Chapter XXX.

An Interview And A Letter.

It were superfluous to reiterate the instructions given by the good abbé to the neophytes under his guidance; where the instructor is learned, patient, and gentle, and the learner docile and humble, the result may be easily predicted. One day, in the course of conversation, the abbé said to Adelaide: "If you are looking for examples in Christian life, I could name one living in this neighborhood, living so simple and beautiful a life, that those who have the happiness of knowing her, half believe her to be an angel in disguise."

"I think I know whom you mean," said Adelaide; "already have I paused at the threshold of her dwelling, wishing to enter, but hardly knowing whether I dared."

"She will be glad to see you. She has a better memory than I; she recognized you at church, and has interested herself warmly in your conversion."

Thus encouraged Adelaide ventured on the visit. The greeting between the two ladies was that of _sisters_; they wept together, clasping each other's hand in silence. We pass over the exciting scene. Adelaide was completely fascinated by all she saw. For the first time in her life she felt that glow of thrilling interest that binds heart to heart, and makes us know what real love is, when that love is founded in God. Ellen was one of those happy temperaments, so rare on earth, that seem formed to dispense the sunshine of happiness on all who came under their influence. Heaven seemed to have descended to earth to dwell with her, and in that heaven she had learned to live--out of herself altogether. Her life was passed in doing good, but, so unconsciously to herself was that good done, that she seemed but to be following her own pleasure all the time. The one great sorrow of her life surmounted, she had resigned herself (no! resignation would not express the depth of her devotedness); rather had she thrown her whole being into the profound abyss of the mystery of God, seeking only his will, mysterious as it was to her. She came at last to live as a child on the daily promise, forming no plans, asking nothing of the morrow, but ever seeking to pour out her great love in making others happy. The poor, the sick, the wretched, were her friends, her children, the objects of her tenderness, and her presence was to them as a ray of sunshine to lighten every woe. There are few Ellens on this weary earth, for nature and grace seemed to combine in her to diffuse their charms. Those who knew her asked themselves, where was her share of the original taint, "of that trail of the serpent which is over us all"? Though Adelaide's senior by many years, she had so youthful, so buoyant an expression, albeit chastened by the atmosphere of purity and sanctity in which she moved, that you could not connect the idea of _age_ with her frame at all. Adelaide felt that she had obtained a friend, a sister, a guide for the future, and a friendship was quickly cemented between the two that ended but with life.

Meantime the hour approached when the sisters were to be received into the church. Hester was not a little agitated as she thought of the effect that would be produced upon her father: it was as much as Adelaide and Ellen could do with their united efforts to calm her fears. Adelaide's firm mind bade her take her resolution according to her conviction, and face the consequences like a soldier.

"Yes, if they were consequences to myself," sighed Hester; "but my future, will it not suffer from it? Suppose he should sicken as my mother did!"

"Dear Hester," said Ellen, "you must leave off trusting yourself, in this manner, and apprehending consequences, as if you had the control of events. Do you not believe God reigns omnipotent?"

"Why, yes, certainly I do."

"Then let your first offering to him be a practical recognition of that belief; trust him for your father as well as for yourself."

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Hester had had deeds prepared, restoring, as best she might, the property which had been appropriated to her experiments, to its former destination. To her father during life was the income of the estate assigned; to her brother the reversion. For herself she reserved only that portion which she had a right to consider as her share.

The deeds were handed to Eugene for his inspection the night on which he arrived at the abbé's abode, on the day previous to that on which the ceremony was to take place.

"This was not necessary," he said to the abbé, "I had already given up my right, and was reconciled to the result."

"That is a question for you to settle with your sister, my young friend," said the abbé. "The young lady has acted on her own sense of what was fitting in the matter. She did not consult me, and if she had I should have declined interference in family matters; but I think you will hurt her feelings if you make objections. Wait at least till her mind is more composed; she is just now agitated on her father's account: best let the first excitement pass away, ere you disturb her mind again."

The ceremony was a private one, for it was a matter yet to be considered how to break the matter to Mr. Godfrey. After its performance, the brother and sisters were yet in consultation about the advisability of setting out at once for London, when a courier was announced from the Marquis de Villeneuve, with a letter to Hester. The young lady glanced over the contents, then suddenly rose, and locked herself in her own room. Eugene invited the man to wait. But it was some hours ere Hester admitted even her sister to her apartment. Thus ran the letter:

To Miss Hester Godfrey. "Most Honored Lady:

I have been many times at H*** lately, but dared not ventured to see you, although from some words which my friend the abbé let fall, I rejoiced to learn that the object of your visit was the realization of anticipations I had long indulged in. I have long felt convinced that a mind so earnest as yours must finally seek refuge in the ark of the true church. I dared not disturb your retreat; I dared not intrude on the visible work of God. But let me be the first to offer my congratulations; let me now express the high regard, esteem, nay, may I use a softer word, and say love, with which I have long regarded you.

"Lady, I will not speak to you in the language of passion; for a long time past I have had to keep my feelings under control, for deep as has been my admiration of yourself I dared not make you aware of it while the obstacle of faith stood between us. A Catholic man seeks in marriage a HELP-MEET for him, a partner in joy, a soother in sorrow, a confidant and co-operator in his views, a companion and a friend under every reverse. To set out with diverse sustaining powers would mar this idea in the outset, to say nothing of the want of that special blessing which God confers on those he himself joins together.

"Dear lady, when I came to Europe some few years ago, it was with the special intention of taking back a wife. When my friend De Meglior in that most solemn hour before his death confided to me the care of his daughter, I thought the companion I sought for was found; but Euphrasie soon showed herself so visibly the elected bride of heaven that all my anxiety was quickly directed to preserving her from sacrilege. You then came before me, with your earnest mind, your indomitable courage, your high intellect and intensity of zeal. From that time my heart was no longer my own, though I dared not give utterance to its desires. The obstacle which stood between us is removed, yet I dare not venture into your presence without your sanction; I should feel a repulse too keenly.

"Lady, my father was an enthusiast like yourself. He went to America in the hope of doing his part to sanctify the career of intelligence and of liberty opened for the first time in the world's history for the laboring classes as a body. He helped to build churches, to found schools in conjunction with ecclesiastical authority, and did whatever a secular could do to guide a movement which he respected and sympathized with, but one which he felt would be exposed to great peril, unless that divine principle which is the true source of government both in the family and in the state, could be brought to bear upon it. {43} He feared that 'liberty' on a mere rationalistic principle, that is, standing on purely human strength, severed from the divine idea which gave it being, would, however beautiful in its poetry, soon degenerate into license; soon succumb beneath the empire of passion, and be led to tolerate laws subversive of true progress. It was the aim of his life to inculcate that 'Truth is one;' that the human idea cannot be disjoined from the divine idea without fatal results; that real earthly happiness, through differing in intensity, is the same in essence as that we look to enjoy hereafter in heaven. That all earthly intelligence, an earthly beneficence which seeks permanence, must be founded on the repression of such inordinate desire as impede and frustrate the development and employment of our higher faculties. For all beauty, harmony, and love must be brought out in accordance with that law of the spirit, which he has given us, as our rule of action, we being children of the spirit.

"The working out of this purpose is the legacy which my dear father, lately deceased, has bequeathed unto his children. To this purpose I have consecrated myself; and because I know your high power of intellect, because I have witnessed your zeal, your energy, your devotedness to good, I ask you to become the help-meet to carry out this purpose.

"In all ages of the church, since the first miracle was performed at the request of Mary, woman's aid has been in requisition for high purposes. The conversion of every nation of Europe is associated with the name of a woman, and woman gives the tone to society in every Christian land. I feel then that without the aid thus specially appointed for man, my father's purposes would lose more than half the influence necessary to carry them out. But working together, under the sanction of the church, surely two earnest minds might hope to effect something. If we cannot make an impression on a world of infidelity, it will yet be something if we are allowed to instill into the minds of Catholic children, that 'Credo' means something more than an intellectual assent to a series of metaphysical dogmas. If we can assist the self-sacrificing pastors of the church in rehabilitating the idea of the divine institution of the family and of the state which is fast vanishing beneath the crude notions of human progress which sanction so easily the dissolution of sacred ties--if we can throw whatever influence we do possess into the right scale, we shall then have ample reason to begin a rejoicing which shall last for ever. For there is the promise that however gloomy the appearance, error shall not ultimately prevail, and happy are they who here on earth shall have formed the royal guard of honor around the citadel of Truth, who shall have stood as sentinels appointed to watch beneath its glorious standard, when the combat is at highest.

"Dear lady, may I hope you will think this an object worthy of your ambition? may I hope you will regard with favor one who has loved you so long, though he dared not confess it until to-day?

"One word from you will bring me to your feet. May I hope that word will be spoken?

Edward De Villeneuve."

"Well," said Adelaide, when at length she gained admission, and had taken the letter from her sister's unresisting hand, "I think you have kept the courier waiting long enough, and 'tis not a long answer the poor man wants, since one word is all he asks."

"What will my father say, Adelaide?"

"The old marquis was my father's most dearly loved friend. He will accept the son for the father's sake; the question is, will you accept him?"

"I have never thought of marrying at all."

"No, but you admire this gentleman. Your eyes, your voice betray you. I shall send him the one word he asks for so prettily."

"You will do no such thing;" but Adelaide had glided from the room, and shortly after Eugene set forth with the courier in quest of his friend, whom he finally succeeded in persuading to return with him, without awaiting a response to his missive.

It is not our intention to present to our readers the details of the scenes that followed within the next few weeks; we leave to their more vivid imaginations to fancy the arguments by which M. de Villeneuve won the consent of his ideal lady. A few days more, and he was travelling to London with Eugene to obtain the formal consent of Mr. Godfrey.

"Is that the secret of Hester's dejection?" thought the father, and that thought made his consent the readier.

"But how can you, so staunch a member of the church, resolve to marry a heretic?"

"Hester it no heretic," replied the marquis.

"Love covers all faults, I see," said Mr. Godfrey, smiling. "Well, settle that matter between yourselves, only you must put no constraint on Hester on the score of religion. She is a spoiled child, and would ill brook opposition; it would break her heart if it came from one she loved."

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The arrival of the carriage which brought Hester and the duchess back to the mansion, put an end to the colloquy, and at the next consultation with the ladies the marquis suggested that, seeing Mr. Godfrey had already laid hold of the wrong idea, it was as well to let time undeceive him in a natural way. "Your English law," said he, "compels marriage to be legalized by the English establishment. We will receive the sacrament of marriage privately in the morning and legalize it in your drawing-room afterward, before an English minister.[Footnote 7] After Hester is once my wife, Mr. Godfrey will not take it to heart that she should follow her husband's religion, even if he inquire about the matter." And thus the matter was managed, and the marquis and his lovely bride were already on the point of starting on their wedding tour, when a startling missive from Annie threw all the circle in commotion. Sir Philip Conway had been thrown from his horse while hunting, and had broken his neck. But his wickedness had outlived him; he had left orders in his will that his wife should be debarred access to his house, or to his children, further providing that neither of those children should inherit one acre of land or one shilling of his property unless they were brought up apart from their mother. Annie's letter was dated from a hotel near to her late husband's dwelling-house.

[Footnote 7: This was the case before the passing of the Catholic Emancipation Bill.]

"I doubt their power to enforce that will," said Eugene, as be handed the letter to his father, after reading it aloud.

"And so do I," said Adelaide; "at all events, Annie shall have her children, property or no property."

The marquis, Hester, all the party present expressed in varied tones their indignation, and Mr. Godfrey, borne along by the current of family opinion, at length joined in the resolve to see Annie replaced in possession of the children _coute qui coute_. The wedding trip took the direction of Sir Philip's dwelling, and as soon as it was ascertained that the funeral was over, Adelaide, with that determination that marked her character, drove up to the house, accompanied by the party comprising her father, brother, the marquis, and Hester. She demanded to see the children. The dowager Lady Conway appeared with her daughter. The duchess bowed, and requested to see the children.

The lady hemmed--hesitated--did not know. "The children were under the guardianship of Mr. Brookbank," she said; she supposed he must be consulted.

The name seemed to strike the marquis. "What Brookbank?" he asked.

"He was Sir Philip's agent and man of business, and is left his executor."

"Is he any relative to the family at Estcourt?"

"Why, yes, it is the same family; they have moved here."

The entrance of the gentleman in question put an end to the questioning, but the marquis kept a sharp eye upon him.

With smooth, bland words and deprecating gestures, Alfred Brookbank proceeded to explain to the duchess that it was his duty, his very painful duty, to deny her grace's request at the present moment, until measures had been taken to secure the due and legal administration of Sir Philip's will. Adelaide's indignant remonstrances were unheeded, and a very painful feeling was pervading the party, when suddenly M. de Villeneuve rose and said: "Mr. Brookbank, may I beg the favor of a few words in private?" Alfred rose, and led the way to another apartment. Half an-hour elapsed; the party awaited the event in silence. Alfred did not return, but the marquis did, and with him entered the two children and their nurse, equipped for a drive. {45} With a bow, the marquis addressed the ladies of the house: "Mr. Brookbank has consented to entrust the guardianship of these two children to me for the present. I have the honor to wish you good morning." His wife and the rest of the party rose at his signal, and departed, carrying off the children with them.

"Now," said he, when they were once more together, "let no one ask me how this was managed, because I have passed my word that so long as Lady Conway is not molested in her custody of these children, I will explain nothing. I do not know how the law will decide respecting the property; Mr. Godfrey will, perhaps, see to that. But I wish Lady Conway and her children could be prevailed upon to cross the Atlantic with us; I fear leaving that fellow any legal power, when I am out of the way to hold him to the bargain he made with me to-day."

"I will go with you, Annie, if you like to take the trip," said Eugene.

"And Euphrasie and the dear nuns are going," said Annie; "I am willing to travel in such good company."

. . . . . .