girls never altogether forgot it. Only in curious fugitive flashes, of which she would have strenuously denied the existence even to herself, did it occur to Zella that her impulse had been one of the most genuine ones of her life, and that, weighed by standards other than conventional ones, there may be that which is worth more than even honest pride.
XVI
THE CONVENT, April 12.
MON BIEN-CHER. PAPA,
This is the last letter I shall be able to write until next week, as the whole school is going into Retreat this evening. I asked Reverend Mother myself to let me make it too, as all the other girls are making it; and last year I hated being the only one who did not make it, and they all said I had missed a great deal. Reverend Mother asked if you would mind my making the Retreat, but I said I was sure you wouldn't. I think it will be very interesting. It is being given by a priest called Father Harding, and Reverend Mother told me he was the greatest thinker of modern times and very well known, so I expect you will have heard of him already. I hope I shall be at Villetswood for my birthday, as the holidays generally begin on July 18 or 19, so that will make up for my not being able to come away for Easter. We only have a week, and most of the girls stay at the convent, so I shan't be alone; and of course I understand about your having to go to Brittany on business for Grand'mère.
I will write again as soon as we are out of Retreat. Of course I shall pray for all your special intentions.
Always your own loving,
ZELLA
VILLETSWOOD, April 13.
MY DARLING ZELLA,
Thank you for your beautifully written letter. I am very glad you should make a Retreat with the other girls, if you think you would like it. Write and tell me your impressions when it is over, and do not forget that there is more than one side to every question. I have not hitherto heard of Father Harding, but, then, I have not been very much in the way of great thinkers for the last few years, as you know.
Do not overdo things, mignonne, and write as soon as you can. I shall be here till the end of this month.
Your loving father,
LOUIS DE KERVOYOU.
THE CONVENT, April 25.
DARLING PAPA,
It is a long while since I last wrote, but I wanted to think very seriously before writing to you, and to be quite sure that I knew my own mind. I do hope you will remember that I am now practically seventeen, and old enough to judge calmly and reasonably for myself, though, of course, I would never do anything that you seriously disapproved of, unless I was quite sure that God Himself wanted it of me.
Should you mind my becoming a Catholic? I know Aunt Marianne will think that the nuns have persuaded me, and worked on my feelings, etc. ; but it is not that at all. I am thoroughly intellectually convinced, as well as by faith. It is rather difficult to explain, but I really am happier than I have ever been before, and it will be perfect if you will only allow me to be received into the Church. Of course I don't want to do anything in a hurry, and Reverend Mother herself is always telling me that nothing can be settled yet, and I must wait and pray, and make quite sure of myself; but it is now some months since I first began to think very seriously about becoming a Catholic, and I really made the Retreat on purpose to have a quiet time for making up my mind as to what I ought to do.
I am now quite sure that I ought to be a Catholic, and that it is the only true religion, and that the Catholic Church is the one true Church in the world. I talked to Father Harding several times during the Retreat, and asked him about one or two things that I didn't quite understand; and he has made it all absolutely clear, and given me several books to read. So please do not think that this is nothing but a passing enthusiasm, for I am really in earnest and have thought out the whole question thoroughly.
Of course I do not like not belonging to the same church as you do, darling papa, but Reverend Mother says that it is one of the sacrifices I must be prepared to make in return for having been given such a gift as faith. And I feel sure that you won't mind anything that makes me so much, much happier, as I feel it will if I become a Catholic.
Reverend Mother thinks that I might be received about the beginning of June, if you w'll give your consent. Please don't think that I am being persuaded to disobey you or disregard your wishes, for Reverend Mother is always telling me that I can do nothing without your permission, and says that she can well understand that at first you may not like the idea at all; and she would quite understand if you even forbade it for the present, which I think is really extraordinarily broad-minded and generous, don't you?
This is a very long letter, I know, and yet I feel I haven't properly said all that I wanted to say. But I do hope that you will understand, and especially that I really and truly want to be a Catholic more than I have ever wanted anything in the world, and I am quite sure that God wants it too.
Reverend Mother is very kind to me, and often has me for a special talk all by myself, which helps me a great deal. I do so long to get your answer to this letter very quickly, and I hope that it will be a consent to my being received into the Church in June.
Very, very much love, and please don't let this letter make you unhappy. I shall always be just the same,
Your own loving little
ZELLA
VILLETSWOOD, April, 26.
DEAREST LITTLE ONE,
Your letter is one which requires much thought, but I cannot leave it unanswered even for a day, so write now to thank you for your confidence, and to assure you that I will refuse my consent to nothing which could in any way further your happiness. I am glad that you wrote to me so fully, and can quite understand that you should wish to join the Catholic Church in June, if you are so much convinced that it is the religion which would be of most help to you. But I entirely agree with your Reverend Mother in counselling prudence and patience. This is not merely the natural tendency of age to damp the ardour of youth, Zella dear, although you perhaps feel as if it were a mere habit to say "wait—wait—wait" to everything. But there is more to it than that, my dear.
The question of religion, to my mind, should be an individual one always; and, as you know, you have not been brought up to any orthodox form of belief, for that very reason. It may very well be that you feel the need of a definite philosophy to help you on the way; and if the doctrines of the Catholic Church carry conviction to your mind, then I believe you could not do better than to become a Catholic. But it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between conviction and the extraordinarily strong influence diffused by an atmosphere. You have been for some time now in an atmosphere impregnated with Catholicism, and it may be that, once away from the convent world, you would view its ideals from a different point of view.
I do not wish to make the decision for you, my dear, since the question is one which concerns you so directly. But I should wish—and advise—that you leave the convent altogether before taking the definite step of becoming a Catholic.
If your conviction is a serious one, it will stand the test of a few months' waiting; and then, if later on you still wish it, you can be received as a member of the Catholic Church in Paris. It will be a great joy
