CHAPTER XXV.

THE JOURNEY--THE CONVENT.

It was well for Annie that the care of a sister watched over her during that sad journey, for sometimes her mind seemed almost to have lost its balance, and she would weep frantically over the loss of her little ones, as one who would not be comforted; then with a sudden revolution of feeling she would stop, and say, "Thy will be done, O Lord," and would begin to say her beads, as Eugene had taught her, with most edifying resignation. After awhile the thought of her little ones would make her weep anew, and again the thought of God would check her tears.

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These alternations were for Annie alone, however. Adelaide felt unmitigated disgust at the barbarity which could sever a loving mother from her infants.

"As if those babes were safer with that bigoted, soft-pated Mrs. Bedford than with my intellectual, high-minded sister!" she thought. Certainly the duchess's horror of Catholicity had wonderfully abated of late. There was little said at first between the sisters on that three days' journey. But once or twice the exclamation on Adelaide's lips, "My mother a Catholic!" showed which direction her thoughts were taking. Once, when Annie was a little calmer than usual, she suddenly asked her: "What made my mother desire to be a Catholic, Annie?"

"The grace of God, as I humbly hope," answered her sister.

"The grace of God! What do you mean by that, Annie?"

"I mean the special provision with which God deigns to bless every human soul that desires it with knowledge and love of himself. Adam had this grace conferred on him at his creation. He lost it, not only for himself, but for us also. But Christ has repurchased it for all who come to him. My mother heard this voice pleading within her for a higher life. She listened and obeyed. This is what theologians call co-operation with grace. The grace of God needs man's co-operation to be efficacious, because God will not compel the human will. He desires free service."

"Ah, yes," said the duchess, "all other were a mockery. Nature is bound by stern, inevitable law; that is easily seen: but intelligent love must have freedom for its sphere of action, or it ceases to be the love of intelligence; that, too, I comprehend. I thought your words intended to convey some mysterious action of God on the soul not given to all men."

"All do not correspond with it, by a large majority, I fear," said Annie.

"And think you God speaks to all alike?" asked Adelaide.

"Theologians say that a grace corresponded to merits another," answered Annie, "and that one rejected or unused often loses that grace, so slighted. This, at least, we know: God loves us all, and places at our option higher degrees of spiritual attainment than we oftentimes profit by."

"God! What is God?" murmured Adelaide. "Truly a _Deus absconditus_ for man."

"'He who followeth me walketh not in darkness,' said the Man-God," replied Annie. "God was a hidden God for the nations of olden time, perhaps; but for us, Adelaide, he is God manifested in the flesh! and to as many as receive him gives he power to become 'sons of God.'"

Where was Adelaide's sharpness at repartee as of old? She meditated now instead of replying; and Annie solaced her own sorrows by praying for her sister's conversion. It was in something like tranquillity of spirit that, she reached the district in which the convent was situated.

The next day the duchess accompanied her sister to the dwelling of the sisterhood. They found it even poorer than they had anticipated. When it had been first contemplated, Eugene had handed over a well-filled purse to M. Bertolot with strict injunction to, procure everything needful; but Eugene's idea of what was needed differed from that of the superioress. "We did not take vows of poverty," she said, "to live with every elegance like ladies. The spirit of our holy father, St. Francis, as also that of our beloved mother and foundress, St. Clare, requires the utmost plainness and poverty compatible with existence." Eugene's large offering was refused, and when he on his part refused to replace it in his pocket, it was distributed among the sick poor.

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Euphrasie received her friends with open arms, and conducted them to the superioress with love and respect. Many of the sisterhood had now gathered together, and even postulants were not wanting. The superioress greeted the ladies with calm dignity, and entered with much feeling into the account given to Euphrasie in her presence of Mrs. Godfrey's conversion and happy death.

"And am I to understand, dear ladies," said the superioress, "that you also share these blessed dispositions?"

"Annie is a Catholic," answered the duchess, "and a persecuted one. Sir Philip has shut the doors on the mother of his children because she has embraced Catholicity."

Euphrasie, by a sudden impulse, rose and knelt by Annie's side; kissing her hands and bathing them with her tears. "Now, God be praised for all his mercies!" she said: "How shall we welcome you, dear martyr, for his sake?"

Annie could only reply by returning Euphrasie's caresses and affection. She placed her arm round her friend, and compelled her to sit by her side.

"Will you ask the reverend mother to let me stay with you awhile, dear Euphrasie?" she said.

"What! Here? here in the convent? in this poor place?" replied Euphrasie. "You who have been, cradled in luxury and reared in abundance? You know not what you ask, dear friend; it is impossible."

Annie looked at the superioress; she read more promise there. "Dear reverend mother," she said, "Almighty God has seen how unfit I am as yet to train my beloved children in the narrow path of mortification and of humiliation, trodden by our Divine Master. He has sent me to learn it of you. Will you accept me as your disciple in Jesus Christ? At least, I can promise you reverence and submission."

"You are welcome, most welcome, my daughter," said the superioress, "and may Almighty God, in his own good time, restore your children to you, to be brought up in the faith and love of Christ."

"Thank you, dear mother; and if you and the dear sisters will assist me by your prayers, doubtless he will. He has but sent me here to school awhile, that I may be able to teach them rightly. I stand as yet but on the threshold of the church; I have looked in and seen her glories, but selfish and worldly as I have been from childhood, I scarce know how to share in her unworldly triumphs."

"Dear cousin," said Euphrasie, "you must not defame yourself. You were ever kind and generous, and now your humility will surely bring you a blessing. We will try to make you happy here."

"Indeed, yes," said the superioress, "it is a great consolation to us to receive you. Your heart, so long accustomed to the incredulity of the age, needs rest--such rest as is produced by dwelling on the love of Christ for us. After a while it will become for you a necessity to reciprocate that love, by pouring yourself out as it were in deeds of charity and kindness for the pure love of him who died for you. Once accustomed to converse familiarly with him, you will no longer regard him as divided from yourself, but as one same self with you, so that with St. Paul you may be able to exclaim, '_I_ live now, not _I_, but Christ liveth in me.' Yes, my dear daughter, from him you may hope all things for your children as well as for yourself. Detach yourself from this world, seek Christ crucified, that you may repose surely in his love."

Adelaide listened and wondered. She looked around at the bare walls, the uncarpeted floor, the plain deal tables, and the common rush-chairs. "Is the rest of the house like this?" she asked of herself: "and am I to leave Annie here?"

Begging the superioress to excuse her for an instant, she drew Annie apart, and urged upon her that it was useless for her to subject herself to such privations as these.

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"Come home with me, dear Annie, I beg of you."

"Nay, sister, think not so meanly of me, as to deem that I cannot endure for a few weeks or months, privations which these dear ladies suffer always."

"Oh! they are nuns, you know."

"But that does not alter, their nature, and once, they were in the world, rich, titled, honored. I would learn of them what has given them power thus to trample the world beneath their feet. Leave me for a while, my sister; if I find the life too hard for me, I will come to you."

"You promise?"

"I do, believe me, Adelaide."

And with this promise Adelaide was obliged to be content. She prepared to wend her way homewards. As she rose for that purpose, the superioress said: "Your grace will have a solitary journey. May I venture to offer you a book to beguile the tedium of the way?" Adelaide smilingly assented, and on getting in her carriage, Euphrasie placed into her hands Avrillon's meditations for every day in Lent. Absorbed at first in her own thoughts, Adelaide, heeded the book but little: but after a while, to relieve ennui, she began its perusal, and was soon astonished at the interest it excited within her breast.