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 a religieuse," 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.



CHAPTER FIVE.

At length General Caulfield, having arranged the affairs of his brother who had died, returned to Luton. He had been made very anxious and unhappy by the letters he received from Harry, who expressed his astonishment at not hearing from Clara. The general, supposing that she was still at home, and fearing that she must be ill, immediately on his arrival set off to pay her a visit.

"Miss Maynard is away; Miss Pemberton is at home, sir," said the servant who opened the door.

Miss Pemberton received him in a stiff and freezing manner. He immediately enquired for Clara.

"My niece has, for some time, left home, and has not communicated her address to me, nor has she thought fit to write, so that I am in ignorance of where she is," was the unsatisfactory answer.

"That is most extraordinary," cried the general; "can you not give me any clue by which I may discover her?"

"I conclude, as she has not informed me of her abode, that she does not wish it to be known," answered Miss Pemberton, evasively.

"Though you do not know where your niece is, is Mr Lerew, or is her father's old friend, Mr Lennard, acquainted with her present address?" asked the general.

"I should think that she would have informed me rather than any one else," replied Miss Pemberton; and the general at length, finding that he could get no information out of the lady, took his leave.

"I will try, at all events, to ascertain what either Lennard or Lerew know," said the general to himself, as he drove off. Though he suspected that the vicar knew something about the matter, he decided first to call on Mr Lennard. He believed him to be an honest man, but he had no great opinion of his sense. Mr Lennard was at home; he received the general in a kindly way. The latter observed that his manner was unusually subdued. Without loss of time, the general mentioned Miss Maynard, and expressed his regret at not finding her at home.

"Can you tell me where she has gone to?" he asked, "for her aunt declares that she does not know, though it was evident from her manner that she is not anxious about her."

"I regret to say that I know no more than you do," answered Mr Lennard. "I had been for some time absent, and on my return I was greatly surprised to find that she had left Luton; and when I enquired of the Lerews, they told me that she had resolved to devote herself to works of charity, and was about to enter a sisterhood, but in what neighbourhood they did not inform me."

"In other words, that she is about to become a nun, to discard my poor son, and to give up her property, as soon as she has the power of disposing of it, to the safe keeping of one of those Romish communities," exclaimed the general, with more vehemence than he was accustomed to exhibit; "what do you say to that, Mr Lennard?"

"I don't suppose that Miss Maynard purposes entering a Romish convent; her intention, I conclude, is to join a sisterhood of the Anglican Church," said Mr Lennard.

"The Church of England, of which I suppose you speak, recognises no such institutions," replied the general; "they are contrary to the spirit of the Reformation. Unhappy will it be for our country if they ever gain ground."

"I had been inclined to suppose that they would prove a great advantage, by enabling ladies to unite together and work under a good system in visiting the sick and poor, and in the instruction of the children, and in other beneficent labours; and I have, when requested, subscribed towards their support," remarked Mr Lennard.

"I do not insist that ladies should not thus employ themselves," observed the general; "but my objection is to the mode in which they unite themselves in the so-called religious system under which they are placed. They may, in most instances, serve God far better by staying at home and doing their duty in their families, instead of assuming the dress and imitating the customs of the nuns of the middle ages."

"I do not look at the subject in that light," observed Mr Lennard, "and I know that it must be a hard matter for some young ladies to be religious at home, where the rest of the family are worldly-minded."

"Much more reason for them to stay at home and endeavour to improve the tone of the rest of the household," answered the general. "Those who know what human nature is should see that with whatever good intentions these sisterhoods are begun, they must in the end lead to much that is objectionable. If Miss Maynard has joined one of them, I must endeavour to find the means of getting her out, or of ascertaining if she was induced to join it, and remains of her own free will. I fear that Lerew will not afford me any assistance, as from his Romish tendencies he will probably consider them admirable institutions, and would think that he had done a laudable act in inducing Clara to enter one. I must now wish you good-bye. I hope that you have good accounts of your young daughter Mary, and your son at Oxford."

Mr Lennard shook his head. "I received a letter to-day from my little girl, saying that she was very ill, and begging me to come and take her home; but as the mistress did not write, I do not suppose that her illness is serious. However, I intend to go to-morrow to Mary, and ascertain how she is, and I trust that I shall not be obliged to take her away from school."

The general considered whether he should call on Mr Lerew; but he first bethought himself of paying a visit to a lawyer in the neighbouring town, with whom he was well acquainted, and who had been a friend of Captain Maynard's. He was also an earnest religious man, and strongly opposed to ritualism. The general was not a person to let the grass grow under his feet. He was driving rapidly along, when he met Lieutenant Sims, who made a sign to him to stop. The general did so, and invited the lieutenant to accompany him into the town.

"With all my heart, for I want to have a talk with you, general," answered the lieutenant, springing in. "I have long been wishing for your return. We've had some extraordinary goings on in this place. What has concerned me most is the disappearance of my old friend's daughter, in whom you, I know, take a deep interest. All I know is that she went away with the vicar and his wife, and it is my belief that they had an object in spiriting her off; but whether to shut her up in a Romish or Ritualist convent is more than I can say. I don't think there is much to choose between them; the vicar might select the Ritualist, or the Anglican, as he would call it, as he, though a Papist at heart, would prefer keeping his living, while his lady would recommend the former; for it is said, and I believe it to be a fact, that she herself has turned Romanist, with her dear friend Lady Bygrave. Haven't you heard that both Sir Reginald and her ladyship were received last week into the bosom of the Church of Rome, as the expression runs?"

"Is it possible!" exclaimed the general; "but I ought not to be surprised when I saw the characters they admitted into their house. I thought that French abbe and Father Lascelles had some other object in view than the establishment of a colony; but perhaps you have been misinformed."

"I tell you, general, I haven't a doubt about the matter," answered Mr Sims. "They and Mrs Lerew attended the Romish church together, and I am told had been baptised with all ceremony a few days before. I know that two or three priests have been staying at the Hall ever since, and Mrs Lerew goes there regularly. They are about to have a chapel built in their grounds, and an architect came down from London about it; and in the meantime they have got a room fitted up in the house. What surprises me is that the vicar should allow his wife to turn; but that she has done so seems probable, for she was not at church last Sunday. Should Lerew object to his wife's perversion, he has only himself to thank for it; he has led her up to the door as carefully as a man could do, and cannot be surprised at her going inside. Of course she thinks it safer to join what she has been taught to look upon as the true church, and has therefore honestly gone over to it; while whatever he may think, putting honesty and honour aside, he considers that it is more to his advantage to retain his living, and lead others in the way he has led his wife."

"I suspect that you are right," observed the general; "too many have set him the example. He, like them, has been trained in the school of the Jesuits, who are fully persuaded that evil may be done that good may come of it, and banish from their minds the principles which guide honest men, and which they themselves would advocate in the ordinary affairs of life. I can only wish that, unless Mr Lerew's mind is enlightened, he would go over himself; as I am afraid, while he remains in the Church of England, he may lead others in the same direction."

"Not much fear of that," observed the lieutenant; "except a few silly young people of the better classes, and the poor, who look out for the loaves and fishes in the shape of coals and blankets and other creature comforts, I don't think many are influenced by him. He is more likely to empty his church, and to fill the Dissenting chapels."

"Still," said the general, "he sows broadcast the germs of Romanism through the doctrines he preaches, while he accustoms people to the sight of the ceremonies and paraphernalia of Rome, keeping them in ignorance at the same time of the simple truths of the Gospel, at the bidding of those whose commands he obeys; for he and his ritualistic brethren are but instruments in the hands of more cunning men than themselves. I have little doubt that he was carefully educated at the university for the part he is now playing, though he then had no idea of the designs of his tutor. People laugh at the notion that a Jesuit plot has long existed in England for the subversion of Protestantism; but I have evidence, which receives daily corroboration, that Jesuits in disguise matriculated at the universities for the express purpose of perverting the minds of all whom they could bring under their influence. The pupils in numberless instances went over to Rome, while the tutors remained nominally in the Church of England, for the sake of trapping others. The scheme has succeeded, and has since been greatly enlarged; the Jesuits have now agents in every shape—some as incumbents of parishes, as lay supporters, men and women, guilds and sisterhoods; they have encouraged works of charity, schools, hospitals, refuges for the fallen and destitute, creches, mothers' meetings, and other institutions, all excellent in themselves, knowing how much such would forward their object. Of that object, those who take part in them are, I am ready to believe, in many instances utterly ignorant; they are influenced by the desire to obey the commands of Christ, and to make themselves useful to their fellow-creatures, though the idea that they are thereby meriting heaven, and what they call working out their own salvation, underlies all they do, as they misinterpret the passage. They ignore the glorious truth that through simple faith in the atoning blood of Christ salvation is gained—that it is their own, and that the right motive of action must be through love and obedience to Him who has already saved them. All the forms and ceremonies in which they indulge are but will-worship, tending to obscure their view of Him, and to destroy their spiritual life."

"General," said the lieutenant, "I have seen a good deal of Roman Catholic countries, where the priests have full sway, and I am very sure that the system these Ritualists have introduced is tending in the same direction. I know from experience that true religion makes a man all that can be expected of him. We had a dozen or more such men on board the last ship in which I served, and they were out and out the best men we had; they could be trusted on all occasions; and if any dangerous work had to be done, they were the first to volunteer. They were Dissenters of some sort, I believe, and were not in favour with our ritualistic chaplain, who had his followers both among officers and men. I can't say much about those officers, and as to the men who pretended to agree with him, they were the most sneaking rascals in the ship. He tried to bring me over to his way of thinking, but my eyes were opened. 'No, no,' I answered; 'if the ship was going down, and you had to take your chance in one of the boats, which would you choose, the one manned by those fellows you anathematise, or with the men you call obedient sons of the Church?' He couldn't answer; but one day, he being left on shore, the heretics, as he called them, brought him off through a heavy surf, when no other men would venture. So you see, thanks to our chaplain, when I found the new vicar working changes in the church, I knew pretty well what he was about."

The general found Mr Franklin, his solicitor, at home.

"I am very glad you have come, general," said the latter. "Miss Maynard, as you are probably aware, has been induced to leave home, or, rather, has been entrapped by one of those conventual establishments, to which she will in due course, when she has the power, be persuaded to give up her property. Our business must be to get her out of their hands before that time arrives; and yours, general, more especially to point out to her the errors of the system which has thrown its glamour over her; for, if I understand rightly, she has sacrificed an excellent and satisfactory marriage, as well as the independence and comforts of home. It was not for a considerable time that I discovered her absence from Luton, when her aunt (who, no disrespect to the lady, I consider it a misfortune was left one of her guardians) positively declared that she did not know where she had gone. I, however, took steps to find out, and lately ascertained that she is an inmate of Saint Barbara's, near Staughton, to which place I discovered that she drove on leaving the railway, in company with Mr and Mrs Lerew. Convinced that Miss Pemberton was not likely to render any willing assistance, I awaited your return to take legal measures to obtain her release. Our first difficulty will be to communicate with her, for the nuns are allowed to receive no letters till they are first seen by the Lady Superior. It would be as well first to ascertain whether the young lady desires of her own free will to leave the convent; she has had some experience of it, and may by this time perhaps have repented of the step she has taken. My belief is that she has been deceived and cajoled. I know well of what those Ritualists are capable, influenced by what they believe the best of motives, and I strongly suspect that there is some misunderstanding between her and your son, brought about, I say without hesitation, by their means. Either her letters have not been forwarded to him, or his have not been received by her—perhaps the entire correspondence has been intercepted—I will not go farther than that. I say this as I wish to plead for your ward, at whose conduct you naturally feel deeply grieved."

"Poor girl! notwithstanding all the pain and suffering she has caused my son, I am not angry with her," said the general; "my indignation is directed against the system and persons by whom she has been deceived. I suspect as you do with regard to the correspondence between her and my son, for I am very sure she would not have given him up without assigning any reason, or answering his letters."

"Our first object must be to open a free communication with her; letters sent in the ordinary way are sure to be read by the Lady Superior, and the answers dictated by her, so that we shall not be wiser than at first," remarked Mr Franklin.

"I must try that simple plan, however, and if it fails, resort to stronger measures," observed the general. "I will go to Staughton myself, and write to say that, as her guardian, I wish to have a private interview with her on a matter of importance, and to beg that I may be allowed to call on her at the convent, or that she will come and see me at my hotel."

"I am afraid that means would be taken to prevent her from seeing you alone," observed Mr Franklin.

"What course do you then advise?" asked the general.

"We must take legal proceedings, and they are very certain to have their due effect, as the Lady Superior would be exceedingly loth to have the internal arrangements of her convent made public, and she is well aware that if she resists she will run the risk of that being the case. I have already had something to do with her ladyship, as well as with two or three other convents, and I know how jealous the managers are that the secrets of their prison-houses should be revealed. Their aim is to prove they have nothing to conceal, and that all is open as noon-day; but the moment troublesome questions are asked, they exhibit a reticence as to their rules and practices which shows how conscious they are that outsiders will object to them."

Before the general took his leave, it was arranged between him and Mr Franklin that they should go over together to Epsworth, and act according to circumstances. As he drove home he expressed a hope to the honest lieutenant that he might be the means of emancipating Miss Maynard from her present thraldom.

"She has too much sense and right feeling not to be open to conviction," answered Mr Sims; "what she wants is to be freed from the evil influences to which she has of late been exposed, and to have the simple truth placed before her; only don't let her meet her aunt or Mr Lerew till she has thoroughly got rid of all her erroneous notions, and understands the simple gospel as you well know how to put it."

"You may depend on my following your advice," said the general.

On reaching home, the general found a note from Mr Lennard. He wrote in great distress of mind. He had received a letter from a friend at Oxford, telling him that his son had left the university in company with a Romish priest, and had declared his intention of seeking admission into the Church of Rome. Mr Lennard was anxious, if possible, to find out his son, and prevent him from taking the fatal step, at the same time that he wished to be with his poor little girl at Cheltenham.

"I am afraid," he continued, "that the tutor under whom I placed my boy, by Mr Lerew's advice, has had much to do with it. I now hear that three or four of his previous pupils have become Romanists, and others, by all accounts, are likely to go over. I object to my son's becoming a Romanist, though I consider that the Church of Rome is the mother of all Churches, and has the advantage of antiquity on her side."

"The mother of all abominations!" exclaimed the general to himself. "I must endeavour to set my friend right on that subject, if he holds that fundamental error."

The general was a man of action. After taking a hurried meal, he drove on to the house of Mr Lennard. His journey to Cheltenham had been delayed, and he was now hesitating whether first to go in search of his son or to proceed there immediately. The thought at once struck the general that should he succeed in getting Clara out of the convent, he might go on to Cheltenham with her, and that if Mary was fit to be removed from the school, it would give Clara occupation to nurse her friend.

"I shall indeed be most grateful to you," said Mr Lennard, with the tears in his eyes; "I was sorely perplexed what to do, and I specially wish that Mary should not remain longer at the school than can be helped, as from her letter it is evident that she is not only ill, but very miserable there.

"You must give me your written authority, and I will act upon it," said the general. This was done. "Now, my friend," he continued, "I wish to speak to you on the remark made in your letter, in which you say that you consider the Church of Rome the mother of all Churches, and that it has the advantage of antiquity. You evidently go first on the assumption that our Lord instituted a visible Church on earth, and that that Church, though corrupted, is the Church of Rome. Now I wish to draw your attention to the origin of that wonderful establishment which has for so long exerted a baneful influence over a large portion of the human race. For three centuries true Christians, though becoming less and less pure in their doctrine and form of worship, existed in Rome as a despised and subordinate class, the purity of their faith gradually decreasing as their numbers, wealth, and influence increased. At length the Emperor Constantine professed himself to be a Christian, which he did for the sake of obtaining the assistance of the Christians against his rival Licinius, who was supported by the idolaters. Constantine being victorious, and Licinius slain, the idolaters saw that they could no longer hope to be predominant. There existed in Rome from the days of Numa a college, or curia, the members of which, called pontiffs, had the entire management of all matters connected with religion. The post of head pontiff, or Pontifex Maximus, had been assumed by Julius Caesar and his successors. They had probably no real belief in the idolatrous system they supported; such secret faith as they had was centred in Astarte, the divinity of the ancient Babylonians, whose worship had been introduced at an early period into Etruria, as it had been previously into Egypt and Greece. They were, in reality, the priests of Astarte, and from them we derive our festival of Christmas, our Lady Day, and many other festivals with Christian names. It had been their principle from the first to admit any gods who had become popular, and thus were added in rapid succession the numberless gods and goddesses of the heathen mythology. At length Jesus of Nazareth was added to their pantheon. These pontiffs, on perceiving that Christianity, patronised by the Emperor, was likely to gain the day, saw that to maintain their power they must themselves pretend to belong to the new faith. This they did, and one of their number soon managed to get himself chosen the Bishop of Rome, while the other pontiffs by an easy transition formed the College of Cardinals. The title of Pontifex Maximus, being held by the Emperor, was not assumed by the bishop of Rome till the Emperor Gratian in 376 refused any longer to be addressed by that title. Having banished some of the grosser practices of idolatry, they introduced the remainder under different names, so that the pagans might readily conform to the new worship. The apostles took the place of the various gods, and the martyrs those of the inferior divinities; above them all was raised Astarte, who, now named Mary the Mother of God and Queen of Heaven, became the chief object of adoration. In truth, the established worship at Rome remained as truly idolatrous as it had ever been, while the great aim of the pontiffs was to increase their power, amass wealth, and strengthen their position. From that period they acted, as might have been expected, in direct opposition to all the principles of Christianity. Bloody struggles often took place between rivals aiming at the pontificate, while they endeavoured to destroy all those who refused to obey them. It was not till a somewhat later period, when the head pontiff set up a claim of superiority above all other bishops, that, to strengthen it, it was asserted that he was in direct apostolic succession from the apostle Peter, the pontiff who first made it being ignorant, probably, that the Christian Church at Rome was founded exclusively by Paul, and that the apostle Peter never was at Rome, he having been all his life employed in founding churches in the East. 'By their fruits ye shall know them;' and we have only to reflect on the lives of the popes, many of them monsters of atrocity, and the fearful acts of persecution which they encouraged and authorised, to be convinced that paganism, the invention of Satan, had usurped the name of Christianity, and that the Romish Church, as it is called, instead of being the mother of all Churches, is truly the Babylon of the Apocalypse; yet this is the system which ministers of the Church of England are endeavouring to introduce into our country, with its idolatrous rites and dogmas, and which you and many excellent men like yourself look at with a lenient eye, instead of regarding it with the abhorrence it deserves."

"My dear friend," said Mr Lennard, greatly astonished, "I certainly had never regarded the Church of Rome in that light; I looked upon it as the ancient Church, corrupted in the course of ages."

"It has no true claim to be a Christian Church at all," said the general; "it is like the cuckoo, which, hatched in the nest of the hedge-warbler, by degrees forces out the other fledglings, and usurps their place. So did paganism treat Christianity; although, fostered by God, the latter was enabled to exist, persecuted and oppressed as it was, and still to exert a benign influence in the world. On examining the tenets of many who are called heretics, we find that it was not the creed they held, but the opposition they offered to the Romish system, which was their crime, and brought down persecution on their heads. When we read of the horrible cruelties practised on the Waldenses and Albigenses, the followers of Huss in Bohemia, the true Protestants of all ages down to the time of Luther, the detestable system of the Inquisition, the treatment of the inhabitants of the Netherlands by Alva and the Spaniards, when whole hecatombs of victims were put to death at the instigation of the pope and his cardinals, the destruction of thousands and tens of thousands of Huguenots in France, the martyrdoms of the noble Protestants of Spain, the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, and the fires of Smithfield—all these diabolical acts performed with the concurrence and approval of the papal power—can we for a moment hesitate to believe that that power owes its origin, not to the Divine Head of the Church, but to that spirit of evil, Satan, the deadly foe of the human race? Can any system founded on it, however much reformed it may appear, fail to partake of the evil inherent in the original itself. It is from not seeing this that so many are led to embrace the errors— I would rather say the abominations—of Rome; while others are taught to look at them with lenient eyes, and to believe that the system itself is capable of reformation. Before true and simple faith can be established throughout the world the whole must be overthrown and hurled into the depths of the sea, as completely as have been the idols and idolatrous practices of the inhabitants of the South Sea Islands, where Christianity has been established."

Mr Lennard leant his head on his hand. "I must think deeply of what you say; you put the whole matter in a new light to me. I have had no affection for Rome; still, I have always regarded her as a Church founded on the apostles and prophets."

"Yet which virtually forbids its followers to study those prophets and apostles," remarked the general. "But what I want you to do is to look into the subject for yourself. I have merely given you a hint for your guidance; by referring carefully to the Scriptures, you will find more and more light thrown on it, till you must be convinced that the view I have taken is the correct one; and would that every clergyman and layman in England might do the same! these ritualistic practices would then soon be banished from the land."

Never in his life had poor Mr Lennard been so perplexed and troubled. He was invited to reconsider opinions which he had held, in a somewhat lax fashion it may be granted, all his life. He had to search for his son, and prevent him if possible from becoming a slave to the system he had just heard so strongly denounced, and he was painfully anxious about the health of his dear little Mary. While he was still in this unhappy state of mind, the general left him to return home. The next morning they both set off to their respective destinations, the general to Epsworth, having called for Mr Franklin on his way, and Mr Lennard to London.

On reaching Epsworth, the general wrote a note to Clara, saying that as her guardian it was necessary for him to see her at once, and that he would either pay her a visit at the convent, or would request her to come to his hotel. After waiting for some time, he received a note in a strange handwriting; it was from a lady, who signed herself Sister Agatha. She stated that she wrote by the command of the Lady Superior, who was at present unwell, but would, on her recovery, reply to the letter General Caulfield had addressed to Sister Clare, or, as she was called in the world, Miss Clara Maynard.

"We must give her ladyship a taste of the law," said Mr Franklin; "she fancies that she can play the same game with us which she has successfully employed with others. You shall write a note, stating that your legal adviser, Mr Franklin, is with you; address it to the Lady Superior, and say that you insist on seeing Miss Maynard at once."

As soon as the letter was despatched, Mr Franklin, observing that he had some business to transact, went out, leaving the general engaged in writing. He had been for some time absent, when he hurriedly entered the room.

"I thought it would be so," he observed. "The Lady Superior is about to remove Miss Maynard to some other establishment, and she will then coolly inform you that, Sister Clare not being an inmate of the convent, she cannot be answerable for her. I learnt this from one of several people I placed on the watch, and I find that one of the serving Sisters has come in to say that a conveyance is wanted immediately at the convent. I have ordered our carriage, and we will follow the other; and you can either speak to Miss Maynard as she comes out of the convent, or meet her at whatever railway station she goes to."

The general did not quite like this plan; he had hoped to see Clara alone, and be able to speak to her for as long as might be necessary, so as to convince her of the fearful mistake she had made, should she at first show an unwillingness to leave the convent; still, he had no other course but to follow Mr Franklin's advice. They accordingly entered their carriage, and soon overtook another driving in the direction of the convent. At a short distance from it, Mr Franklin ordered the coachman to pull up, and got out. He and the general then walked leisurely towards the gate, just as they got in sight of which, they caught a glimpse of three muffled figures stepping into the carriage.

"Now is our time," exclaimed Mr Franklin; "I've bribed the coachman not to move on till I have given him leave, so that should one of those dames prove to be the Lady Superior—and I know her very well—we shall have an opportunity of addressing her; and I think what I say will make her hesitate to use force in preventing Miss Maynard from accompanying you, should you desire her to do so."

The next instant they were alongside the carriage, just as the Lady Superior—for she was one of those inside—had put her head out of the window, peremptorily ordering the coachman to drive on as fast as he could. Though he flourished his whip, he kept his reins tight; but Mr Franklin, putting his hand on the door said, "Madam, my friend General Caulfield, whom I have the honour to introduce to you, desires to have some conversation on a matter of importance with Miss Maynard, and I am glad to see that she is here to answer for herself."

As he spoke, Clara sprang up, and though the Lady Superior and the other Sister attempted to hold her back, she threw herself forward into the general's arms.

"Sister Clare, remember your vow of obedience; sit quiet, I order you," cried the Lady Superior, in a stern tone; but Clara paid no attention to the command. With an imploring look for protection, she gazed into the general's countenance.

"I wish to accompany you," she whispered; "take me, take me away! don't scold me!"

The general recognised the features of the once bright and blooming girl, though her dress looked strange.

"I have come on purpose to take you, my dear girl," he answered, holding her tightly. "I am in your good father's place—trust to me." He then, turning to the Lady Superior, said, "I have the right, as this young lady's guardian, to take her away from you, as she has expressed her wish to accompany me. Mr Franklin will explain all that is necessary. I bid you good morning, Madam."

"Sister Clare, remember your vows," again repeated the Lady Superior, in a solemn voice; "the anathema—"

"I cannot allow such language to be uttered to my client," said Mr Franklin; and he went on to explain the legal rights of guardians in a way which was calculated to keep the Lady Superior silent. The general, meantime, half leading, half carrying poor Clara, reached his carriage, which at a sign to the coachman approached to receive them. Mr Franklin, observing that the general had handed in Clara, followed, having directed the coachman to drive off, leaving the Lady Superior and her companion in a state better imagined than described. Looking back, the lawyer observed that they had re-entered the convent.

Clara was no sooner seated than she burst into tears. "I have been very miserable, but I have myself alone to blame," she said. "I knew what you would think, while I obstinately listened to Mr and Mrs Lerew, and to what they had taught Aunt Sarah to say to me. Still, I wanted to consult you, but as you were too angry with me to write, I could not have my doubts solved; and even Harry cast me off, and refused to have any further correspondence with me. I don't blame him, for I knew his opinions, and he warned me—"

"My dear Clara, do you think it possible that I should not have written to you, or that Harry should have neglected to do so?" interrupted the general. "I wrote letter upon letter, and got no answer, and Harry told me that he had written over and over again, and at last had enclosed a letter to your aunt, but that she had returned it, saying that she did so at the recommendation of your spiritual adviser, who considered that it would be highly improper for you, who had become a bride of the Church, to receive a letter from a mortal lover."

"Then I have been deceived and betrayed," exclaimed Clara, "entirely through my own folly, and I have caused Harry terrible pain and annoyance."

"There is no doubt that you have been deceived and betrayed," said the general; "but we do not blame you, except that instead of seeking guidance and direction from the loving Father who is ever ready to afford it, you allowed yourself to be led by fallible human beings, who in this instance had, I suspect, an object in inducing you to follow the line they had pointed out. You did not distinguish between the works which these Sisters of Charity propose undertaking and the system and principles by which they are guided. The works themselves are such as all Christians are bound to engage in or support, whereas the system is idolatrous, and encourages will-worship; the works are made to support the system, instead of, as it should be, love and obedience to our heavenly Master producing the works. Our loving Father wishes His children to be happy and to enjoy the good things with which He provides them. No monastic rules, no peculiar dress, no vows of obedience to fallible mortals like ourselves, no fasts or penances are required to enable us to obey His laws; all we need is to seek for grace and strength from Him to do His will; and knowing that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin, we can go boldly to Him in prayer, offered up through our sole High Priest and Mediator, who ever pleads the efficacy of that blood."

"I know you speak the truth," said Clara; "but I felt myself so unworthy, I fancied that God would not receive me unless I made some sacrifices in His service."

"You dishonoured Him, my dear child, by thinking so," answered the general; "He will in no wise cast out those who come to Him, and He desires all to come just as they are, with humble and contrite spirits; but not under the idea that they can first put away their sins, and merit His love by any good deeds or penances they may perform. Such acts as are pleasing in His sight must spring from loving obedience to Him; all He does is of free grace; we can merit nothing, because we owe Him everything. When you see this clearly, you will understand more perfectly the wrong principles on which the whole Romish and ritualistic systems, and, believe me, they are identical, are founded."

Through the general's remarks Clara's eyes were quickly opened; it appeared as if a thick veil had been thrown over them, which had suddenly been removed, and she wondered how she could have been so lamentably deceived. She looked upon her convent life, with its rigid rules, its senseless silence, its hours of solitude, its meagre fare, the cold and suffering uselessly endured, its unnatural vigils, its mockeries of religious observances, the cruelties she had seen practised, all tending to depress the spirits and lower the physical powers, with just abhorrence; and then a choking sensation came into her throat, and the colour rose to her cheeks as she thought of the abominable confessional, the questions asked her, and the answers she had had to give. She tried to shut them out from her thoughts. Could she ever be worthy of the pure, honest-minded, open-hearted, noble Harry?

On reaching their sitting-room at the inn, the general looked at Clara's costume.

"I suppose, my dear child, that you would like to assume the ordinary dress of a young lady of the nineteenth century," he said with a smile, "in lieu of those garments of the dark ages."

A smile almost rose to Clara's lips, though her cheeks were blushing and her eyes suffused with tears as she answered, "Yes, I should very much, and I must ask if you will be good enough to send them back to the convent, as they belong to the community, and I have no right to keep them."

"With all imaginable pleasure," exclaimed Mr Franklin; "and I am happy to say that I can assist you in procuring a desirable costume. I have a relative residing here who is much about your height and figure, and as she has some interest with the mantua-makers, I have no doubt that by to-morrow morning she will induce them to supply you with a travelling-dress and such other articles of apparel as you may require."

Clara expressed her thankfulness, and added, "Pray let it be as simple as possible."

"Oh yes, it shall be such as will become a quakeress if you wish it; I will lose no time about it," said Mr Franklin, hurrying out of the room.

"Why, he has gone without taking anything to eat; he must be almost starving," observed the general. "I know that I am; and, my dear, I am afraid that you must be hungry, unless you took a late luncheon."

"We had dinner at ten, though I took but little," answered Clara; "but we are accustomed to go a long time without food."

"Your looks tell me that, my dear," exclaimed the general, ringing the bell. "We must take more care of you in future than you have received lately. I never knew starving enable a person the better to go through the duties of life."

The waiter entered, and the general ordered luncheon to be brought up at once, in a tone which showed that he intended to be obeyed, adding, "Let there be as many delicacies as your cook can provide off-hand."

The lawyer had not returned when luncheon was placed on the table. "Come, my dear, I want to see you do justice to some of these nice things," said the general.

Poor Clara hesitated; it was a fast-day in the convent—could she at once transgress the rule? She was going to take simply some bread and preserve, but the general placed a cutlet on her plate. "I must insist on your eating that, and taking a glass or two of good wine to give you strength for your journey to-morrow," he said. Clara had to explain her difficulty. "I know of no command of the Lord to fast," he observed, "though He stigmatised vain fasts and oblations. The apostles nowhere command it, and the early Christians, until error crept in among them, did not consider fasting a religious duty. In your case let me assure you that it would be a sin to fast when you require your strength restored. You have had much mental trial, and will have more to go through. The mind suffers with the body, and it is your duty to strengthen both. Come, come, eat up the cutlet, and take this glass of sherry."

Clara obeyed, and in a wonderfully short time began to see matters in a brighter light. The general did not fail to explain that one of the great objects of the system from which he wished to emancipate her was that of weakening the minds of those it got into its toils to keep them in subjection. "Such was their aim in insisting on confession, on fasting, and on vigils. What is even a strong man fit for, who is deprived of his sleep and half-starved? How completely does a man become the slave of the fellow mortal to whom he confides every secret of his heart! and how much more thoroughly must a weak woman become a slave, who is subjected to the same system! Add to that the rule of obedience which you tell me is so much insisted on. Obedience to whom? to a woman as full of faults and weaknesses as other human beings. How sad must be the result! It is terrible to see the name of religion prostituted in such a cause."

Clara ate up the cutlet without any further objection, and meekly submitted to take some of the other delicacies the general placed before her.

"You'll do, my dear," he said, smiling; "we shall have the roses in your cheeks again, I hope, in a few weeks. What I want you to do is to distinguish between God's and man's religions. You have erred from confounding the two. Our loving Father wants a joyous, willing obedience; He allows no one to come between Him and us poor sinners, but our one Mediator and great High Priest, to whom we must confess our sins. He invites us to come direct to Him in prayer. Those dishonour Him who fancy that either ministering angels or departed saints can interfere with our glorious privilege. He who said, 'Rend your heart, and not your garments,' desires no debasing penances, no fasts, nothing which could weaken the powers of the mind. When you come to look into the subject, you will see that all such practices were invented by the great enemy of souls to draw men off from their reliance on their loving Father, who is ever ready to give grace and help in time of need."

Before luncheon was quite over Mr Franklin returned. "You will excuse us for not waiting for you," said the general. "Miss Maynard was nearly starving."

"I am glad you did not wait, indeed," answered Mr Franklin, "for I may compliment Miss Maynard on looking much better than she did an hour ago. I have been entirely successful in my mission; my cousin and her milliner will be here in a few minutes. I have a message from my aunt, Mrs Lawson, who begs that you and Miss Maynard will stay the night at her house, as she can there make the arrangements about her dress with far more convenience than here."

The general, without stopping to consult Clara, at once accepted the offer. Clara herself was thankful to move to a quiet house. Miss Lawson, who was a sensible girl, understanding Clara's position and feelings, with much thoughtfulness made every arrangement she could require. Having supplied her from her own wardrobe, she took away the conventual garments, which Mr Franklin with infinite satisfaction carefully packed up and sent with a note, couched in legal phraseology, to the Lady Superior, requesting that Miss Maynard's property might be sent back by return. "I don't suppose we shall get it," he remarked to his cousin; "but it is as well to see what her ladyship has to say about the matter."

Late in the evening a note arrived from the Lady Superior, who had to assure Mr Franklin that she possessed nothing belonging to Miss Maynard, who was well aware that any articles brought into the convent became the property of the community, and that all secular dresses were immediately disposed of as useless to those devoted to the service of the Church.

"I call it a perfect swindle," observed Mrs Lawson, who was not an admirer of convents. "Miss Maynard tells me she took two trunks full of summer and winter clothing. She had not a notion before she went to the convent how she was to dress or what she was to do."

"I am afraid, notwithstanding, that we cannot indict the Lady Superior as a swindler, whatever opinion we may secretly form of her," answered Mr Franklin, laughing. "I daresay that Miss Maynard will soon be able to replace her loss. We would rather not have her adventure made public, except for the sake of a warning to others."

Miss Lawson, whose garments fortunately fitted Clara, begged that she would take such as she might require until the dressmaker could forward those which had been ordered. The next morning, heartily thanking Mr Franklin and his relations, Clara and the general set off for Cheltenham. It was not to be expected that Clara would at once recover her spirits and serenity of mind; but fortunately they had the carriage to themselves, and thus the general had an opportunity of further explaining the subjects he had touched on on the previous day. As he never was without his Bible, he was able to refer to that, and to point to many texts which of late Clara had heard sadly perverted, or which had been carefully avoided. He explained to her the origin of the whole Romish system, and showed her how identical that of the Ritualists was with it; the great object being to exalt and give power to a priestly caste, who, pretending to stand between God and the sinner, thus obtain power over the minds and property of their fellow-creatures. "Such has been the object of certain men imbued with a desire to rule their more ignorant and more superstitious fellows, from the earliest ages; it was this spirit which influenced the priests of Egypt, Greece, and Rome; it exists throughout India, among the savages of America in their medicine—men, in the islands of the Pacific, and indeed in every region of the world. It is the object of the Romish system, and is now exhibiting itself in a more subtle form among the ministers of the Church of England. We properly apply the term sacerdotalism to any system the spirit of which seeks to place a human being in any intermediate character between God and man. Sacerdotalism is in direct opposition and antagonistic to the genius of the Gospel, which enunciates the great truth that there is but one Mediator between God and man, the Man Jesus Christ; that through the atoning blood of Christ, man, if truly turning to Him, and heartily believing, receives directly, and without any other agency whatever, pardon and absolution. He, and He alone, pardoneth and absolveth all them that truly repent, that is, look to Him and unfeignedly believe His holy Gospel. Christ, and Christ alone, is the Way, the Truth, and the Life to seeking, travailing, heavy-laden man; whereas the Romanists, as do the Ritualists, assert that without the priestly function there is no complete remission, no claim to all the benefit of the Passion, no assurance of God's sanctifying grace. There must be, say these people, contrition, confession, and satisfaction united with the sacerdotal function, a succession of acts, the priest being the organ of God's sanctifying grace."