"Oh, then, of what mockery, of what sin, have I been guilty?" exclaimed Clara.

"Turn from it, and look to Jesus, and He grants immediate forgiveness," answered the general.

"Would that all who are misled as I have been might receive that glorious truth!" cried Clara. "Oh, general, tell it everywhere, and show me how I may help to open the eyes of others as mine have been opened."

"God alone can open the eyes of the blind; but we can become active instruments in His hands by conveying to them the remedy for their blindness," said the general, taking Clara's hand. "Your words afford me infinite satisfaction, and remove an anxious weight from my heart on your own account, and on that of one naturally still dearer to me. Depend on it that, with God's grace, I will not relax in my efforts to make known the simple Gospel, and to exhibit the sacerdotal system of Rome, and of the so-called ritualism of England, in its true light."



CHAPTER SIX.

On reaching Cheltenham, the general took Clara to the house of his sister-in-law, a Scotch lady, who received her with the most motherly kindness.

"I very well know the sort of glamour which has been thrown around you, my dear," she said, "so that I can heartily sympathise with you; and I praise God that it has been removed. You can now therefore look with confidence for grace and strength from Him who is the giver of all good, to walk forward in the enjoyment of that true happiness which God in His mercy affords to His creatures. There is abundance of work for our sex, which can be carried out in a straightforward, Protestant, English fashion."

"I shall be thankful to find it," said Clara.

"You will not have long to wait, my dear," answered Mrs Caulfield; "but at present you require being nursed yourself: you must let me take you in hand."

As soon as the general had deposited Clara with his sister-in-law, he set off and paid his promised visit to Mary Lennard. On reaching Mrs Barnett's establishment, he was shown into a handsome drawing-room, where that lady soon presented herself, under the belief that he had come to place a daughter with her. She bowed gracefully as she glided into a seat, and smilingly enquired the object of his visit.

"I have come to see Miss Mary Lennard, daughter of my particular friend, the Reverend John Lennard," answered he.

"She is too ill, I regret to say, to see visitors," answered the schoolmistress. "Had her father come, I of course should not have objected."

"I am acting in the place of her father," said the general, "and I must insist on seeing the young lady, who has, I understand, been made ill by a system of fasting and penances which all right-minded people must consider objectionable."

"Sir, you astonish me," exclaimed Mrs Barnett. "I should suppose that every clergyman would wish his daughter to fast on Fridays and other days ordered by the Church; and with regard to penances, such have been imposed by the priest to whom she has duly gone to confession."

"Why, I thought this was a Protestant school," exclaimed the general, astonished.

"That term I repudiate," answered the lady. "I am a daughter of the Anglican Church, and as such I wish to bring up all my pupils."

"You may act according to your conscience, but parents may differ from you as to whether you are right in compelling growing children to fast, as also in allowing them to confess to a person whom you call a priest," answered the general. "I regret having to act in any way which is disagreeable to you, but I must insist, madam, with the authority given me by Mr Lennard, on seeing his daughter alone, and judging what steps I shall take."

The lady hesitated; the general put Mr Lennard's letter into her hand. She still hesitated.

"Have you any reason for wishing me not to see Mary?" he asked.

"She may appear worse than she really is," said Mrs Barnett. "Our medical attendant has visited her daily."

"That makes it more necessary for me to see her and judge for myself," said the general, in a firm tone.

Mrs Barnett rang the bell, and a servant appearing, she told her to inform Miss Lennard that a friend of her father wished to see her.

"She isn't able to get up, marm, I'm afraid," was the answer.

"Then show me her room," said the general, rising; and without waiting to hear Mrs Barnett's remarks, he followed the servant, who led the way upstairs to a room containing four beds. A cough struck his ears as he entered. On one of the beds lay poor Mary; her once rosy cheek was pale and thin, and her large eyes unusually bright. She knew him at once, and stretching out both her hands, said, "I am glad to see you; but I thought papa would come."

The general explained that Mr Lennard was prevented from doing what he wished.

"Then, will you take me away from this?" she asked, in a whisper; "I am sure that papa would do so. I am not happy here; but do not let Mrs Barnett know I said so."

"If you can be removed without risk, I certainly will take you," answered the general.

"Oh, yes, yes! I shall be well soon. I could get up now if they will give me my clothes," exclaimed Mary.

The day was bright and warm; and as the general felt sure that Mary could be removed without danger, he determined to take her to his sister-in-law's immediately.

"Take me! take me!" said Mary; "I feel quite strong enough, and the doctor said that there was nothing particularly the matter with me."

Her eagerness to go was still further increased when she heard that she was to be taken care of by Clara Maynard.

"I thought that she had been shut up in a convent," she exclaimed. "The girls here were saying that it is a very holy life, though I don't know that there are many who wish to lead it; but I was very, very sorry to hear of Clara's being a nun, because I thought that perhaps I might never see her again, and of all people I wondered that she should turn nun."

"I trust that she has given up all intention of becoming one," said the general; "but you will see her soon, and she will tell you what she thinks about the matter."

The general then told the servant to assist Miss Lennard in dressing, while he went out to obtain a conveyance. On returning to the house, he desired again to see Mrs Barnett. The lady was somewhat indignant, and warned him that he must be responsible for the consequences of removing Miss Lennard.

"Of course I am, and I am taking her where she can be more carefully nursed than is possible in a school," answered the general.

Mary was soon ready, and her box packed up. The thoughts of going away restored her strength, and she walked downstairs without difficulty. The general carefully wrapped her up, and telling her to keep the shawl over her head and mouth, lifted her into the carriage. They had but a short distance to go. Clara was delighted to find that Mary was to remain; but on perceiving how ill the poor girl evidently was, she felt very sad. Mary was, however, not at all the worse for being removed, and Mrs Caulfield immediately sent for her own medical man to see her. He looked very grave, but gave no decided opinion. "She has been poorly fed, and her mind overtaxed for one so young," he remarked. "We must see what proper care and nourishment will effect; but I must not disguise from you that I am anxious about her."

Clara begged that Mary might be placed in her bed, while she occupied a small camp-bed at its foot.

"But you will have no room to turn," observed Mrs Caulfield.

"It is wider and far softer than the one to which I have been accustomed," she answered, smiling, "and I shall be much happier to be near Mary than away from her."

Clara had now ample occupation in attending on her sick friend, though Mrs Caulfield insisted on her driving out every day, and advised her to receive the visits of several friends who called. With the consciousness that she was of essential use to Mary, her own spirits returned and her health improved. The rest of her time was spent in working, or reading to Mary, or playing and singing to her. The healthy literature the general procured for Mary benefited Clara as much as it did her friend; it was an invigorating change from the monastic legends and similar works which were alone allowed to be perused in the convent. She thought it better not to say much about her own life there; but Mary was not so reticent with regard to her school existence. The only books allowed to be read were those written by priests, ritualists, or Roman Catholics. "The books were mostly very dull," said Mary; "but as we had no others, we were glad to get them. Then a clergyman came, who told us that we were all very sinful, but that when we came to him at confession he would give us absolution; and as we thought that very nice, we did as he advised us; but I did not at all like the questions he put; some of them were dreadful, and I know he said the same to the other girls. Still, as we were kept very strict in school, we were glad to get out to church as often as we could; there was the walk, which was pleasant in fine weather; and then we could look at the people who were there, and the music was often very fine, and the sermon was never very long; and sometimes the young gentlemen used to come and sit near us, and talk to the elder girls when no one was looking—at least, we thought they were young gentlemen, but, as it turned out, they were anything but such. One of them, especially, used to give notes to one of the girls, and she wrote others in return, and we thought it very romantic, and of course no one would tell Mrs Barnett of it. At last, one day, we thought that the girl had gone into confession; but instead of joining us she slipped out of the church at a side door, where her lover was waiting to receive her. Away they went by the train to a distance, where they were married, and could not be found for some time. At last they came back, when it was discovered that the young man was the son of a small tradesman in the place, though he had pretended that he had a good fortune and excellent prospects. Mrs Barnett was horrified, and tried to hush matters up, and I believe the parents of the girl did not like to expose her for their own sakes. I know that I and the rest were very wrong in our behaviour, and I will not excuse myself, except to say that everything was done to make us hypocrites. Religion was very much talked about on Sundays and saints' days; but I have learnt more of the Gospel since I came here, from you and dear General Caulfield, than I ever knew before."

Clara sighed as she thought how little she herself had known till lately.

"You had better not talk any more about your school," she said; "let us speak rather about what we read, and things of real importance."

Clara had become very much alarmed about Mary. Wholesome and regular food, and gentle exercise in the carriage when the weather was fine, somewhat restored her strength; but there was the hectic spot on her check, and the brightness of the eyes, which too surely told of consumption. Mr Lennard at length arrived; he looked much depressed, and was shocked at seeing the change in his daughter. He had a most unsatisfactory account to give of his son, whom he had searched for for some time in vain. At last he discovered that the young gentleman had been formally received into the Romish Church, and that his friend the priest was concealing him somewhere in London. The poor father found out where his son was through a letter which was forwarded from Luton, in which the youth asked for a remittance for his support, as he had expended all his means, and could not longer, he observed, encroach on the limited stipend of his friend, Father Lascelles. Mr Lennard, still hoping that it might be possible to win back the youth, wrote entreating him to return home, and on his declining to do this, he offered to let him continue his course at Oxford, that he might fit himself for entering one of the learned professions. After a delay of two or three days, Alfred wrote saying that he had applied to his bishop, who would not consent to his doing so, and that as he was now under his spiritual guidance, he must obey him rather than a heretic father.

"You will pardon me for calling you so," continued Master Alfred; "but while you remain severed from the one true Church, such you must be in the eyes of all Catholics, one of whom I have become."

"I was too much grieved to laugh, as I might otherwise have done, at the boy's impertinence," observed Mr Lennard to the general; "but as I look upon him as deceived by artful men, I cannot treat him with the rigour he deserves. What do you recommend, general?"

"We must, if possible, get him to come home, and then put the truth clearly before him," remarked the general.

"I am afraid that I cannot say enough to induce him to change," said Mr Lennard, with a deep sigh.

"We must have recourse, whatever we do, to earnest prayer," observed the general. "I cannot suppose that your son's mind is already so completely perverted as to be impregnable to the truth."

"Alas, it is not for so short a time," answered Mr Lennard; "the seed was sown by the tutor with whom he spent a year or more, and finally matured by this same Father Lascelles and his tutor at college. He is the very man with whom Mr Lerew read, I find. I wonder that he was not the means of his older pupil's perversion."

"Mr Lerew is not so honest a man as your son," answered the general; "Mr Lerew was about to take orders, and would prove a useful tool, while it was more prudent to secure your son at once, as he, it was supposed, would inherit your property. I wish that I could offer you consolation; but I fear that you would consider me a Job's comforter at the best."

Mr Lennard had come hoping to take Mary home; but she appeared scarcely able to undertake so long a journey, and Clara confessed that she herself was unwilling to return as yet to Luton. Poor Mr Lennard was nearly heart-broken on hearing from the doctor that he thought very badly of Mary's case.

"Could I not take her abroad, to Madeira, or the south of France?" he asked.

"It would be, I feel confident, useless," was the melancholy answer; "had she strength to stand the journey, her life might possibly be prolonged for a few weeks; but she would probably lose more by the exertion of travelling than she would gain by the change. Here she is under loving care, and we may alleviate her sufferings."

Some more weeks wore by, and Mary grew worse. Mr Lennard felt, what some parents do not, that it was his duty, though a painful one, to tell his daughter that her days were numbered, and at the same time to afford her such comfort as, according to his knowledge, he could. He gently broke the subject.

"I know it," she answered. "I asked Clara if she thought I was dying, and she told me that the doctor said I could not recover; but, dear papa, I am prepared to go away to One who loves me, though I am sorry, very sorry, to leave you, and Clara, and the general, and those who have been kind to me."

The tears were falling from Mr Lennard's eyes.

"You have been a dear good girl, and have enjoyed the blessing of baptism, and have been confirmed, and have received the sacrament; you shall receive it again if you wish, and I hope that God will take you to heaven."

"Oh, dear, dear papa, don't speak so," answered Mary; "I know that I am a wretched sinner; I have done nothing to merit God's love and mercy; but I know that Jesus Christ died for me, and that His blood cleanseth from all sin; and, trusting to Him, I am sure that He will receive me in the place He has gone before to prepare for those who love Him. I have faith in Christ; that is my happiness, hope, and confidence. I am not afraid to die, for I know that He will be with me through the shadow of the valley of death."

Mr Lennard gazed at her, unable to speak. He could not ask her further questions, but was revolving in his own mind the meaning of what she had said. She had no confidence in any of the objects which he had been accustomed to present to the minds of the dying, if he believed them to be good Churchmen, and if not, he had always urged them to repent of their sins and to take the sacrament, in the hope that thus God might receive them into heaven. Mary's remarks had brought new light to his soul; she trusted solely to the all-finished work of Christ, to whom she looked as her Saviour, with full assurance that He would welcome her to heaven. She thought not, she spoke not, of any of the rites and ceremonies in which he had trusted himself, and had taught others to trust, rather than to the blood of the Atonement. She did not ask even him, her father, and, as he had fancied himself, a priest, to offer a prayer on her behalf. No, she was resting joyfully on Christ as her all-sufficient Saviour.

"I see it all now," he said, half aloud; "it is this of which the general has been speaking to me lately, but which I did not comprehend."

"Yes, dear papa; Jesus did it all long ago; He saved me then, and I am trusting in Him; that makes me so happy, so very happy," exclaimed Mary.

"I believe as you do," answered Mr Lennard; "would that I had known and taught your poor brother the same truth! it would have prevented him from falling into the toils of Rome."

"We can pray for him, that he may be rescued from them," said Mary.

"I wished to make him a sound Churchman, and taught him that there is but one true Church, and that that is the Church of England; and miserable has been the result," said Mr Lennard.

"Alfred may be brought back. God will hear our united prayers," whispered Mary.

"I cannot pray with faith that my prayer will be answered," he murmured. "I did my utmost to instil the belief into him, and he has ever since been with those who have done their utmost to forward the same notion."

Mary now became her father's comforter. She lingered with those who loved her for some time longer, proving an especial blessing to Clara, who had, as her ever-watchful nurse, constant employment and occupation for her thoughts and feelings. The general remained with his sister, and afforded Clara that instruction and guidance she so much needed, while he put into her hands such books as were best calculated to strengthen her mind and to do away with all traces of that mysticism which she had imbibed both before and during her life in the convent. With clearer perceptions of truth than she had ever before enjoyed, she was now better able to perform her duties in life. She had written to her aunt, saying that she hoped some day to return home, but was at present employed in nursing her young friend Mary Lennard, whom she could not at present leave; but she did not think it necessary to speak of her escape from the convent, or to enter into other particulars, so that Miss Pemberton remained in ignorance of her change of opinions.

Mr Lennard had twice gone away in the hope of meeting his son and inducing him to attend the death-bed of his sister; but the priests, who were well-informed of the religious opinions of those who had taken charge of Mary, made him send various excuses, and poor Mary was deprived of the satisfaction of seeing her brother again. When Mr Lennard returned, Mary had become much weaker, and she could only whisper, "Pray for poor Alfred; don't be angry with him—he may be brought back;" and her young spirit went to be with the Saviour in whom she trusted. Clara aided the general in comforting their friend.

The bereaved father found peace at last; but often before that, in the bitterness of his heart, he would exclaim, "It was that school, that abominable system of fasting and penance, and that accursed confessional, which killed her; and to have my poor weak misguided boy carried off and enslaved body and soul by those wolves in sheep's clothing, it is more than I can bear! It was I—I alone, who in my blindness and ignorance and folly exposed them to the malign influences which have caused their destruction. I have been the murderer of my children!"

A few days after Mary's funeral, Clara, with the general and Mr Lennard, returned to Luton. Miss Pemberton received her niece with a look of astonishment.

"Why, I expected to see you dressed as a nun, Clara," she exclaimed; "have you given up your vocation? Dear me! Mr Lerew will be very much disappointed; he fully expected that you would devote your fortune to Saint Agatha's."

"I will explain matters to you, aunt, by-and-by," answered Clara, not wishing on her first arrival at home to enter into any discussion. "I hope that you have not felt yourself very solitary during my long absence."

"As to that, I can't say I have been very lively, for the whole neighbourhood is divided, and because I go to church and confession, all of your father's old friends have ceased to call on me; but of late I have begun to think that they are not altogether wrong. I must acknowledge that since Sir Reginald and Lady Bygrave, and Mrs Lerew, and two or three other people turned Catholics, my confidence in the vicar and the High Church has been a little shaken. Mrs Lerew wanted me to turn too; but I was not going to do that, and even the vicar did not advise it, though he said he couldn't help his wife going over; for if so many went, people's suspicions would be aroused, and he should be unable to establish his college."

"I am truly thankful that you did not go over," answered Clara. "I have learnt a good deal about the Ritualists of late, and I am very sure that their tendency is towards Rome. I have one favour to ask, that is, should Mr Lerew call, that you will not admit him, as it would be painful to me to see him again, for I cannot receive him as a friend."

"Why, have you found out anything about him?" asked Miss Pemberton, her conscience accusing her.

"There is much, aunt, to which, I object in him," answered Clara, firmly.

"Well, I don't wish you to be annoyed, my dear, in any way," said Miss Pemberton; "and, in truth, I suspect that he wanted to get hold of your fortune for his new college. If he finds that he has no chance of that, I don't think he will trouble you much."

"I would rather not think about him in any way," said Clara; "and do pray tell me how Widow Jones and Mrs Humble and her blind daughter, and the poor Hobbies, with their idiot boy, are getting on. I must go and see them and my other friends as soon as possible."

Clara then went on to make further enquiries about her poorer neighbours, and was grieved to find that her aunt had not troubled herself about them during her absence.

"It was all my fault," she said to herself; "I was placed here to help them, and I have neglected that very clear duty by giving way to delusive fancies."

Clara lost no time in carrying out her intentions, and was received with a hearty welcome wherever she went. Very frequently remarks were made which showed her that the poor had a clearer perception of the tendencies of the ritualistic system than she herself had previously possessed.

"We be main glad to see you again looking so like yourself, Miss," exclaimed Dame Hobby. "They said as how the vicar had got you to go into a monkery that he might spend your money to pay for his fripperies in the church, his candles, and that smoky stuff, and his pictures and gold-embroidered dresses, and flags and crosses, and all they singing men and women, and dressing up the little boys, as if God cared for such things, or they could make us love Him and serve Him better, for that's my notion of what religion should do. The Bible says we can go straight to God through Jesus Christ, and pray to Him as our Father; and all these things seem to me only to stand in the way; and when we want to be praying, we are instead looking about at the goings on, and listening to the music. 'Tisn't that I haven't a respect for the parson and the church; but when I go to church, I go to pray and to hear God's word read and explained from the pulpit in a way simple people can understand."

Clara found much the same opinions expressed by all she visited. The general came every day to see her, to strengthen and support her. His conversation had a very good effect on Miss Pemberton, whose eyes having once been opened to the tendencies of the ritualistic system, she was enabled to see it in its true light. She resolved to have nothing more to say to Mr Lerew, and to refuse to receive him, should he call. Soon after Clara returned home he had started on a tour to collect funds for his college, and as he was absent, Clara was saved from the annoyance she had expected. The general was fortunately paying a visit to Clara and her aunt when Mr Lerew at length came to call on Miss Pemberton to enquire why she had not during his absence attended church. It was agreed that it would be better to admit him. He tried to assume his usual unimpassioned manner as he entered the room; but the frown on his brow and his puckered lips showed his annoyance and anger. He had not had the early training which enables the Jesuit priest effectually to conceal his feelings. He had evidently heard that Clara had left the convent, as he showed no surprise at seeing her. He probably would have behaved very differently to what he did, had not the general been present. Shaking hands with all the party, he took a seat, and brushing his hat with his glove, cleared his throat, and then said, "I was afraid, Miss Pemberton, that you were ill, as you have not, I understand, favoured the church with your presence for the last two Sundays."

"I had my reasons for not going," answered Miss Pemberton; "and I may as well tell you that I purpose in future not to attend your church, as I see clearly that your preaching and the system carried on there leads Romeward; and I have no wish to become a Romanist or to encourage others by my presence to run the risk of becoming so either."

"Romanist! Romanist!" exclaimed Mr Lerew; "I have no dealings with Rome; I don't want my people to become Romanists."

"The proof of the pudding is in the eating, Mr Lerew," answered Miss Pemberton, dryly. "I have expressed my resolution, and I hope to adhere to it."

Mr Lerew was not prepared with an answer; but turning to Clara, he said, "I trust, Miss Maynard, that though you have thought fit to abandon the sacred calling to which I had hoped you would have devoted yourself, you will still remain faithful to the Church."

"I cannot make any promise on the subject," answered Clara, being anxious not to say anything to irritate the vicar. "I believe that I was before blinded and led away from the truth, when I was induced to enter the sisterhood of Saint Barbara, and I now desire to retrieve my error."

"I understand you, ladies," exclaimed the vicar, losing command of his temper. "Remember that by deserting the Church you are guilty of the heinous crime of schism, for which, till repented of, there is no pardon here or hereafter. General Caulfield, I fear that you have much to answer for in having set the example in my parish; you will excuse me for saying so."

"It is you and those who side with you who are guilty of the schism of which you speak," said the general, mildly. "The Church of England protests clearly against the errors of Rome; and you, by adopting many, if not all those errors, are virtually cutting yourself off from that Church, although you retain a post in it. But let me explain that the schism spoken of in the New Testament is the departing from the truth of the Gospel, and the practices it inculcates; in other words, those who leave Christ's spiritual Church. My great object is to draw my fellow-creatures into that Church; to induce them to accept Christ as the Way, the Truth, and the Life; to persuade them to grasp that hand so lovingly stretched forth to lead them to the Father. I ignore the schism of which you speak, invented by the sacerdotalists to alarm the uneducated. You have my reply, Mr Lerew, and I wish you clearly to understand that I purpose, with God's assistance, by every means in my power to make known the truth of the Gospel in this parish and in every place where false teaching prevails."

"Then I shall look upon you as a schismatic and a foe to our Church," exclaimed Mr Lerew, rising.

"I have already explained to you the true meaning of schism," said the general, quietly, "and have particularly to request that all further discussion on this subject may cease. Miss Pemberton and her niece have expressed their sentiments, and you have long known mine. I trust that none of us will change; and anything further said on the subject can only cause annoyance."

Mr Lerew saw that he had lost his influence over Clara and her aunt, and not wishing to remain longer than he could help in the general's society, quickly took his departure. He had not as yet seen Mr Lennard since his return, nor had he heard the cause of poor Mary's death; he at once drove over to his house. Instead of the hearty manner Mr Lennard usually exhibited, he received his visitor with marked coldness. Mr Lerew was puzzled.

"I am sorry that my absence from home has prevented me hitherto from calling on you," he said; "but I rejoice to have you back, and I hope that you will assist at the celebrations in my church."

"I come to a sad home, deprived of my young daughter by death, and my son by his perversion to the Church of Rome," answered Mr Lennard, gravely, not noticing the last remark. "I know that my child has left this world for a far better; but I cannot forget that the seeds of her disease were produced by the system practised at the school you recommended, Mr Lerew, as also that my son's perversion was much owing to the instruction received from the tutor under whom, by your advice, I placed him. The daughter of my late friend Captain Maynard has happily escaped from the toils you threw around her; and though I am ready heartily to forgive the injuries you have inflicted on me, I feel myself called on to expose the traitorous efforts you and others with whom you are associated are making to uproot the Protestant principles of the Church. I believe that I am actuated by no hostile feeling towards yourself personally; but I will take every means in my power to put a stop to the practices which you pursue in your church."

"You acknowledge yourself, then, an enemy to me and to the Church!" exclaimed Mr Lerew, who felt braver in the presence of Mr Lennard, whom he considered a weak man, than he had in that of General Caulfield.

"I desire not to be an enemy to you personally," answered Mr Lennard, mildly; "but to your system, which is calculated to lead your flock fearfully astray, I am, and trust I shall ever remain, an inveterate foe."

In vain did Mr Lerew endeavour to win back his former dupe. Mr Lennard had clearly seen the chasm which divides the Protestant Church of England from the Romish system and its counterpart, Ritualism, and, as an honest man, he was not to be drawn over. Again defeated, the vicar of Luton-cum-Crosham had to take his departure. He still, however, found dupes to subscribe sufficient funds for the establishment of his college, and a Lady Superior of high ritualistic proclivities to take charge of it, and masters who, provided they got their stipends, cared nothing about the object of the institution. By putting out his candles and omitting some of the ceremonies at his church whenever the bishop or rural dean came to visit it, he was able to retain his living. By means of a plausible prospectus, he, with other ritualistic brethren, induced the parents and guardians of a number of young ladies, tempted by the moderate expense and advantages offered, to send them to the college, where, with the usual superficial accomplishments they received, their minds were thoroughly imbued with ritualistic principles. General Caulfield and Mr Lennard prevented several of their friends from being thus taken in. A good many people were staggered when they heard that the vicar's wife and his patrons—Lady Bygrave and Sir Reginald—had become Romanists. They had all three lately set off for Rome itself, under the escort of the Abbe Henon. They were there received with due honour by the Pope, and had the satisfaction of hearing from the infallible lips of his Holiness that England would, ere long, be won from the power of the infidel Protestants, and restored to the bosom of the Catholic Church; and believing themselves to be not the least important members of the British race, they returned home to spread the joyful intelligence among those who were ready to believe them. The chapel erected in their park had almost as large a congregation as that of the parish church, especially as winter approached, and blankets and coals were liberally distributed among the worshippers.

Clara, meantime, had pursued the even tenor of her way. Her aunt was greatly changed for the better; she had become kind and considerate to her, and frequently accompanied her in her visits among the poor and suffering in the wide district she had taken under her charge. Though Clara generally drove in her pony-carriage, she occasionally, when the distance was not too great, went on foot. She had one day thus gone out, carrying a basket stored with delicacies for several sick people, when, as she was proceeding along a sheltered lane, overhung with trees, she heard a quick footstep behind her. She turned her head and saw Harry. Her first impulse was to rush towards him—then for a moment she stopped. He held out his arms.

"Can you forgive me for my folly, and the pain and grief I have caused you?" she exclaimed.

"I have forgotten it all in the happiness of seeing you thus employed, exactly as I should wish," he answered; "never let us speak about it; my father has told me all. You were ever dear to me, even when I thought that I had lost you. You have learned to distinguish the true from the false, and I shall never for a moment, in future, have the slightest fear that, seeking for guidance from above, you will mistake the one for the other."

THE END.