hope of saving a lost soul, and that the soul of your erring brother. It is a task which the angels themselves might be glad to perform. To the Church is given all power here, to bind and to loose, and, for your sakes, I have promised you that your brother's errors shall be passed over. Prayers are offered up that he may be forgiven; and when the time comes, rest assured that at least no testimony shall be made against him; and that if the Church cannot bless, it will at least not curse the mistaken one. Every allowance has been and will be made for his youth at the time he forsook the right path, and the strong influences brought to bear upon him; his life has been, as you have testified in your letters, save as to this grievous falling off, an exemplary one; and I trust that, when at last stricken with illness, he will turn back as a wandering sheep to the fold. These, my sisters, are the inducements—a lost soul to be saved, the Church to be strengthened. Not often are such inducements offered. But," and here he raised and hardened his voice, "it is not by inducements only that the Church acts, but by orders and threatenings. Upon you a certain burden has been placed, hard to bear, perhaps, but not beyond your strength. From this task you must not shrink; your private wishes are as nothing in the balance. You have a duty, and would fain escape it to pass your life in the way it would please you in a convent; you would say, to serve God there, but He will not be so served; He has given you another sphere, other tasks. The convent is for those who see no path of active usefulness traced out for them—not for such as you. Who can tell what may yet occur? I at first acceded to your request, and allowed you to retire from the world, until your nephew's death clearly indicated that Providence had not destined the property of the Church to pass from the apostate father to the heretic son. Then your path of duty was clear; and although at present the future looks dark, although your brother is obstinate in his recusancy, and although he may talk of leaving his property to others, yet the case is by no means hopeless. He may repent and turn; this girl whom he has adopted may displease him; he may die without a will. These and many other contingencies may arise, but until his death your task cannot be ended."
"But he is younger than we are; he may survive us both," the elder sister said.
"He may, but he may not; but that does not alter your path of duty," the bishop answered. "But one thing I will concede. Just at present your presence in England can do little or no good. You have my consent, therefore, to your entering a religious house, and remaining there until you shall hear, from the person whom you have informed me has undertaken to let you know what is passing there, that some change has taken place, either in his sentiments towards this girl, or in his health. This may be weeks, months, or even years. When that word comes, you must be prepared to go instantly back, and to do whatever I, or any one who may speak in my name to you, may direct you."
"Thank you, dear father," the elder sister said, while even Angela acquiesced mutely; "to this we are ready, quite ready, to agree. We know the importance of our success to the Church; we grieve over seeing the property pass away into the hands of others; and I, for my part, seem to feel a presentiment that the time will come before long when we shall be successful. Three times, lately, Robert and Edward have come to me in my sleep, and have told me to hope on, for that the light will yet shine through the darkness. You have yourself told me, father, that there is much in dreams."
"Undoubtedly, sister; the Church has in all ages maintained that at times revelations are made to the faithful in dreams, and by apparitions, at which the vulgar mock. And now return to your hotel. You shall hear from me in the course of the day; and if, as I believe, you would rather be within reach of my ministration, than go among strangers, I will speak to the superior of an establishment here, who will, I am sure, gladly receive you as inmates."
Again the sisters knelt before him, and received his blessing, and then returned through the quiet streets of Ravenna to their hotel.
Chapter VII.
Society Graciously Condescends.
For upwards of a year after Mr. Harmer had spoken to papa relative to the intended disposition of his property, the matter was not mentioned to any one, but was known only to Dr. and Mrs. Ashleigh, my brother Harry, himself, and his sisters. At the end of that time he made public his intentions, and spoke of them openly. He did this for reasons connected with Sophy Needham, for whom he was desirous of obtaining suitable society. At the time the matter gave papa a good deal of annoyance. Much as he was generally liked and esteemed, there were people found, as there always are found upon every occasion, who made ill-natured remarks upon our good fortune, and who really seemed by their talk to be personally aggrieved at Mr. Harmer's kind intentions towards us. Had they been asked why they were so, they probably could not have replied; for as Mr. Harmer had—with the exception of his sisters, who were amply provided for—no relation in the world, it was evident that there was no one who could be considered as wronged or injured by this disposition of his property. However, so it was; and, although papa received the sincere congratulations of all his old friends, I think he felt a good deal the ill-natured remarks, which came to his ears, of people for whose opinion I should have thought he would have cared nothing whatever. I was rather surprised at this; for if there was one person more than another who had by his whole life and conduct showed that he did not care for money, it was papa. He might, therefore, have well afforded to laugh at such accusations as this; but I suppose no one, however conscious of rectitude, likes to be spoken ill of, even by people whom he despises, and whose opinion about others he would treat with contempt.
This was not, however, of long continuance, for, as far as we were concerned, the talk and wonder soon died away, and things settled down into their usual state; but it was not so as regarded Sophy Needham. The announcement that she was to be the heiress of half of Mr. Harmer's large fortune, elicited the greatest reprobation and disgust among the very portion of the population who had been most cordial in their congratulations as to the destination of the other half; namely, among the country gentry, the clergy—a very numerous and powerful body in Canterbury,—the professional men, and respectabilities of the place.
"To think that that girl,—that——(and they called poor Sophy very hard names),—that young person, should be raised up into one of the richest heiresses of that part of the country, was a scandal to morality and an outrage to public decency. Her elevation was offering a premium to immorality among the lower orders. Did Mr. Harmer suppose that a person of that kind, however wealthy, would be received into society? No, indeed; the thing was quite out of the question."
This was the first outburst of opinion among the upper two hundred of Canterbury.
By degrees, finding that Mr. Harmer did not concern himself greatly with what was said about him, and that he showed no sign of changing his declared intentions in deference to the popular voice, society gave up talking so much about it; but its opinion was, it declared, unchangeable as to the objectionable nature of his conduct.
I think it likely that Mr. Harmer, who loved peace and quiet above all things, would have suffered matters to remain as they were; but papa had a serious talk with him on the subject. He pointed out that Sophy was now eighteen years old, that the mere declaration of Mr. Harmer's intentions towards her had not been of any use in procuring her friends of her own age, and that, for her sake, he ought to again re-enter society. She was growing up knowing nothing of the world; and should anything happen to Mr. Harmer, she, being left entirely unprotected and alone, would fall an easy prey to some fortune-hunter of the worst kind, and her fortune would thus, instead of a benefit, turn out a positive evil to her.
Mr. Harmer acknowledged the truth of all this, and agreed with the doctor, that reluctant as he felt to change his present studious and retired mode of life, he ought still, for her sake, to make an effort to re-enter society.
Accordingly, the next day he ordered his carriage, and made a long round of visits
