the thurifer, with the cross-bearer, and others carrying banners; while the organ played, and the fumes of incense filled the church. Clara’s agitation ceased, but no peace was brought to her soul. She returned home with her aunt, humbled and more wretched than she had ever before felt in her life.

Chapter Four.Monday morning brought Clara Harry’s looked-for letter. She hurried with it to her room. It was full of love and tenderness, but Harry expressed his regret at hearing of the changes which had been made in the church, and still more of the ritualistic practices of the new vicar.“I need scarcely urge you, dearest, not to be inveigled by them,” he continued, “as I have often said I cannot conceive a man in his senses marrying a girl who has submitted to the abominable confession—it must ultimately deprave her mind, and prevent her from placing that confidence in her husband which he has a right to expect; while it proves her ignorance of one of the most vital truths of our holy faith, that we have a High Priest in heaven, who knows our infirmities, and is touched by our sorrows, and who is more tender and loving than any human being, and is ever ready to receive those who come to Him. Oh! do warn any girls of your acquaintance not to yield to the sophistries which would persuade them that Christ allows a human being to stand in His stead between Himself and the sinner. It is one of the numberless devices of Satan to rob Him of the honour and love which are His due. We are told when we have offended a fellow mortal to confess our fault, and to ask pardon; but we are emphatically charged to confess our sins to God alone, trusting to the all-sufficient atonement made once for all for us by Christ on Calvary, and through His mediation we are assured of perfect forgiveness. These impious sacerdotalists, for the sake of gaining influence over the minds of those they hope to deceive, step in, and daringly arrogate to themselves the position which our loving Lord desires alone to hold. But I must not continue the subject—I know that it is not necessary to say this to you. Should you ever be perplexed, or require assistance, I am sure that you will apply to my kind and excellent father, who is ever anxious to treat you as a beloved daughter.”Clara read the letter with burning cheek.“Oh, what have I done!” she exclaimed; “I am unworthy of the confidence he places in me.” Directly afterwards she tried to find an excuse for herself. “Perhaps he is mistaken in his ideas; and Mr Lerew says that the general is a schismatic, and Harry has imbibed his views. I dare not refuse to obey the voice of the Church, and Mr Lerew tells me that that insists on confession before absolution can be granted, and without absolution we cannot partake of the Holy Eucharist.”Such was her line of thought, and she determined to try and persuade Harry to agree with her. She sat down and wrote to him, quoting several passages from the books lent to her by the vicar. She implored him seriously to consider the matter, and not to imperil his soul by refusing obedience to the Church. So eager did she become as she warmed in her subject, that she forgot to put in those affectionate expressions which her previous letter had contained. No sooner had the epistle been despatched than she began to regret having said some things in it and omitted others. She tried to think over its contents; as she did so she became more and more dissatisfied. At last she resolved to write another, to confess that she was sorry she had written the first, to tell Harry of her difficulties, and to ask his advice. Her aunt came in just as she had closed it, and offered to post it for her. That letter never reached its destination.Poor Clara, agitated by conflicting emotions, and all her previous opinions upset, at last thought of writing to General Caulfield, telling him of all her doubts and troubles, that perhaps he might see things in the light in which the vicar presented them. Miss Pemberton found the letter on the hall table, and suspecting its contents, took it to the vicar, who advised that it should not be forwarded. Clara in vain waited for a reply; no letters reached her from the general, and she ultimately came to the conclusion that he was so much offended with her for what she had said, that he would write no more.Week after week passed by, and no letter came from Harry.“Can he have cast me off because I show an anxiety about my spiritual welfare?” she exclaimed, somewhat bitterly to herself. “Mr Lerew must be right when he speaks of the bigotry of the Evangelical party.”Mr Lerew called the next day, and spoke pathetically of the trials to which the true sons and daughters of the Church must expect to be exposed; and left some tracts, which especially pointed out the holy delights of a convent life; one, indeed, declared that the only sure way by which a woman could avoid the trials and troubles of the present evil world and gain eternal happiness was by entering a convent and devoting herself to the service of religion. Clara read them over and over, and sighed often. Miss Pemberton expressed her high approval of them.“I am, indeed, my dear niece, contemplating myself becoming a Sister of Charity, and only regret that I was not led in early life to do so—how many wasted days of idleness and frivolity I might have avoided.” Miss Pemberton did not like to speak of years.The vicar, who had now become an almost daily visitor, just then appeared. He held forth eloquently on the subject of which the ladies had been speaking; a friend of his, a most charming, delightful person, was the Lady Superior of one of the oldest and most devoted sisterhoods which had been established in England since, as he expressed it, true Catholic principles had been revived in the Church, He was sure that no lady could do otherwise than rejoice to the end of her days, who should become a member of her community. The Sisters were employed in numerous meritorious works of charity; he had hoped that Miss Maynard would take an active part in Saint Agatha’s College; but some time must probably elapse before more than a very limited number of teachers could find occupation, and he besides doubted whether she would find the duties of an instructress suited to her taste.“I should not, I fear, find my powers equal to them,” answered Clara, humbly; “and yet I have a longing for some occupation in the service of the Church. Such means as I possess, however, I would gladly devote to the establishment of Saint Agatha’s.”“Ah, my dear young lady, I rejoice to hear you say that,” exclaimed Mr Lerew. “Whatever you give, you give to the Church, remember, and she has promised to repay you a hundredfold.”Mrs Lerew frequently called on Clara, as also did Lady Bygrave. Both spoke enthusiastically of the holy and happy life of Sisters of Mercy, and still more so of those nuns who gave themselves up to religious meditation. Lady Bygrave, especially, warmly pressed the subject on Clara’s consideration.“Were I young, I should certainly devote myself to a religious life; but as I am married, my husband might raise objections,” she remarked.Clara thought and thought on all she heard, and became more and more interested in the books her advisers put into her hands. She resolved, however, to wait before deciding till she received a letter from Harry. She could not easily give him up; and she hoped, when she should be his wife, to win him over to support the cause of the Church, which she persuaded herself would be as acceptable to Heaven as should she become a nun.While Clara had gone one day to return a visit from Lady Bygrave, Miss Pemberton received and opened the postbag. It contained a letter for Clara from India. She saw that it was from Harry. She turned it over several times.“I must obey my spiritual adviser,” she said to herself; “it can do the child no harm.”Replacing several other letters for Clara, she took this one up into her own room. She had been instructed how carefully to open letters by the vicar, for he had been at an English school, and having been taught in his boyhood to consider breaking the seal of another person’s letter a disgraceful act, was glad to escape it. After a little time she succeeded in reaching the enclosure. She glanced over the first portion.“A part of your letter, dearest one, though I delight in hearing from you, gave me great pain. I had hoped and believed that you were better grounded in the fundamental truths of the Gospel than to express yourself as you have done. You speak of Holy Church as if there were one visible establishment on earth which all are bound to obey, when Christ founded only one spiritual Church, on the great truth enunciated by Peter, that He was the Christ, the Son of the living God. From that time forward, throughout the whole of the New Testament, no other Church is spoken of. Churches or assemblies existed, founded by the apostles, but they were independent of each other, and were solely united by having one faith and one allegiance to one great head, Jesus Christ; but in such simple forms as were introduced for the convenience of public worship they materially differed from each other. Under the new covenant no material temple or worldly sanctuary exists; the old covenant had ordinances of divine service and of worldly sanctuary, but these, the apostle tells us, have waxed old and vanished away, Christ being come, the High Priest of good things to come, by a greater and more perfect tabernacle not made with hands; and he assures us that the only temple now existing is the spiritual Church of the living God. ‘Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? ye also as lively stones are built up a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices to God by Jesus Christ, whose house are ye, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone;’ and our Lord Himself tells us that where two or three are gathered together, even there is He in their midst. The priest, the sacrifice, the altar, and the temple of the old covenant were only types of the good things to come under the Gospel. When Christ ascended on high, all human priesthood was abolished; our only priestly mediator or intercessor is Jesus Christ, the one Mediator between God and men, who is the one righteous Advocate, the one ever-living Intercessor, and His glory will He not give to another, He who has once suffered for sinners, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God. The apostles themselves never assumed the character of priests; they pointed to the Great High Priest, Jesus Christ the righteous, and would have looked upon it as blasphemy for any man to presume to act as such. To our Great High Priest alone must we confess our sins; He is faithful and just to forgive all those their sins, who put faith in the all-cleansing power of His blood to absolve them. He, too, is One who knows our infirmities, and can sympathise with us, having been tempted as we are. With the Scriptures in our hands, we need no mortal man to declare this glorious truth to us; and knowing it, we can come boldly to the throne of grace, and He is ever ready to receive all who come to Him. All the forms and ceremonies, the embellishments which you describe, are but imitations of those of the Church of Rome, which are themselves taken from the ceremonies of the old heathen temples, with large admixtures from those of the Jews. From the earliest times, Satan has induced men to assume the character of priests, for the purpose of deceiving their fellow-creatures. The same spirit exists at the present day; and as he can become an angel of light in appearance, so may those men who thus blasphemously take the name of priests appear pure and holy in the sight of those whom they deceive. Let me entreat you, my beloved Clara, to break from the chains which have been thrown around you. Seek for grace and strength from above, and consult my kind father. Tell him frankly all that the vicar has endeavoured to teach you to believe, and I feel assured that he will thoroughly satisfy your mind.”Harry said more to the same effect.“It will never do for Clara to see this letter,” thought Miss Pemberton; “I must take it to Mr Lerew, and ascertain what he thinks.”She set off at once, that she might get to the vicarage and back before Clara’s return. The vicar read it with knitted brow.“You did right, my dear sister,” he said; “it might defeat all our plans. Far better commit it to the flames. Let me think—will you permit me to take possession of the letter? good may result from it; the end, as you know, my dear lady, sanctifies the means.”“Whatever you consider right, I of course will do,” said Miss Pemberton, giving the letter, which with the envelope the vicar put into his desk; and the lady hastened home.“It is the aunt’s doing, not mine,” he muttered to himself; “but were the poor girl to receive this abominable production, it might destroy the result of all the training I have given her. No priest! no sacrifice! no confession! no power of absolution! What would become of the Church—what of us—if such principles were to regain their ascendancy over the minds of the people? These abominable evangelical notions must be crushed by every means in our power, or the efforts which for years we have made to introduce Catholic doctrine would be utterly lost. We must get the girl without delay to enter a convent, and the sooner she is induced to do so the better.”Mr Lerew waited for some days before he paid Clara another visit. She had discovered that the Indian post had come in, and had brought her, as she supposed, no letter from Harry. She began to imagine all sorts of things; she saw that there were accounts of engagements with the hill-tribes—could he have gone up the country with a detachment of his regiment? or perhaps her letter had so offended him that he would not again write. Mr Lerew, when he called, perceived that she was very unhappy, and having drawn from her the cause of her grief, he assured her that there was but one way by which she could regain peace of mind, and insinuated that so bigoted a person as Captain Caulfield would in all probability discard her when he found that she was anxious to serve the Church. “It will prove a great trial to you, my dear sister,” he said; “but for such you must be prepared; and I would urge you to seek in the duties of a religious life that comfort and consolation you are sure to find.”Several weeks more went by, during which the vicar’s influence over poor Clara increased. No letter came from Harry or from his father.“He has discarded me,” exclaimed Clara. “I must seek for that peace and rest where alone, Mr Lerew assures me, I can find it, or I shall die.”The very next day, accompanied by Mr Lerew and his wife, Clara set off to the town of —, in the neighbourhood of which was situated Saint Barbara’s, as the convent was called. It had originally been a religious house, as the term is, and was encircled by a high wall, which enclosed the garden and outhouses. It was a dark, red brick, sombre pile, and the additions lately made to it had given it a thoroughly conventual appearance. The carriage drove under an archway in front of the entrance, closed on the outside, Mr Lerew got out and tugged at a large iron bell-pull, when a slide in the door was pulled back, and the face of a female, who narrowly scrutinised the visitors, appeared at the opening. Mr Lerew quickly explained their object; no further words were exchanged, and after a short delay the bars and bolts were withdrawn, and the door was opened sufficiently to allow him and his wife and Clara to pass through into a small hall, where they were left standing, while the portress by signs summoned two serving Sisters dressed in dark blue, with brass crosses at their necks, to bring in Clara’s luggage. The same person then beckoning the visitors to follow, led them into a waiting-room on one side. All the time she had kept her eyes fixed on the ground, not once looking at the vicar’s countenance. Having by signs desired them to be seated on some antique-looking chairs, which with a table and writing materials were the sole furniture of the room, she retired. Poor Clara felt dreadfully oppressed, and very much inclined to beg that her trunks might be put back again into the carriage, as she wished to return home; but pride, not unmixed with fear of the remarks Mr Lerew would make, prevented her. She sat with her hand on her sinking heart, wondering whether all the members of the sisterhood would be expected to keep a perpetual silence.“This reminds me much of the convents I have visited in France and Belgium,” observed Mr Lerew, turning to his wife. “Our young friend will soon learn the rules of the house, and see how suitable they are, and calculated to advance the religious feelings.”He spoke in a low tone, as if afraid of disturbing the solemn silence which reigned in the building. Some time passed away, when the door slowly opened, and a lady habited in grey, with a large cross inlaid with ivory on her breast, glided into the room. She was of commanding figure, and, in spite of her unbecoming head-dress and the white band across her brow, she had evidently once been handsome. She smiled benignantly as she glanced at Mrs Lerew and Clara, and advancing to the vicar, bowed gracefully to him, and taking his hand, raised it to her lips; then retiring without further noticing her other guests, sank into a seat. “I have come with my wife to introduce a young friend who is desirous of commencing, and I trust continuing, the life of aréligieuse,” said Mr Lerew; “and from my knowledge of your admirable sisterhood, I feel confident that she will here obtain all she desires.”The Lady Superior now turned a piercing glance on Clara, which made her involuntarily shrink and cast down her eyes on the ground. The former did not speak till she had finished her scrutiny; she then said slowly—“If you truly desire to embrace our holy calling, you will be gladly received, understanding that you must conform to the rules of our order in all respects. You will in the first instance enter as a postulant for a short time, during which you will wear your secular habit; after which you will become a probationer, and then, as I trust, we shall receive you as a confirmed Sister on your vowing obedience to the three fundamental rules of our order. Are you prepared to remain with us at once?”“Certainly, certainly,” exclaimed Mr Lerew; “Miss Maynard has come with that especial object in view. He who puts his hand to the plough must not turn back, nor would she, I am sure, wish to do so.”“What I would urge upon you,” said the Lady Superior, “is complete self-surrender, and strict observance of the rule of holy obedience; without that you cannot expect to enjoy spiritual life, nor can the affairs of the community be properly carried on.”“I will endeavour to the best of my power to observe the rules of the order,” said Clara, in a trembling voice.“Of course she will, of course,” observed Mr Lerew; “it will be her glory and pride to do so. Oh what a beneficent arrangement is that by which a poor frail woman or layman can, by opening his or her heart to the priest, obtain all the instruction or advice for which their souls yearn!”“You will soon be accustomed to the quiet life we lead within these walls,” observed the Lady Superior, turning to Clara, without noticing Mr Lerew’s remark; “and I will invite you now to accompany me, when I will make you known to the Deane, who will initiate you into the rules and observances to which you will at once conform; and you may now bid farewell to your friends, for they will excuse me, as my official duties require my attention.”Clara rose, and put out her hand to take that of Mr Lerew. Instead, he bade her kneel, and placing his hands above her head, uttered a benediction. She felt inclined to embrace Mrs Lerew—not that she had any great affection for her, but it seemed as if Mrs Lerew was the only link between her and the world she was leaving; at that moment, however, the Lady Superior, taking her hand, led her towards the door.“May I request an interview with Dr Catton, should he be now living here?” asked Mr Lerew.“Our spiritual adviser is at present in residence,” answered the Lady Superior, “and I will mention your wish to see him, should you be able to remain till he is at leisure.”“Oh, certainly, certainly. I must not hurry Dr Catton; but as it is a matter of much importance, I much wish to consult him. I will wait his pleasure,” said Mr Lerew.Without having shown any act of courtesy to Mrs Lerew, the Lady Superior left the room, still holding fast to Clara’s hand.“Had I expected to be so treated, I should not have come,” exclaimed Mrs Lerew, as the door closed. “If these are conventual manners, I hope that Clara may not adopt them. What caused the Lady Superior to act as she did?”“If you insist on knowing, you must understand that she probably considers priests ought to be celibates, and therefore looks upon you in no favourable light,” answered the vicar, with some acerbity in his tone.Mrs Lerew was about to retort, when the door opened, and the spiritual adviser of the establishment, Dr Catton, entered. He was a small thin man, with sallow complexion, and that peculiar pucker about the mouth which seems a characteristic of those who hold his views. The two gentlemen were well known to each other.“I am anxious, my dear Doctor, to obtain your further advice regarding my new female college,” said Mr Lerew, “as I hope in a short time it will be in a sufficient state of advancement to receive pupils.”“I would gladly afford you my assistance in so holy a work,” answered Dr Catton, “as I consider it will tend greatly to the advancement of the Church; but—” and he looked at Mrs Lerew.“She is discreet, and takes a deep interest in the institution,” said the vicar.Dr Catton looked as if he considered women were better out of the way when any matter of importance was to be discussed. However, as the vicar did not tell his wife to retire, he entered into the subject, speaking more cautiously perhaps than he otherwise would have done. Mrs Lerew sat on, her countenance expressing her dissatisfaction at the want of confidence the Doctor placed in her. The rules and regulations of the new college were discussed, as well as the means for obtaining the necessary funds. “You will understand that the young lady who is about to enter into this institution has a considerable fortune at her disposal, with which I have every hope she will endow our college. It must be a point of honour between us that she does not bestow it on the convent, and I beg that you will impress that on the mind of the Lady Superior. You will remember that I induced her to come here for that important object, for she will not be of age for upwards of two years, and she might in the meantime, were she to remain in the world, change her mind and marry, and her property would be lost to the Church.”“Of course,” said Dr Catton, “I am equally interested with you in the college, which I look upon as the nursing mother of those who will do much to forward the great cause.”After some further conversation on the subject, Mr and Mrs Lerew took their departure, Dr Catton again promising that Clara’s fortune should be appropriated as her father confessor desired. Clara had, in the meantime, been introduced to the Mother Eldress, a pleasant, fair lady of about forty, who took her round the establishment. The chapel was first visited. Over the high altar stood the crucifix, with paintings of the Virgin Mary on one side, and that of Saint John on the other, and on it were the usual candlesticks with large wax candles and vases of flowers; while the walls were adorned with other paintings illustrating the lives of various saints, in which monks and nuns frequently appeared. The Mother Eldress drew aside a curtain which hung across a small side-chapel, when Clara saw, with considerable astonishment, the figure of the Virgin, richly dressed, standing on a small altar with candles burning on it, and also vases of flowers, with which the whole of the chapel was decked. The Mother Eldress bowed and crossed herself.“You should do as I do,” she said, turning to Clara; “the Blessed Virgin demands our most devoted love and adoration; we can never do her honour enough.”“I thought,” observed Clara, “that as Protestants we did not worship the Virgin.”“Let me entreat you, my child, never to utter that odious word Protestant,” exclaimed the Mother Eldress. “We are Catholics of the Anglican Church; we do not worship the Virgin either; but we love to do her honour.”Clara was puzzled; but thought it better just then to ask no further questions. The refectory and other public rooms were next visited; they were neat and scrupulously clean, but were destitute of every article of luxury, or which might conduce to comfort—no sofas, no easy arm-chairs were found in them.“You will now like to see the cells,” said the Mother Eldress, as she led the way upstairs. Passing along a gallery, she opened a door, and exhibited a long narrow room containing a camp-bedstead, covered by a white quilt, a small table and a chair, and in one corner a desk with a Bible and a few books of devotion on it, as also a lamp, and above it a picture of the crucifixion. It was lighted by a small, deep, oriel window, with a broad sill, on which were arranged some flower-pots, sweet-scented flowers growing in them. No carpet covered the floor; but it was brightly polished, as was all the woodwork in the room.“Such will be your dormitory,” observed the Mother Eldress.“Is there no fireplace?” asked Clara.“There are in some of the cells; but such are not allowed to novices,” was the answer.Clara, who had been accustomed to a fire in winter all her life, shuddered; for even now, in the height of summer, the room felt cold.“I will now show you the rules,” said the Mother Eldress, producing a book in manuscript. “No letters must be written or received by the Sisters of Saint Barbara, and any presents that may be made must be given to the Mother Superior for the use of the community. Sisters are always, whether by night or day, to enter the chapel with all alacrity, and in a perfect spirit of recollection, in order to prepare their souls for prayer. No Sister must be absent from the chapel without leave, and all must recite the offices. You see how well our time is divided,” continued the lady; “we rise at three a.m.; there are primer, meditation, etcetera, until seven, when we enjoy the Holy Communion. After this we have prayers and self-examination until nine, and from that hour till ten we work. At ten we dine, which is the first meal we partake of in the day. We then take an hour for recreation, and another till twelve for meditation. From one till four we work, when we attend vespers, and from half-past four to half-past five we take tea and listen to spiritual reading. From half-past five to six we have again recreation, from six to seven prayers, at which hour we retire for the night; but we rise for prayer during one hour of the night, and at midnight on Thursdays we rise to spend an additional hour in prayer. Thus, you see, every moment of the day is portioned out. During the hours of work we tend the sick and visit the dying; we also are employed in other good undertakings, and we hope before long to establish fresh ones. So you see, my dear, that we work out our own salvation, though those who have a vocation to a purely religious life can enter our contemplative order, and devote themselves entirely to prayer and meditation. You will be able to judge by-and-by to which you would wish to belong, though you will, of course, be guided by the advice of the Mother Superior.”“Alas!” said Clara, “I do not feel myself fitted for either at present; but I believe that I should prefer attempting to teach the young—at least, the very young, for I should never manage big boys and girls. I used to teach some of the cottagers’ little children in our neighbourhood, till I had entirely to devote myself to my dying father.”“You will learn by experience,” said the Mother Eldress. “I will mention your wish to the Mother Superior, and she will probably appoint you to the duty you select. She has great discernment, and will perceive for which you are best fitted.”Clara thought that she herself could judge best of what she could do. She expressed as much to the Mother Eldress, who smiled, and reminded her of the rule of obedience. Altogether, Clara was tolerably well contented with the prospect before her. She was afterwards introduced to a number of the Sisters during their hour of recreation; but she could not help remarking that whenever one addressed another, a nun, who she was told was the Deane, instantly interfered, and reminded the speaker that private conversation was against the rule. She discovered that there were to be no private intimacies, and that any conversation must be general.“Can I not associate with any one whom I like?” asked Clara afterwards of the Mother Eldress.“It is against the rule,” was the answer; “private friendships would destroy the harmony which must exist in our sisterhood.”“But cannot I express my sorrow or anxiety to a sympathising friend?” asked Clara, ingenuously.“Such must be poured into the ear alone of the Mother Superior or of your father confessor,” said the Mother Eldress in a stern tone; “discipline could not be otherwise maintained.”Clara felt unusually hungry at teatime, as she had had but a slight luncheon; but as it was Friday—dry bread alone was allowed during the meal. One of the Eldresses read an allegorical work, the meaning of which Clara did not exactly comprehend, and from it therefore she did not gain much spiritual advantage. Another half-hour was spent in conversation, which was anything but spiritual, and then the nuns adjourned to the chapel, where they joined in reciting prayers, the same being repeated over and over again; and at seven they retired to their cells. Clara, unaccustomed to go to bed at so early an hour, could not sleep: the past would recur to her. Against all rule she thought of Harry and the way she had treated him; then she remembered all must be given up for the sake of following Christ—but was she following Him by entering a convent? The conflict was severe; she burst into tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break. Hour after hour went by, sleep refusing to visit her eyelids, till, long after midnight, thoroughly worn out, she sobbed herself into forgetfulness.The convent clock was striking three when a Sister entered her cell and summoned her to rise and repair to the chapel. Hastily dressing, she followed her conductress, who had remained to assist her. She there found all the nuns assembled, and for four hours they remained repeating prayers and chanting alternately, till Dr Catton entered, and after going through a service, administered the Holy Communion, giving the wafer instead of bread, and wine mixed with water. Faint and weary, for nearly two hours more Clara remained, while the nuns repeated the prayers, or sat silent, engaged in self-examination. Some of them who had undertaken the duty of teachers then went into the schoolroom, where some fifty children were assembled. Clara begged leave to accompany them, and gladly took charge of three or four of the youngest, though by this time she felt so exhausted that she could with difficulty speak. The school over, the nuns hurried to the refectory, where a frugal dinner was placed on the table by the serving Sisters. In silence the nuns took their places; in silence they ate the portions served to them. Clara, sick from hunger, had the greatest difficulty in swallowing the coarse and unpalatable food. It notwithstanding restored her strength, and she went through her duties in the schoolroom with rather more spirit than in the morning.The following day was passed much as the first. Clara saw but little of the Mother Superior, who kept herself much aloof from the community, in her own apartments, which were furnished very differently to those of the nuns.Several weeks passed by. Though Clara got accustomed to the ways of the establishment, and strictly followed the rules, she did not find herself more at home than at first, nor was she at all more intimate with the Sisters; yet, girl as she was, she possessed an indomitable spirit. Although the false religious fervour which had induced her to consent to enter a nunnery had vanished, she was determined not to give in on account of the disagreeables she experienced. Her aunt Sarah had promised to write to her, and she herself had written several times; but she received no letters, and dared not ask whether any had come for her. She remembered that till she wrote her aunt would not know her address, unless Mr Lerew had given it.The short time that it was necessary to remain as a postulant had expired, and in a formal service in the chapel she was received as a probationer, and assumed the dress of the order. Scarcely a day had passed before she found herself exposed to annoyances which she had not hitherto experienced. During the hours of recreation the Deane, whose duty it was to keep the Sisters in order, was continually rebuking her for some transgression of rules, either for laughing or talking too much, or addressing a Sister in a voice which the rest could not hear; and she had to undergo in consequence all sorts of penalties. She submitted, as she considered that she was in duty bound to do, though she felt that they were far severer than the faults demanded. She could discover none of the religious fervour which she had expected to find among the Sisters, or of love or sympathy. Her own spirit, though not broken, was kept under a thraldom, against which her judgment rebelled. It appeared to her that the system was far better adapted to keep in subjection a household of people out of their minds than a collection of ladies in their right senses, who wished to serve God and do their duty to their fellow-creatures. No Sister was allowed to visit another in her cell, and sometimes for days and weeks together Clara did not see some of the Sisters whom she had met on her first arrival. Where they had gone, or what they were about, she could not learn. Little attention was paid to those who were ill, and no sympathy was expressed. A young Sister who had been sent out on a begging expedition for the order, and had to trudge through the wet day after day, caught cold, and was obliged to return. She grew pale and thin, and the ominous red spot appeared on her cheek. She coughed incessantly, but still went through her duties. At night she suffered most; and to prevent the sound from disturbing others, she was ordered to move to a distant cell, without a stove by which it could be warmed. Clara determined, against the rules, to speak to her, and offered to come and sit by her; but she shook her head, replying, “It must not be—you are wrong;” at the same time the countenance of the dying girl expressed her gratitude. Clara’s infraction of the rules being discovered, she was ordered to remain during the hours of recreation in solitude in her own cell.The invalid Sister had crawled into the chapel one morning, and contrived with tottering steps to find her way back to her cell. The next morning she did not appear at matins, and when the Eldress went to see what had become of her, she was found stretched on her bed, dead, her pillow and sheets stained with blood, which had flowed from her mouth. She was not the only one whose life was thus sacrificed during Clara’s novitiate.One day there was great commotion in the convent; the father of a novice had appeared at the gate, armed with legal powers which the Lady Superior dared not disobey, insisting on taking away his daughter. The young lady was told that she might go, with a warning that by so doing she was risking her soul’s welfare. She had to take her departure in the dress of the order, leaving behind every article she had brought in, her own clothes having been sold for the benefit of the community. The dreadful fate to which she was doomed, and the fearful crime of her father, were daily expatiated on.Some months passed by, when her father died, and Dr Catton immediately wrote, urging her to return, and stating that if she did not do so, he could no longer remain her spiritual director, and thus she would lose the benefit of absolution. Letter after letter was sent to the same effect, and at length the poor girl, terrified by the consequences to which, as she supposed, her conduct had exposed her, came back to the convent. She was received in a stern manner by the Mother Superior, in the presence of the community, being told that it was through love for her soul that she had been readmitted; but that she must for a whole year hold no intercourse with the other novices, and must remain in solitude during the time allowed each day for recreation; while she was pointed to as a warning to the rest. This discipline preyed greatly on her mind, and Clara, whose cell was next to hers, heard her weeping night after night. When she appeared in public, she hung down her head, and scarcely tasted any of the meagre fare placed before her; taught to suppose that fasting was a virtue, or else weary of the life she was doomed to lead, she was starving herself to death.Notwithstanding all the vigilance exercised, the novices did contrive at times to hold communication with each other, and one young girl, who looked very sad, and was evidently dangerously ill, confessed to Clara that she had escaped from her home to join the convent against the express wishes of her father, whom notwithstanding she asserted that she loved dearly. She had ever been among the most obedient to the commands of the Lady Superior, and the strictest in complying with the rules of the order. Her illness increased; she at last received the news of the death of that parent whose wishes she had disobeyed. The thought that her disobedience had deeply grieved him whom she was bound to love preyed on her mind, and tended much to aggravate her disease; the arguments brought forward by the Lady Superior, and Mother Eldress, and her father confessor, that God had the first claims on her, failed to assuage her sorrow, or to persuade her that she had acted rightly. Clara, observing that she looked more than usually ill when they parted in the evening, could not refrain from going into her cell. She found her on her bed, gasping for breath.“Thank you for coming,” whispered the poor girl; “it would have been hard to die all alone. My poor father! my poor father!” she murmured; “would that I could have been with him!”She could utter no more. Clara, to her horror, while bending over her, found that the poor sufferer had breathed her last. She hurried to the apartment of the Mother Eldress, who came somewhat agitated to the dead Sister’s cell; but instead of expressing any grief at the occurrence, she sternly rebuked Clara for breaking the rules, and ordered her back to her own cell. The Sisters assembled at the usual hour in the chapel; but not a word was said of the occurrence of the night. The nun was buried with ceremonies resembling those of Rome, and things went on as usual.The Mother Eldress, who was looked upon as a very saintly person, was at length taken ill, and Clara was ordered to attend on her. The medical adviser of the sisterhood was sent for, and prescribed certain remedies which Clara had to administer. A small spoon had been provided for giving some powders in preserve; Clara used it daily for some time, till the Mother Eldress recovered, when the Lady Superior took possession of it. She had been in the habit of late of sending for Clara to impart religious instruction, which, she observed, she much required; not failing at times, however, to lecture her severely. The day after the Mother Eldress had recovered from her illness the Lady Superior addressed Clara in a more serious tone even than usual.“You will observe, my daughter,” she said, “that miracles have not ceased; but that some communions, alas! have not faith to perceive them. We, holding the Catholic doctrine in its purity, have been more favoured. Let me ask of what metal you conceive that the spoon with which you used to administer the medicine to our beloved Mother Eldress is composed.”“It was, I should say, of silver, or rather plated,” answered Clara.“Originally it might have been; but see here, it is turned to gold,” answered the Lady Superior, producing the spoon, which had now evidently a yellow tinge.“I observed that before,” said Clara, “and believed that it was produced by the nature of the medicine.”“Oh, hard of heart, and slow to believe!” exclaimed the Lady Superior; “can you not now perceive that it is gold, pure gold? By what other than by miraculous power could this change have been wrought? Let the glorious fact be known among the Sisters, and all who desire may come and witness it.”Clara was not convinced; she went away wondering whether the Lady Superior was deceived herself, or desired to deceive others. Many of the nuns were highly delighted at hearing of the miracle, which tended so much to prove that their establishment was under the especial protection of Heaven. The Mother Eldress crossed her hands on her bosom, while she meekly bowed her head, and expressed her gratitude that she should have been so remarkably favoured. It was evident, however, to Clara, that some of the Sisters were sceptical on the subject.Clara found the life she was doomed to lead more and more irksome; but when she compared it with that of the Sisters who belonged to the order of the Sacred Heart, the true nuns, who were even more strictly enclosed (as the term is) than were she and her associates, she felt that she had no right to complain. The nuns of the Sacred Heart, or as they were frequently called, of the order of the Love of Jesus, were supposed to spend their time in perpetual prayer for the living or the dead. The whole of the twenty-four hours, Clara learned, are divided into what are denominated watches; the night watches being kept by the nuns in the following manner. The Sisters retire at seven o’clock, with the exception of one who remains watching till eight. She then summons another Sister, who rises and watches till nine, the latter again summoning a fresh watcher, and thus they continue till three o’clock, when all assemble in the chapel for matins. They also join in prayer seven times in the day, at fixed periods, though they may be separated. To the order of the Love of Jesus are attached companions who may mix in the world, and whose real duties are to obtain proselytes. They are expected to join in prayer at stated hours, wherever they may be, and on every Thursday night, from midnight till one o’clock, the companions unite in prayer. The Lady Superior in one of her more confidential moods invited Clara to join the order.“My dear child,” she observed, “it is a glorious thing to be thus constantly engaged in prayer when you may; in every service and homage you render, call to your aid the choirs of angelic spirits, and unite yourself to them in spiritual companionship, in order that they may supply your deficiencies.”Clara had never before heard that it was necessary to obtain the aid of angels for offering up prayer to God, and was somewhat startled at the novelty of the notion; but she knew perfectly well that it would not do to state her objections to so determined a person as her spiritual mother. She did not, either, feel inclined to become one of the order of the Sacred Heart, not having formed the very highest opinion of the nuns belonging to it whom she had met. They appeared to her generally weak-minded enthusiasts, and she still retained a belief that God is best served by those who, in imitation of our blessed Lord and Master, engage in the duties of active benevolence. On her declining, therefore, the Lady Superior dismissed her in a stern manner, reminding her that those who put their hands to the plough, and look back, are not worthy of the kingdom of heaven.Clara, without uttering a word, left the room, and hoped to devote herself with more zeal than ever to the duties she had actually undertaken. With this feeling, she repaired at the appointed hour to the schoolroom, where she took her class of children. They were, as it happened, inclined to be less attentive and more unruly than was their wont; some of them had only lately been induced to attend the school, and were unaccustomed to the rules and regulations. A biggish boy was trying to see how far he could proceed in impudence and lead on the others, when Clara, finding that appealing to him was useless, gave him a box on the ear. The Deane, at that moment entering, observed the act.“Sister Clare,” she exclaimed, “I must take your class; retire to your cell.”Clara, not believing that she had done anything wrong, got up and obeyed the order. Had she remained, she would have seen that the Deane’s temper was tried as much as hers had been. On reaching her cell she sat down, wondering whether any further notice would be taken of her conduct. Scarcely had the convent clock announced that school was over, than the Deane appeared, and ordered her to go to the Lady Superior. She was met with a frowning brow.“You have given way to temper—you require humbling, my daughter,” exclaimed the lady; “I must take means to lower that proud and haughty spirit of yours. Return to your cell, and wait till the Mother Eldress comes for you.”Clara bowed and obeyed. After she had waited for some minutes, the Mother Eldress appeared, and taking her hand, led her along the gallery to an empty room, which, not having been used for many months, the floor was covered with dust.“Enter there,” she said, “and show your contrition by kneeling on your knees, and licking with your tongue the form of the Blessed Cross on the ground.”Clara stood aghast.“Are you serious?” she asked. “It is the command of the Lady Superior, and you are bound by your vow of obedience to obey her orders—break them at the peril of your soul, Sister Clare,” was the answer. “Go in, and let me be able to report that you have exhibited sorrow for your fault by performing the penance which your spiritual superior in her wisdom has thought fit to inflict.”No sooner had Clara entered the room than the door was locked on her. Degraded and abased in her own eyes, all her moral feelings revolting against the abominable indignity imposed on her, yet the threat which had been uttered made her tremble. She had vowed implicit obedience. With loathing at her heart, with a feeling too bitter to allow her tears to flow, she performed the debasing act, forgetting that the marks she was thus making on the ground was the accepted symbol of the Christian faith. Still, the words occurred to her, “Rend your hearts, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God.” Could the God of all love and mercy and gentleness be pleased by such an act? It might degrade her in her own sight; but could it make her heart more truly humble, more anxious to serve Him who said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”Clara had a Bible in her pocket. To calm her agitation, she read a portion, earnestly praying for instruction. The words which brought conviction to Luther met her sight. Light beamed on her troubled mind. The mists which the vicar’s sophistries had gathered round her rolled away. “From henceforth I will look to Jesus alone, to the teaching of His Word, the guidance of His Holy Spirit,” she exclaimed. Clara was free.

Monday morning brought Clara Harry’s looked-for letter. She hurried with it to her room. It was full of love and tenderness, but Harry expressed his regret at hearing of the changes which had been made in the church, and still more of the ritualistic practices of the new vicar.

“I need scarcely urge you, dearest, not to be inveigled by them,” he continued, “as I have often said I cannot conceive a man in his senses marrying a girl who has submitted to the abominable confession—it must ultimately deprave her mind, and prevent her from placing that confidence in her husband which he has a right to expect; while it proves her ignorance of one of the most vital truths of our holy faith, that we have a High Priest in heaven, who knows our infirmities, and is touched by our sorrows, and who is more tender and loving than any human being, and is ever ready to receive those who come to Him. Oh! do warn any girls of your acquaintance not to yield to the sophistries which would persuade them that Christ allows a human being to stand in His stead between Himself and the sinner. It is one of the numberless devices of Satan to rob Him of the honour and love which are His due. We are told when we have offended a fellow mortal to confess our fault, and to ask pardon; but we are emphatically charged to confess our sins to God alone, trusting to the all-sufficient atonement made once for all for us by Christ on Calvary, and through His mediation we are assured of perfect forgiveness. These impious sacerdotalists, for the sake of gaining influence over the minds of those they hope to deceive, step in, and daringly arrogate to themselves the position which our loving Lord desires alone to hold. But I must not continue the subject—I know that it is not necessary to say this to you. Should you ever be perplexed, or require assistance, I am sure that you will apply to my kind and excellent father, who is ever anxious to treat you as a beloved daughter.”

Clara read the letter with burning cheek.

“Oh, what have I done!” she exclaimed; “I am unworthy of the confidence he places in me.” Directly afterwards she tried to find an excuse for herself. “Perhaps he is mistaken in his ideas; and Mr Lerew says that the general is a schismatic, and Harry has imbibed his views. I dare not refuse to obey the voice of the Church, and Mr Lerew tells me that that insists on confession before absolution can be granted, and without absolution we cannot partake of the Holy Eucharist.”

Such was her line of thought, and she determined to try and persuade Harry to agree with her. She sat down and wrote to him, quoting several passages from the books lent to her by the vicar. She implored him seriously to consider the matter, and not to imperil his soul by refusing obedience to the Church. So eager did she become as she warmed in her subject, that she forgot to put in those affectionate expressions which her previous letter had contained. No sooner had the epistle been despatched than she began to regret having said some things in it and omitted others. She tried to think over its contents; as she did so she became more and more dissatisfied. At last she resolved to write another, to confess that she was sorry she had written the first, to tell Harry of her difficulties, and to ask his advice. Her aunt came in just as she had closed it, and offered to post it for her. That letter never reached its destination.

Poor Clara, agitated by conflicting emotions, and all her previous opinions upset, at last thought of writing to General Caulfield, telling him of all her doubts and troubles, that perhaps he might see things in the light in which the vicar presented them. Miss Pemberton found the letter on the hall table, and suspecting its contents, took it to the vicar, who advised that it should not be forwarded. Clara in vain waited for a reply; no letters reached her from the general, and she ultimately came to the conclusion that he was so much offended with her for what she had said, that he would write no more.

Week after week passed by, and no letter came from Harry.

“Can he have cast me off because I show an anxiety about my spiritual welfare?” she exclaimed, somewhat bitterly to herself. “Mr Lerew must be right when he speaks of the bigotry of the Evangelical party.”

Mr Lerew called the next day, and spoke pathetically of the trials to which the true sons and daughters of the Church must expect to be exposed; and left some tracts, which especially pointed out the holy delights of a convent life; one, indeed, declared that the only sure way by which a woman could avoid the trials and troubles of the present evil world and gain eternal happiness was by entering a convent and devoting herself to the service of religion. Clara read them over and over, and sighed often. Miss Pemberton expressed her high approval of them.

“I am, indeed, my dear niece, contemplating myself becoming a Sister of Charity, and only regret that I was not led in early life to do so—how many wasted days of idleness and frivolity I might have avoided.” Miss Pemberton did not like to speak of years.

The vicar, who had now become an almost daily visitor, just then appeared. He held forth eloquently on the subject of which the ladies had been speaking; a friend of his, a most charming, delightful person, was the Lady Superior of one of the oldest and most devoted sisterhoods which had been established in England since, as he expressed it, true Catholic principles had been revived in the Church, He was sure that no lady could do otherwise than rejoice to the end of her days, who should become a member of her community. The Sisters were employed in numerous meritorious works of charity; he had hoped that Miss Maynard would take an active part in Saint Agatha’s College; but some time must probably elapse before more than a very limited number of teachers could find occupation, and he besides doubted whether she would find the duties of an instructress suited to her taste.

“I should not, I fear, find my powers equal to them,” answered Clara, humbly; “and yet I have a longing for some occupation in the service of the Church. Such means as I possess, however, I would gladly devote to the establishment of Saint Agatha’s.”

“Ah, my dear young lady, I rejoice to hear you say that,” exclaimed Mr Lerew. “Whatever you give, you give to the Church, remember, and she has promised to repay you a hundredfold.”

Mrs Lerew frequently called on Clara, as also did Lady Bygrave. Both spoke enthusiastically of the holy and happy life of Sisters of Mercy, and still more so of those nuns who gave themselves up to religious meditation. Lady Bygrave, especially, warmly pressed the subject on Clara’s consideration.

“Were I young, I should certainly devote myself to a religious life; but as I am married, my husband might raise objections,” she remarked.

Clara thought and thought on all she heard, and became more and more interested in the books her advisers put into her hands. She resolved, however, to wait before deciding till she received a letter from Harry. She could not easily give him up; and she hoped, when she should be his wife, to win him over to support the cause of the Church, which she persuaded herself would be as acceptable to Heaven as should she become a nun.

While Clara had gone one day to return a visit from Lady Bygrave, Miss Pemberton received and opened the postbag. It contained a letter for Clara from India. She saw that it was from Harry. She turned it over several times.

“I must obey my spiritual adviser,” she said to herself; “it can do the child no harm.”

Replacing several other letters for Clara, she took this one up into her own room. She had been instructed how carefully to open letters by the vicar, for he had been at an English school, and having been taught in his boyhood to consider breaking the seal of another person’s letter a disgraceful act, was glad to escape it. After a little time she succeeded in reaching the enclosure. She glanced over the first portion.

“A part of your letter, dearest one, though I delight in hearing from you, gave me great pain. I had hoped and believed that you were better grounded in the fundamental truths of the Gospel than to express yourself as you have done. You speak of Holy Church as if there were one visible establishment on earth which all are bound to obey, when Christ founded only one spiritual Church, on the great truth enunciated by Peter, that He was the Christ, the Son of the living God. From that time forward, throughout the whole of the New Testament, no other Church is spoken of. Churches or assemblies existed, founded by the apostles, but they were independent of each other, and were solely united by having one faith and one allegiance to one great head, Jesus Christ; but in such simple forms as were introduced for the convenience of public worship they materially differed from each other. Under the new covenant no material temple or worldly sanctuary exists; the old covenant had ordinances of divine service and of worldly sanctuary, but these, the apostle tells us, have waxed old and vanished away, Christ being come, the High Priest of good things to come, by a greater and more perfect tabernacle not made with hands; and he assures us that the only temple now existing is the spiritual Church of the living God. ‘Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? ye also as lively stones are built up a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices to God by Jesus Christ, whose house are ye, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone;’ and our Lord Himself tells us that where two or three are gathered together, even there is He in their midst. The priest, the sacrifice, the altar, and the temple of the old covenant were only types of the good things to come under the Gospel. When Christ ascended on high, all human priesthood was abolished; our only priestly mediator or intercessor is Jesus Christ, the one Mediator between God and men, who is the one righteous Advocate, the one ever-living Intercessor, and His glory will He not give to another, He who has once suffered for sinners, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God. The apostles themselves never assumed the character of priests; they pointed to the Great High Priest, Jesus Christ the righteous, and would have looked upon it as blasphemy for any man to presume to act as such. To our Great High Priest alone must we confess our sins; He is faithful and just to forgive all those their sins, who put faith in the all-cleansing power of His blood to absolve them. He, too, is One who knows our infirmities, and can sympathise with us, having been tempted as we are. With the Scriptures in our hands, we need no mortal man to declare this glorious truth to us; and knowing it, we can come boldly to the throne of grace, and He is ever ready to receive all who come to Him. All the forms and ceremonies, the embellishments which you describe, are but imitations of those of the Church of Rome, which are themselves taken from the ceremonies of the old heathen temples, with large admixtures from those of the Jews. From the earliest times, Satan has induced men to assume the character of priests, for the purpose of deceiving their fellow-creatures. The same spirit exists at the present day; and as he can become an angel of light in appearance, so may those men who thus blasphemously take the name of priests appear pure and holy in the sight of those whom they deceive. Let me entreat you, my beloved Clara, to break from the chains which have been thrown around you. Seek for grace and strength from above, and consult my kind father. Tell him frankly all that the vicar has endeavoured to teach you to believe, and I feel assured that he will thoroughly satisfy your mind.”

Harry said more to the same effect.

“It will never do for Clara to see this letter,” thought Miss Pemberton; “I must take it to Mr Lerew, and ascertain what he thinks.”

She set off at once, that she might get to the vicarage and back before Clara’s return. The vicar read it with knitted brow.

“You did right, my dear sister,” he said; “it might defeat all our plans. Far better commit it to the flames. Let me think—will you permit me to take possession of the letter? good may result from it; the end, as you know, my dear lady, sanctifies the means.”

“Whatever you consider right, I of course will do,” said Miss Pemberton, giving the letter, which with the envelope the vicar put into his desk; and the lady hastened home.

“It is the aunt’s doing, not mine,” he muttered to himself; “but were the poor girl to receive this abominable production, it might destroy the result of all the training I have given her. No priest! no sacrifice! no confession! no power of absolution! What would become of the Church—what of us—if such principles were to regain their ascendancy over the minds of the people? These abominable evangelical notions must be crushed by every means in our power, or the efforts which for years we have made to introduce Catholic doctrine would be utterly lost. We must get the girl without delay to enter a convent, and the sooner she is induced to do so the better.”

Mr Lerew waited for some days before he paid Clara another visit. She had discovered that the Indian post had come in, and had brought her, as she supposed, no letter from Harry. She began to imagine all sorts of things; she saw that there were accounts of engagements with the hill-tribes—could he have gone up the country with a detachment of his regiment? or perhaps her letter had so offended him that he would not again write. Mr Lerew, when he called, perceived that she was very unhappy, and having drawn from her the cause of her grief, he assured her that there was but one way by which she could regain peace of mind, and insinuated that so bigoted a person as Captain Caulfield would in all probability discard her when he found that she was anxious to serve the Church. “It will prove a great trial to you, my dear sister,” he said; “but for such you must be prepared; and I would urge you to seek in the duties of a religious life that comfort and consolation you are sure to find.”

Several weeks more went by, during which the vicar’s influence over poor Clara increased. No letter came from Harry or from his father.

“He has discarded me,” exclaimed Clara. “I must seek for that peace and rest where alone, Mr Lerew assures me, I can find it, or I shall die.”

The very next day, accompanied by Mr Lerew and his wife, Clara set off to the town of —, in the neighbourhood of which was situated Saint Barbara’s, as the convent was called. It had originally been a religious house, as the term is, and was encircled by a high wall, which enclosed the garden and outhouses. It was a dark, red brick, sombre pile, and the additions lately made to it had given it a thoroughly conventual appearance. The carriage drove under an archway in front of the entrance, closed on the outside, Mr Lerew got out and tugged at a large iron bell-pull, when a slide in the door was pulled back, and the face of a female, who narrowly scrutinised the visitors, appeared at the opening. Mr Lerew quickly explained their object; no further words were exchanged, and after a short delay the bars and bolts were withdrawn, and the door was opened sufficiently to allow him and his wife and Clara to pass through into a small hall, where they were left standing, while the portress by signs summoned two serving Sisters dressed in dark blue, with brass crosses at their necks, to bring in Clara’s luggage. The same person then beckoning the visitors to follow, led them into a waiting-room on one side. All the time she had kept her eyes fixed on the ground, not once looking at the vicar’s countenance. Having by signs desired them to be seated on some antique-looking chairs, which with a table and writing materials were the sole furniture of the room, she retired. Poor Clara felt dreadfully oppressed, and very much inclined to beg that her trunks might be put back again into the carriage, as she wished to return home; but pride, not unmixed with fear of the remarks Mr Lerew would make, prevented her. She sat with her hand on her sinking heart, wondering whether all the members of the sisterhood would be expected to keep a perpetual silence.

“This reminds me much of the convents I have visited in France and Belgium,” observed Mr Lerew, turning to his wife. “Our young friend will soon learn the rules of the house, and see how suitable they are, and calculated to advance the religious feelings.”

He spoke in a low tone, as if afraid of disturbing the solemn silence which reigned in the building. Some time passed away, when the door slowly opened, and a lady habited in grey, with a large cross inlaid with ivory on her breast, glided into the room. She was of commanding figure, and, in spite of her unbecoming head-dress and the white band across her brow, she had evidently once been handsome. She smiled benignantly as she glanced at Mrs Lerew and Clara, and advancing to the vicar, bowed gracefully to him, and taking his hand, raised it to her lips; then retiring without further noticing her other guests, sank into a seat. “I have come with my wife to introduce a young friend who is desirous of commencing, and I trust continuing, the life of aréligieuse,” said Mr Lerew; “and from my knowledge of your admirable sisterhood, I feel confident that she will here obtain all she desires.”

The Lady Superior now turned a piercing glance on Clara, which made her involuntarily shrink and cast down her eyes on the ground. The former did not speak till she had finished her scrutiny; she then said slowly—

“If you truly desire to embrace our holy calling, you will be gladly received, understanding that you must conform to the rules of our order in all respects. You will in the first instance enter as a postulant for a short time, during which you will wear your secular habit; after which you will become a probationer, and then, as I trust, we shall receive you as a confirmed Sister on your vowing obedience to the three fundamental rules of our order. Are you prepared to remain with us at once?”

“Certainly, certainly,” exclaimed Mr Lerew; “Miss Maynard has come with that especial object in view. He who puts his hand to the plough must not turn back, nor would she, I am sure, wish to do so.”

“What I would urge upon you,” said the Lady Superior, “is complete self-surrender, and strict observance of the rule of holy obedience; without that you cannot expect to enjoy spiritual life, nor can the affairs of the community be properly carried on.”

“I will endeavour to the best of my power to observe the rules of the order,” said Clara, in a trembling voice.

“Of course she will, of course,” observed Mr Lerew; “it will be her glory and pride to do so. Oh what a beneficent arrangement is that by which a poor frail woman or layman can, by opening his or her heart to the priest, obtain all the instruction or advice for which their souls yearn!”

“You will soon be accustomed to the quiet life we lead within these walls,” observed the Lady Superior, turning to Clara, without noticing Mr Lerew’s remark; “and I will invite you now to accompany me, when I will make you known to the Deane, who will initiate you into the rules and observances to which you will at once conform; and you may now bid farewell to your friends, for they will excuse me, as my official duties require my attention.”

Clara rose, and put out her hand to take that of Mr Lerew. Instead, he bade her kneel, and placing his hands above her head, uttered a benediction. She felt inclined to embrace Mrs Lerew—not that she had any great affection for her, but it seemed as if Mrs Lerew was the only link between her and the world she was leaving; at that moment, however, the Lady Superior, taking her hand, led her towards the door.

“May I request an interview with Dr Catton, should he be now living here?” asked Mr Lerew.

“Our spiritual adviser is at present in residence,” answered the Lady Superior, “and I will mention your wish to see him, should you be able to remain till he is at leisure.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly. I must not hurry Dr Catton; but as it is a matter of much importance, I much wish to consult him. I will wait his pleasure,” said Mr Lerew.

Without having shown any act of courtesy to Mrs Lerew, the Lady Superior left the room, still holding fast to Clara’s hand.

“Had I expected to be so treated, I should not have come,” exclaimed Mrs Lerew, as the door closed. “If these are conventual manners, I hope that Clara may not adopt them. What caused the Lady Superior to act as she did?”

“If you insist on knowing, you must understand that she probably considers priests ought to be celibates, and therefore looks upon you in no favourable light,” answered the vicar, with some acerbity in his tone.

Mrs Lerew was about to retort, when the door opened, and the spiritual adviser of the establishment, Dr Catton, entered. He was a small thin man, with sallow complexion, and that peculiar pucker about the mouth which seems a characteristic of those who hold his views. The two gentlemen were well known to each other.

“I am anxious, my dear Doctor, to obtain your further advice regarding my new female college,” said Mr Lerew, “as I hope in a short time it will be in a sufficient state of advancement to receive pupils.”

“I would gladly afford you my assistance in so holy a work,” answered Dr Catton, “as I consider it will tend greatly to the advancement of the Church; but—” and he looked at Mrs Lerew.

“She is discreet, and takes a deep interest in the institution,” said the vicar.

Dr Catton looked as if he considered women were better out of the way when any matter of importance was to be discussed. However, as the vicar did not tell his wife to retire, he entered into the subject, speaking more cautiously perhaps than he otherwise would have done. Mrs Lerew sat on, her countenance expressing her dissatisfaction at the want of confidence the Doctor placed in her. The rules and regulations of the new college were discussed, as well as the means for obtaining the necessary funds. “You will understand that the young lady who is about to enter into this institution has a considerable fortune at her disposal, with which I have every hope she will endow our college. It must be a point of honour between us that she does not bestow it on the convent, and I beg that you will impress that on the mind of the Lady Superior. You will remember that I induced her to come here for that important object, for she will not be of age for upwards of two years, and she might in the meantime, were she to remain in the world, change her mind and marry, and her property would be lost to the Church.”

“Of course,” said Dr Catton, “I am equally interested with you in the college, which I look upon as the nursing mother of those who will do much to forward the great cause.”

After some further conversation on the subject, Mr and Mrs Lerew took their departure, Dr Catton again promising that Clara’s fortune should be appropriated as her father confessor desired. Clara had, in the meantime, been introduced to the Mother Eldress, a pleasant, fair lady of about forty, who took her round the establishment. The chapel was first visited. Over the high altar stood the crucifix, with paintings of the Virgin Mary on one side, and that of Saint John on the other, and on it were the usual candlesticks with large wax candles and vases of flowers; while the walls were adorned with other paintings illustrating the lives of various saints, in which monks and nuns frequently appeared. The Mother Eldress drew aside a curtain which hung across a small side-chapel, when Clara saw, with considerable astonishment, the figure of the Virgin, richly dressed, standing on a small altar with candles burning on it, and also vases of flowers, with which the whole of the chapel was decked. The Mother Eldress bowed and crossed herself.

“You should do as I do,” she said, turning to Clara; “the Blessed Virgin demands our most devoted love and adoration; we can never do her honour enough.”

“I thought,” observed Clara, “that as Protestants we did not worship the Virgin.”

“Let me entreat you, my child, never to utter that odious word Protestant,” exclaimed the Mother Eldress. “We are Catholics of the Anglican Church; we do not worship the Virgin either; but we love to do her honour.”

Clara was puzzled; but thought it better just then to ask no further questions. The refectory and other public rooms were next visited; they were neat and scrupulously clean, but were destitute of every article of luxury, or which might conduce to comfort—no sofas, no easy arm-chairs were found in them.

“You will now like to see the cells,” said the Mother Eldress, as she led the way upstairs. Passing along a gallery, she opened a door, and exhibited a long narrow room containing a camp-bedstead, covered by a white quilt, a small table and a chair, and in one corner a desk with a Bible and a few books of devotion on it, as also a lamp, and above it a picture of the crucifixion. It was lighted by a small, deep, oriel window, with a broad sill, on which were arranged some flower-pots, sweet-scented flowers growing in them. No carpet covered the floor; but it was brightly polished, as was all the woodwork in the room.

“Such will be your dormitory,” observed the Mother Eldress.

“Is there no fireplace?” asked Clara.

“There are in some of the cells; but such are not allowed to novices,” was the answer.

Clara, who had been accustomed to a fire in winter all her life, shuddered; for even now, in the height of summer, the room felt cold.

“I will now show you the rules,” said the Mother Eldress, producing a book in manuscript. “No letters must be written or received by the Sisters of Saint Barbara, and any presents that may be made must be given to the Mother Superior for the use of the community. Sisters are always, whether by night or day, to enter the chapel with all alacrity, and in a perfect spirit of recollection, in order to prepare their souls for prayer. No Sister must be absent from the chapel without leave, and all must recite the offices. You see how well our time is divided,” continued the lady; “we rise at three a.m.; there are primer, meditation, etcetera, until seven, when we enjoy the Holy Communion. After this we have prayers and self-examination until nine, and from that hour till ten we work. At ten we dine, which is the first meal we partake of in the day. We then take an hour for recreation, and another till twelve for meditation. From one till four we work, when we attend vespers, and from half-past four to half-past five we take tea and listen to spiritual reading. From half-past five to six we have again recreation, from six to seven prayers, at which hour we retire for the night; but we rise for prayer during one hour of the night, and at midnight on Thursdays we rise to spend an additional hour in prayer. Thus, you see, every moment of the day is portioned out. During the hours of work we tend the sick and visit the dying; we also are employed in other good undertakings, and we hope before long to establish fresh ones. So you see, my dear, that we work out our own salvation, though those who have a vocation to a purely religious life can enter our contemplative order, and devote themselves entirely to prayer and meditation. You will be able to judge by-and-by to which you would wish to belong, though you will, of course, be guided by the advice of the Mother Superior.”

“Alas!” said Clara, “I do not feel myself fitted for either at present; but I believe that I should prefer attempting to teach the young—at least, the very young, for I should never manage big boys and girls. I used to teach some of the cottagers’ little children in our neighbourhood, till I had entirely to devote myself to my dying father.”

“You will learn by experience,” said the Mother Eldress. “I will mention your wish to the Mother Superior, and she will probably appoint you to the duty you select. She has great discernment, and will perceive for which you are best fitted.”

Clara thought that she herself could judge best of what she could do. She expressed as much to the Mother Eldress, who smiled, and reminded her of the rule of obedience. Altogether, Clara was tolerably well contented with the prospect before her. She was afterwards introduced to a number of the Sisters during their hour of recreation; but she could not help remarking that whenever one addressed another, a nun, who she was told was the Deane, instantly interfered, and reminded the speaker that private conversation was against the rule. She discovered that there were to be no private intimacies, and that any conversation must be general.

“Can I not associate with any one whom I like?” asked Clara afterwards of the Mother Eldress.

“It is against the rule,” was the answer; “private friendships would destroy the harmony which must exist in our sisterhood.”

“But cannot I express my sorrow or anxiety to a sympathising friend?” asked Clara, ingenuously.

“Such must be poured into the ear alone of the Mother Superior or of your father confessor,” said the Mother Eldress in a stern tone; “discipline could not be otherwise maintained.”

Clara felt unusually hungry at teatime, as she had had but a slight luncheon; but as it was Friday—dry bread alone was allowed during the meal. One of the Eldresses read an allegorical work, the meaning of which Clara did not exactly comprehend, and from it therefore she did not gain much spiritual advantage. Another half-hour was spent in conversation, which was anything but spiritual, and then the nuns adjourned to the chapel, where they joined in reciting prayers, the same being repeated over and over again; and at seven they retired to their cells. Clara, unaccustomed to go to bed at so early an hour, could not sleep: the past would recur to her. Against all rule she thought of Harry and the way she had treated him; then she remembered all must be given up for the sake of following Christ—but was she following Him by entering a convent? The conflict was severe; she burst into tears, and sobbed as if her heart would break. Hour after hour went by, sleep refusing to visit her eyelids, till, long after midnight, thoroughly worn out, she sobbed herself into forgetfulness.

The convent clock was striking three when a Sister entered her cell and summoned her to rise and repair to the chapel. Hastily dressing, she followed her conductress, who had remained to assist her. She there found all the nuns assembled, and for four hours they remained repeating prayers and chanting alternately, till Dr Catton entered, and after going through a service, administered the Holy Communion, giving the wafer instead of bread, and wine mixed with water. Faint and weary, for nearly two hours more Clara remained, while the nuns repeated the prayers, or sat silent, engaged in self-examination. Some of them who had undertaken the duty of teachers then went into the schoolroom, where some fifty children were assembled. Clara begged leave to accompany them, and gladly took charge of three or four of the youngest, though by this time she felt so exhausted that she could with difficulty speak. The school over, the nuns hurried to the refectory, where a frugal dinner was placed on the table by the serving Sisters. In silence the nuns took their places; in silence they ate the portions served to them. Clara, sick from hunger, had the greatest difficulty in swallowing the coarse and unpalatable food. It notwithstanding restored her strength, and she went through her duties in the schoolroom with rather more spirit than in the morning.

The following day was passed much as the first. Clara saw but little of the Mother Superior, who kept herself much aloof from the community, in her own apartments, which were furnished very differently to those of the nuns.

Several weeks passed by. Though Clara got accustomed to the ways of the establishment, and strictly followed the rules, she did not find herself more at home than at first, nor was she at all more intimate with the Sisters; yet, girl as she was, she possessed an indomitable spirit. Although the false religious fervour which had induced her to consent to enter a nunnery had vanished, she was determined not to give in on account of the disagreeables she experienced. Her aunt Sarah had promised to write to her, and she herself had written several times; but she received no letters, and dared not ask whether any had come for her. She remembered that till she wrote her aunt would not know her address, unless Mr Lerew had given it.

The short time that it was necessary to remain as a postulant had expired, and in a formal service in the chapel she was received as a probationer, and assumed the dress of the order. Scarcely a day had passed before she found herself exposed to annoyances which she had not hitherto experienced. During the hours of recreation the Deane, whose duty it was to keep the Sisters in order, was continually rebuking her for some transgression of rules, either for laughing or talking too much, or addressing a Sister in a voice which the rest could not hear; and she had to undergo in consequence all sorts of penalties. She submitted, as she considered that she was in duty bound to do, though she felt that they were far severer than the faults demanded. She could discover none of the religious fervour which she had expected to find among the Sisters, or of love or sympathy. Her own spirit, though not broken, was kept under a thraldom, against which her judgment rebelled. It appeared to her that the system was far better adapted to keep in subjection a household of people out of their minds than a collection of ladies in their right senses, who wished to serve God and do their duty to their fellow-creatures. No Sister was allowed to visit another in her cell, and sometimes for days and weeks together Clara did not see some of the Sisters whom she had met on her first arrival. Where they had gone, or what they were about, she could not learn. Little attention was paid to those who were ill, and no sympathy was expressed. A young Sister who had been sent out on a begging expedition for the order, and had to trudge through the wet day after day, caught cold, and was obliged to return. She grew pale and thin, and the ominous red spot appeared on her cheek. She coughed incessantly, but still went through her duties. At night she suffered most; and to prevent the sound from disturbing others, she was ordered to move to a distant cell, without a stove by which it could be warmed. Clara determined, against the rules, to speak to her, and offered to come and sit by her; but she shook her head, replying, “It must not be—you are wrong;” at the same time the countenance of the dying girl expressed her gratitude. Clara’s infraction of the rules being discovered, she was ordered to remain during the hours of recreation in solitude in her own cell.

The invalid Sister had crawled into the chapel one morning, and contrived with tottering steps to find her way back to her cell. The next morning she did not appear at matins, and when the Eldress went to see what had become of her, she was found stretched on her bed, dead, her pillow and sheets stained with blood, which had flowed from her mouth. She was not the only one whose life was thus sacrificed during Clara’s novitiate.

One day there was great commotion in the convent; the father of a novice had appeared at the gate, armed with legal powers which the Lady Superior dared not disobey, insisting on taking away his daughter. The young lady was told that she might go, with a warning that by so doing she was risking her soul’s welfare. She had to take her departure in the dress of the order, leaving behind every article she had brought in, her own clothes having been sold for the benefit of the community. The dreadful fate to which she was doomed, and the fearful crime of her father, were daily expatiated on.

Some months passed by, when her father died, and Dr Catton immediately wrote, urging her to return, and stating that if she did not do so, he could no longer remain her spiritual director, and thus she would lose the benefit of absolution. Letter after letter was sent to the same effect, and at length the poor girl, terrified by the consequences to which, as she supposed, her conduct had exposed her, came back to the convent. She was received in a stern manner by the Mother Superior, in the presence of the community, being told that it was through love for her soul that she had been readmitted; but that she must for a whole year hold no intercourse with the other novices, and must remain in solitude during the time allowed each day for recreation; while she was pointed to as a warning to the rest. This discipline preyed greatly on her mind, and Clara, whose cell was next to hers, heard her weeping night after night. When she appeared in public, she hung down her head, and scarcely tasted any of the meagre fare placed before her; taught to suppose that fasting was a virtue, or else weary of the life she was doomed to lead, she was starving herself to death.

Notwithstanding all the vigilance exercised, the novices did contrive at times to hold communication with each other, and one young girl, who looked very sad, and was evidently dangerously ill, confessed to Clara that she had escaped from her home to join the convent against the express wishes of her father, whom notwithstanding she asserted that she loved dearly. She had ever been among the most obedient to the commands of the Lady Superior, and the strictest in complying with the rules of the order. Her illness increased; she at last received the news of the death of that parent whose wishes she had disobeyed. The thought that her disobedience had deeply grieved him whom she was bound to love preyed on her mind, and tended much to aggravate her disease; the arguments brought forward by the Lady Superior, and Mother Eldress, and her father confessor, that God had the first claims on her, failed to assuage her sorrow, or to persuade her that she had acted rightly. Clara, observing that she looked more than usually ill when they parted in the evening, could not refrain from going into her cell. She found her on her bed, gasping for breath.

“Thank you for coming,” whispered the poor girl; “it would have been hard to die all alone. My poor father! my poor father!” she murmured; “would that I could have been with him!”

She could utter no more. Clara, to her horror, while bending over her, found that the poor sufferer had breathed her last. She hurried to the apartment of the Mother Eldress, who came somewhat agitated to the dead Sister’s cell; but instead of expressing any grief at the occurrence, she sternly rebuked Clara for breaking the rules, and ordered her back to her own cell. The Sisters assembled at the usual hour in the chapel; but not a word was said of the occurrence of the night. The nun was buried with ceremonies resembling those of Rome, and things went on as usual.

The Mother Eldress, who was looked upon as a very saintly person, was at length taken ill, and Clara was ordered to attend on her. The medical adviser of the sisterhood was sent for, and prescribed certain remedies which Clara had to administer. A small spoon had been provided for giving some powders in preserve; Clara used it daily for some time, till the Mother Eldress recovered, when the Lady Superior took possession of it. She had been in the habit of late of sending for Clara to impart religious instruction, which, she observed, she much required; not failing at times, however, to lecture her severely. The day after the Mother Eldress had recovered from her illness the Lady Superior addressed Clara in a more serious tone even than usual.

“You will observe, my daughter,” she said, “that miracles have not ceased; but that some communions, alas! have not faith to perceive them. We, holding the Catholic doctrine in its purity, have been more favoured. Let me ask of what metal you conceive that the spoon with which you used to administer the medicine to our beloved Mother Eldress is composed.”

“It was, I should say, of silver, or rather plated,” answered Clara.

“Originally it might have been; but see here, it is turned to gold,” answered the Lady Superior, producing the spoon, which had now evidently a yellow tinge.

“I observed that before,” said Clara, “and believed that it was produced by the nature of the medicine.”

“Oh, hard of heart, and slow to believe!” exclaimed the Lady Superior; “can you not now perceive that it is gold, pure gold? By what other than by miraculous power could this change have been wrought? Let the glorious fact be known among the Sisters, and all who desire may come and witness it.”

Clara was not convinced; she went away wondering whether the Lady Superior was deceived herself, or desired to deceive others. Many of the nuns were highly delighted at hearing of the miracle, which tended so much to prove that their establishment was under the especial protection of Heaven. The Mother Eldress crossed her hands on her bosom, while she meekly bowed her head, and expressed her gratitude that she should have been so remarkably favoured. It was evident, however, to Clara, that some of the Sisters were sceptical on the subject.

Clara found the life she was doomed to lead more and more irksome; but when she compared it with that of the Sisters who belonged to the order of the Sacred Heart, the true nuns, who were even more strictly enclosed (as the term is) than were she and her associates, she felt that she had no right to complain. The nuns of the Sacred Heart, or as they were frequently called, of the order of the Love of Jesus, were supposed to spend their time in perpetual prayer for the living or the dead. The whole of the twenty-four hours, Clara learned, are divided into what are denominated watches; the night watches being kept by the nuns in the following manner. The Sisters retire at seven o’clock, with the exception of one who remains watching till eight. She then summons another Sister, who rises and watches till nine, the latter again summoning a fresh watcher, and thus they continue till three o’clock, when all assemble in the chapel for matins. They also join in prayer seven times in the day, at fixed periods, though they may be separated. To the order of the Love of Jesus are attached companions who may mix in the world, and whose real duties are to obtain proselytes. They are expected to join in prayer at stated hours, wherever they may be, and on every Thursday night, from midnight till one o’clock, the companions unite in prayer. The Lady Superior in one of her more confidential moods invited Clara to join the order.

“My dear child,” she observed, “it is a glorious thing to be thus constantly engaged in prayer when you may; in every service and homage you render, call to your aid the choirs of angelic spirits, and unite yourself to them in spiritual companionship, in order that they may supply your deficiencies.”

Clara had never before heard that it was necessary to obtain the aid of angels for offering up prayer to God, and was somewhat startled at the novelty of the notion; but she knew perfectly well that it would not do to state her objections to so determined a person as her spiritual mother. She did not, either, feel inclined to become one of the order of the Sacred Heart, not having formed the very highest opinion of the nuns belonging to it whom she had met. They appeared to her generally weak-minded enthusiasts, and she still retained a belief that God is best served by those who, in imitation of our blessed Lord and Master, engage in the duties of active benevolence. On her declining, therefore, the Lady Superior dismissed her in a stern manner, reminding her that those who put their hands to the plough, and look back, are not worthy of the kingdom of heaven.

Clara, without uttering a word, left the room, and hoped to devote herself with more zeal than ever to the duties she had actually undertaken. With this feeling, she repaired at the appointed hour to the schoolroom, where she took her class of children. They were, as it happened, inclined to be less attentive and more unruly than was their wont; some of them had only lately been induced to attend the school, and were unaccustomed to the rules and regulations. A biggish boy was trying to see how far he could proceed in impudence and lead on the others, when Clara, finding that appealing to him was useless, gave him a box on the ear. The Deane, at that moment entering, observed the act.

“Sister Clare,” she exclaimed, “I must take your class; retire to your cell.”

Clara, not believing that she had done anything wrong, got up and obeyed the order. Had she remained, she would have seen that the Deane’s temper was tried as much as hers had been. On reaching her cell she sat down, wondering whether any further notice would be taken of her conduct. Scarcely had the convent clock announced that school was over, than the Deane appeared, and ordered her to go to the Lady Superior. She was met with a frowning brow.

“You have given way to temper—you require humbling, my daughter,” exclaimed the lady; “I must take means to lower that proud and haughty spirit of yours. Return to your cell, and wait till the Mother Eldress comes for you.”

Clara bowed and obeyed. After she had waited for some minutes, the Mother Eldress appeared, and taking her hand, led her along the gallery to an empty room, which, not having been used for many months, the floor was covered with dust.

“Enter there,” she said, “and show your contrition by kneeling on your knees, and licking with your tongue the form of the Blessed Cross on the ground.”

Clara stood aghast.

“Are you serious?” she asked. “It is the command of the Lady Superior, and you are bound by your vow of obedience to obey her orders—break them at the peril of your soul, Sister Clare,” was the answer. “Go in, and let me be able to report that you have exhibited sorrow for your fault by performing the penance which your spiritual superior in her wisdom has thought fit to inflict.”

No sooner had Clara entered the room than the door was locked on her. Degraded and abased in her own eyes, all her moral feelings revolting against the abominable indignity imposed on her, yet the threat which had been uttered made her tremble. She had vowed implicit obedience. With loathing at her heart, with a feeling too bitter to allow her tears to flow, she performed the debasing act, forgetting that the marks she was thus making on the ground was the accepted symbol of the Christian faith. Still, the words occurred to her, “Rend your hearts, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord your God.” Could the God of all love and mercy and gentleness be pleased by such an act? It might degrade her in her own sight; but could it make her heart more truly humble, more anxious to serve Him who said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

Clara had a Bible in her pocket. To calm her agitation, she read a portion, earnestly praying for instruction. The words which brought conviction to Luther met her sight. Light beamed on her troubled mind. The mists which the vicar’s sophistries had gathered round her rolled away. “From henceforth I will look to Jesus alone, to the teaching of His Word, the guidance of His Holy Spirit,” she exclaimed. Clara was free.

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