lief; trust him for your father as well as for yourself."

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 abbe'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. gene 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 :

Eu

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 obcipations I had long indulged in. I have ject of your visit was the realization of antilong 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.

guage of passion; for a long time past I have "Lady, I will not speak to you in the lanhad to keep my feelings under control, for deep as has been my admiration of yourself dared not make you aware of it while the

I

obstacle of faith stood between us. A Cathohim, a partner in joy, a soother in sorrow, a lie man seeks in marriage a HELP-MEET for confidant and co-operator in his views, a com. panion 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 his death confided to me the care of his De Meglior in that most solemn hour before daughter, I thought the companion I sought for was found; but Euphrasie soon showed herself so visibly the elected bride of heaven preserving her from sacrilege. You then that all my anxiety was quickly directed to 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. 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, though differing in intensity, is the same in essence as that we look

to enjoy hereafter in heaven. That all earthly intelligence, all earthly beneficence which seeks permanence, must be founded on the repression of such inordinate desires 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 be cause 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 instil 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 institu. tion 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 its 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 con sent 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 is 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."

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. 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 å 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 neiher 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.

"I doubt their power to enforce that will," said Eugene, as he 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,

*This was the case before the passing of the Cath

olic Emancipation Bill.

at length joined in the resolve to see Annie replaced in possession of the children coute qui coute. The wed ding 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 execu tor."

"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 children and their nurse, equipped for did, and with him entered the two

a drive. 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 athis 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."

CHAPTER XXXI.

AMERICA.

Two years have passed since the events happened which we last presented to our readers: it is on the other side of the Atlantic that our view now opens, but the friends we greet are of those we left behind.

The scene is in a beautiful extensive garden, well planted with trees; behind, on an eminence, rises a large white house with numerous piazzas which contrast pleasingly with the green sward and shrubs before it. The slope before the house is covered with groups of children weaving garlands, for it is a holiday, the feast of St. Aloysius; and all the schools have freed their pupils great and small.

Feeling the privilege of the day, the children have bounded into the grounds of their patrons, M. and Madame de Villeneuve. They knew that a strawberry festival was preparing for them, and on their parts were anxious to be busy. Festoons were hung from pillar to pillar. The large refectory was opened, and the walls garlanded'; merry voices were singing childish hymns and songs, and good humor was visible everywhere.

The grounds were very spacious; far away might be seen grown persons in holiday-trim; lads and lasses preparing the tables, and a band of music sending up, every now and then, cheery notes to gladden all around.

In yonder silent glade too, half hid by the thickness of the foliage, Eugene Godfrey is walking with his young bride; they are not yet past the honeymoon, and are bound for England.

Tomorrow is the day fixed for their departure, and the lady-bride, formerly Elise de Villeneuve, the youngest and fairest daughter of the house of De Villeneuve, is sentimentalizing very prettily her regrets at leaving, perhaps for ever, the paternal mansion.

Clotilde de Villeneuve, who has al ready entered as a postulant at the convent which is visible on that eminence to the right-rising majestically above the world and backed in the distance by the interminable forest; from which it is separated by that lovely series of lakes which lie at the foot of the hill on which the building stands-Clotilde de Villeneuve has for this one day consented to break inclosure that she may bid good-by to the young sister she brought up so carefully since her mother died.

There is another lady there, looking fairer and younger than when we saw her last, giving directions in a very pleasing tone; and ever and anon looking back, a little anxiously perhaps, to see what two young girls were doing with a something in a bundle of white muslin, which seemed very animated, and which the nurses are trying to kill with kindness.

The pastor approaches, a fine old man with mild eyes, white hair, and a very benevolent aspect. All the little ones rise and courtesy, and Hester, yes, our old friend Hester, comes forward to greet him affectionately.

"Where is your husband, my dear lady?" asked the good priest, after returning the preliminary greeting.

"Well, I hardly know, he has been on the qui vive all day, here and there and everywhere. I hardly know where he is now. Do you want him particularly, father? You seem uneasy."

"Let us go in out of this hot sun," said the pastor, wiping his forehead.

They adjourned to the parlor, which opened on both sides to a piazza shaded by climbing plants, and thus promised a cool retreat. Hester handed the old gentleman a refreshing drink, for he seemed weary and excited. On setting down the glass, he whispered: "Are we alone here? Is any one listening ?"

"Not that I am aware of," said Hester, glancing in all directions. "I see no one, father, what is the matter ?" "There is mischief brewing in the city yonder; I want to see your husband. For the last six weeks there has been a strange man there, of singular eloquence, fomenting discord about Catholics, getting up a no-popery cry, uttering fearful scandals concerning the convent; to-night the people threat-en to burn it down."

"Can this be true? Who is your informant ?"

"My man Walter. It seems he knew the stranger in England."

"I know Edward has been annoyed with reports of some plots, but he thought as little about it as he could; he never harmed any body, and cannot imagine any body would harm him."

"This is a religious or rather a fanatical plot. What the purpose is, it is difficult to discover. The designer means something dark, you may be sure, the multitude are but his tools. He has used all the plea he could find; have not your committees refused

many applications to receive pupils?"

"Yes, Edward acts on his father's plan, and he says the old marquis always insisted that a child was more formed by his companions than by his teachers; that one dissipated worldly companion would contaminate a school. It seems he loved real children, and hated the little bits of affectation, aping men and women, which we now so often see; so Edward will positively not have a child in the schools unless he knows the home influence they are under. In fact, our schools are not only exclusively Catholic, those we call normal schools are open only to picked Catholics. Edward wants them to turn out good and efficient teachers of practical Catholicity, and before he receives a pupil he not only exacts certain promises from the children, but from the parents also, as to the influence they will exercise from a distance. As long as they attend his schools they are under certain restrictions, at home as well as abroad."

"All this is good for the children, but it has made enemies. Those out of the pale pretend something must be wrong in so exclusive a system; they are jealous of advantages from which their children are excluded."

"But a great deal of the influence exerted is purely religious; how can we bring that influence to bear on such as are not Catholics, or who are worldly Catholics, who come merely for secular advantages ?"

"I am not saying you are not right; I only say you have made enemies."

"I believe my husband would rather give up the schools than compromise his principles. He has been intimately acquainted with the management of some Catholic schools in which all parties were admitted: the rule was to all alike, it was difficult to make a distinction. Children, non-Catholics, were admitted to religious societies, services, and processions. He has a very firm conviction that the result was that they were led to believe that assisting with due outward decorum,