THE PURPLE ROBE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVII, Issue 11346, 14 April 1900, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE PURPLE ROBE.

BY JOSEPH HOCKING, \ ■Author of All Men are Liars," " Tho Story jf Andrew Fairfax," " Mistress Nancy

Molesworth," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XVIII. TOE MAN AND THE WOMAN.

HOW quiet and still everything was. How different from the noisy entertainment he had just witnessed. An air of sanctity pervaded the place. All the members of the household, and a few invited friends were on their jjnees, and in silence, and in deep thoughtfulness, they were offering their devotions. He looked towards Alizon. Her eyes were wide open, and she was looking towards a figure of the Virgin Mary. But in reality he was sure she looked beyond it. Her face was as pure as that of a vestal virgin, and her eyes vero luminous, and filled with a holy light, Hiere was no apparent excitement, no noise " —all was reverent, everything was filled with the spirit of worship. For a second he felt like kneeling down with them, he felt sure it would be helpful after the experiences of the dav. After the discussions to which he bad listened, discussion on petty trifles, there was something beautiful in the thought of kneeling before the figure of the Virgin and meditating on the great work of her Sol. And yet " something kept him from doing so. After all it did not appeal to his deepest nature. All these crucifixes and figures were only attempts to materialise spiritual trutis, and the very materialisation struck a false note. Besides, ho remembered what all tlese things led to. \ , , , . Ho saw Ritzoom at tho altar, clothed in gorgeous vestments. This man professed miraculous power. He claimed tlai he could change bread and wine into the very body and blood of Jesus Christ. Agiiii a false note was struck; there was nothing suggestive of this in reading the (Ir.siiels, or the Epistles. And yet the atmosphere was laden with the spirit of worship, and Ik almost envied the worshippers, who, without a doubt, could enter into, the ecstasy of the moment. The air was filled with the odour of incense, the light which shone through tho coloured glass lit up the little chapel in such a way that everything seemed glorified. That the worshippers were sincere he did not doubt; but, then, so were Mohammedans, Buddhists, Shakers, ay, every religionist of the world. Besides the atmosphere was spiritually exotic. There was no fresh, exhilarating, openair feeling about it. There was nothing tint nerved him to go out and fight with the devil, but something which mijht lead one to gay, " Let us take refuge in a cloister, let us shut out the hard, unsympathetic world." Presently Father Ritzoom lose to speak. His tones were soft and impressive. He appeared to be awed by his surroundings, and deeply impressed by 'the truths he wished to enforce. He explained certain point's in the spiritual exercises they had bean undertaking, and then gave certain advice as to their future conduct. Rutland gathered that this was the closing hour of the Retreat, which had lasted for three days, and so everything tended to make the hour impressive. The priest urged upon the worshippers certain functions, and tecommended certain aids by which their spiritual lifo would be benefited. He spoke of fasting, of contemplating the agony of Christ, of daily mass, and voluntary penance. Spoken to the" few women who bad spent long hours in vigil, his words undoubtedly seemed as the very words of God, but again Duncan felt that an artificial note was struck. All these suggestions appeared to tho young man as mere palliatives, mere mechanical appliances which could have no abiding value. They made life poor and small. They wanted that grand ring which those great words of Christ contained. How different was this talk about penance, from that sublime saying of Jesus, "I came that ye might have life, and that ye might have it more abundantly." After all.' these ceremonials of the priest as he brought the Retreat to a close was only playing with religion. It did not touch root principles. . '■. •i ~ ■".:■■. .'•' : . ' •'.' •' Still, he was impressed, and thought within himself that possibly these exercises must be helpful to women, or how could they produce such a. lovely character as that of Alizon Neville. Besides, did not Newman (and Newman, according to Gladstone, and even Froude. possessed one of the finest minds which the century had produced) accept all dogmas and exercises of the Papacy en bloc? Ye°s, lie must certainly read Newman again. He left the little chapel before the others, and waited outside while the others came out. When Alizon Neville appeared she was like one who had just been awakened out of sleep. Her eyes had lost the far-off look which he had seen in the chapel, she was like one dazed. He had seen people coming to consciousness after being in a mesmeric trance, and the young girl suggested this to him. She barely spoke to him as she passed. Lady Neville, on the other hand, was perfectly cairn and collected, and welcomed him heartily. The evening was spent very quietly. There was no joking, no merriment. They were apparently still under the influence of their devotions. When ten o'clock came Duncan announced his intention of leaving, and Kitzoom asked for the pleasure of walking part of. the way home with him. To Duncan's surprise the Jesuit spoke no direct word about religion. Instead he related some of his experiences in various countries. After they had separated, the young minister could recollect but very little that" the priest had said, and yet he' felt conscious that an impression was made upon him. The feeling that impressed' him was concerning the immensity of the Catholic Church. In every way it was great. Its history was the history of nearly 19 centuries. It was represented everywhere. Its influence had been felt ever since Christ leit the earth. He remembered, too, the calm assurance with which Ritzoom spoke. He seemed to regard Catholicism as an irresistible power. Men might protest against it. they might disregard it, but it mattered not, 'it was marching on to victory. Duncan did not go to the Priory for another week. 'During that time he worked constantly. From early morning till late at night he-toiled. He marked out Hie duties of each day carefully, and executed them all without fail. On the following Sunday, too, he preached with grea f powe., and yet the congregation felt that there was something unreal in his words. There was a note of asceticism and austerity in bis sermons, different from the ordinary positive ring of his messages. Still, no particular attention was 'paid to it, for no one knew o. the thoughts which were passing through his mind. On arriving at the Priory, he was met with the news that Father Ritzoom was leaving the next day; he had already spent more time than he had intended in the district, and while lie had been able to do a great deal of necessary work while there, In' was obliged to return to Ireland at once. He hoped, however, to visit them again through the summer. He was exceedingly pleasant in his conversation, and Rutland could not help but admire the case and fluency with which he spoke. As far as the young minister could judge, Alizon Neville was sad and ill-at-ease, still she was kind, while Lady Neville continued 'to be very gracious. While at the Priory lie was under the influence which always impressed him while there. There was a stately grandeur about the place. Everything was free from the utilitarianism which pervaded Lynford, there was something in the atmosphere which made him. think that thes. people lived in a world different from his own. lie felt that lie certainly must modify his views concerning the outcome of the Catholic religion. No one could go to such a bouse constantly without realising the beautiful spirit that pervaded it. And yet he was no nearer being a Catholic than the first day on which lie had met her, at least he thought so, and when hi' left the house, he felt that a great gulf/was fixed between him and Alizon Neville which could never be bridged across. "Well, and what, do you think of Mi. Duncan now?" asked Lady Neville of Ritzoom, when the doo* had been closed behind the young minister. "Oh, lie is a fine young fellow!" replied Ritzoom, blandly. "I have not altered my opinion in the slightest." " But do you still regard him as a possible convert?" ' "

. "Certainly," replied the Jesuit.- "I am pot in tbo habit of doubting after I have once made up my mind." 'But still lie does no l, seem to draw nearer to Jis," said her ladyship sadly. ''' You think not?"

"Do you?" " His heresy had taken deeper root than I had thought, that is all," replied Ritzoom. "You need have no fear. In less than a year he will have bent his neck to the Church."

" I wish I could see some evidence of it," responded, her ladyship. Ritzoom' turned his eyes towards Alizon, and saw that she was listening intently. He fully believed that Duncan had declared .his love for her, and one or twice had almost made up his mind to question the young girl whether it was not so. Something in her eyes, however, had forbidden him, for he remembered that he was not her confessor, and that she was not one to brook interference.

"We have at least this evidence, Lady Neville," replied the Jesuit. " Never since he has been in the habit of coming here has he uttered one word against our Church. Surely that is something. Besides, all that pronounced Protestantism has gone. The influence of this home has been greater than you imagine. The seeds we have sown have begun to germinate, and soon they will spring up and bear fruit. Already he is dissatisfied with the dry bones of Protestantism."

"Are you sure?" " Perfectly sure. He is not the kind of fellow who tells everything ha feels. But he is wading through deep waters. We have mado him feel the majesty, the unity, the great oneness of our Church. He has begun to think of the Divine authority of her priests, and soon lie will follow in Newman's steps." " You think ho will cease to be a Protestant then?" "He will first of all resign his position as mi-ister of Tudor Chapel."

"And then-?"

" Ah, that is in God's hands, Lady Neville. But you need not fear. I have lent him many books and I have told him some necessary truths; but these will not be the greatest factors in his conversion.''

"No; when then?" "You, Lady Neville, you and Alizon," and he looked at the latter keenly.

The girl blushed deeply, and Ritzoom was sure that all his surmises were correct. "Explain, Father Ritzoom," said her ladyship. "'Such a home as this, such influences as yours, these by God's grace will melt his heart. It is not his brain to which we must appeal so much as to his heart, his emotions. Let-him feel the tenderness of a Catholic home, let him realise how you yearn for his conversion."

Lady Neville was silent,

" I do not suggest that yon should do anyhing but pray 'for him, and. make him feel he beauty of a Catholic home," said the resuit. "'That is all. God's grace will do he rest. When I come again there will be i Greater change manifested. His conversion lias taken longer than I anticipated; nit you need not fear, it will take place Let him think of this place as a Lome, and all will be well." ■ "You think you will be able to visit us again in September?" "Yes, I hope so. Meanwhile, be very kind to him, both of you. And have no fear of results. Ci the day when he shall stand up in the Industrial Hall and make his confession, you will feel repaid a thousand-fold for your kindness. For hill conversion will be the forerunner of hundreds more."

"Yes," said Ritzoom, as he left Lynford the next day, and looked out upon its numberless chimneys, " yes, I need not fear. I have failed sometimes. I failed with Lancaster—sadly failed ;and Jack Grey is but a poor Jesuit ; he ought rather to have been a Passionist; but I shall not fail this time. When Rutland is converted, I shall have an interview with the Holy Father, and when he hears of numbers flocking to the Church in this .centre of Nonconforming Protestantism, be win look on me with more favour than ever. It will take some months vet, but all is well. The girl will be the great factor, I can see it plainly, but I have done my part, although lie is not conscious that I have done anything. I must try to visit the Priory in After all, Sheen's folly will turn out well." At the very hour that the Jesuit was thinking out his plans for Rutland's conversion, the young man sat in his study fighting with his own heart; ' His love for .ton Neville grew stronger day by day, while in spite of'his Protestant training, he could not. help being bewildered by what he had seen and heard. Father Ritzoom had made, him realise the lack of unity that existed in Protestantism, had led him to feel that no Protestant minister could speak with the authority of a Catholic priest. But, then was there any reality in these sacerdotal : ms? Of what good were pretensions unless they could be substantiated.' lie thought over these questions for many days. "No "he said at length, " I must kill my love for Alizon Neville. I cannot be a Catholic, I simply cannot. Even if she would marry me, such a union would to madness. No, no; I must give her up. This resolution, which he had failed to keep before, appeared to him again as his only hope. And yet the thought, of its fulfilment seemed like death. His love held him entirely. "One tiling I can ami will do, he determined at length, "I will abstain from going near the Priory. Even if lam invited there I will refuse. I will do all in my power to shut her out of my heart. But I will continue reading on the subject. I have promised that. I will get at the bottom of all those books which Rilzoom lent me. I will study the forces which led such a man as Newman to change his mind." Poor Rutland! he found it very hard to carry out his resolution. His heart simply ached to go down to the Priory and see the face of the girl for whom he would glad lay down his life. And after all. why could he not be a Catholic? Catholics held all the fundamental doctrines of Christianity, and thev had kept the lamp of faith burning in the darkest ages of the world s history. Was it not more likely that -Newman and Manning should be right than he? Oh, to be able to take the step, to give up all anxious thought and u .c at rest! A month passed away, and he never once saw the face of Alizon Neville. Then a letter reached him, asking him to a small garden party of personal friends. June had now come, and the woods around the Priory were covered with their mantle of green. The flowers were blooming, and the air was warm and balmy. Why should be not go. It would be heaven to meet her. lie read Lady Neville's letter again, and noted that only a few friends would be there J crhaps Alizon would walk alone with him among the woods, perhaps-perhaps- _ "No, it is madness, madness," he cried aloud; then he seized a pen, and thanked Lady Neville for her kindness, but told her that it was impossible for him to come. Another month passed away, and then his resolution was put to a still stronger test. He met Alizon and her ladyship olio day as they were driving across the moors whither he had gone for a walk. " You are a great stranger, said her ladyship. "Why have you forsaken your friends?" , , . . , , Duncan said he bad been working night and day, and this was true, but as lie knew, it was not the reason he had not visited the Priory. , „ " Rut surely you could spare us an hour, she said; we have been expecting }'""• Haven't we, Alizon?" "Yes," replied the girl, and the young man's heart felt like bursting as he saw the colour mount her fresh young face. "We shall begin to_ think we have offended you. Have we?" "Offended me!" cried Duncan. ' No! no! Anything but that! But really, I have been" very busy, and very much worried." " Worried?" queried her ladyship, with a touch of real kindness in her voice. "I am so sorry. Hut perhaps a day's freedom from your work and thoughts will help you. Everything is quiet at the Priory now. Come down for a day soon, will you?" "Thank you," cried Duncan, and his voice was husky. " You are very kind. I should like it above all things, but-" " No, I shall have no buts ; let me see, to-day is Saturday. Well, we can expect you on Monday. That is settled now." And before he was able to answer tho carriage was a dozen yards away. " Oh, I should like to go, but I cannot, I dare, not," lie cried, "I should only have to fight all this over again When he reached his lodgings he wrote, a . letter to her ladyschip expressing his sheerest thanks for her great. kindness, but told her tho> his mind was so torn with conflicting doubts, that ho was altogether I unfit for society.

And so ho tried to drive Alizon Neville

from his mind. Ever since Ritzoom had

left Lynford, he threw himself with more ardour than ever into his work. Indeed, so constantly did he labour that his health began to suffer. Although it was now summer, the season of the year when much of the especial work of the winter was abandoned, he inaugurated new schemes, and threw himself into them with such ardour that even those wno had been opposed to him confessed, " that Rutland was a rare lad after all." Hut those who cared for him most grew anxious. They saw his cheeks grow paler and thinner, while his eyes appeared to grow larger, and to shine with an unnatural light. "Thou'lt kill thyscn," said they kindly, "shut off steam a bit, lad, an' tak' it aisy."

But this Rutland was unable to do, for he felt that not only his duty, but his real salvation lay in the direction of work. During August he heard that Lady Neville and Alizon had left the Priory, and he yielded to the desire of the church officers to take a rest. Accordingly he went to Blackpool, the popular resort of the Lancashire operatives; but he only stayed a few days. He could not bear the crush of people, he had no sympathy with the noisy amusements. Accordingly he returned to his work at the end of August, and continued his labours.

When September came matters reached a crisis. He was out walking one Monday afternoon, feeling very weary after his Sunday's services, when he saw Alizon Neville coming towards him. It was now a year since he had settled at Lynford, and he was trying to think of the progress the Church had mado since his advent. After all, his work had been abundantly blessed. The regular congregation bad been practically doubled, and every department of Church work had been strengthened and invigorated. He then tried to think of bow the work could be further extended during the winter, and sketched some plans which he intended to bring before the congregation on the following Sunday. His ideas were all dispelled, however, when he saw Alizon. His hands began to tremble, and his cheeks were Hushed with an unhealthy colour. " Mr. Rutland," said the girl, " you look ill."

"Do I?" he replied. "I think lam all right." "The people in tho town say you pre working yourself to death," she said, anxiously. " I hear, too, that you have practically refused to take a holiday." "I could not bear to be idle," he replied. "But you should compel yourself. Lynford cannot afford to lose you."

"I am not sure," he replied, somewhat cynically. "People have short memories. If I were to die they would give me a decent burial, and then forget me in six months." " That is not fair to the people," she replied. "No?" he said, looking into her face. He thought he saw her lips tremble, and then all his resolutions went to the wind. While he was absent from her he was strong, but in her presence be was powerless. "Will you let me walk home with you.?" he said almost humbly. "Yes, come down to the Priory," said the girl, "my mother will be delighted to see you." They were standing on a footpath a mile from the Priory, but were still close to the woods which surrounded the house. " Let us go by the private path through the woods," she continued, and she led the way. A few minutes later they were walking together beneath the tall elms. "Why do you work so hard?" she said presently. "I have been trying to drive you out of my mind." Alizon blushed a rosy red. " When we were last together some months ago," he continued, "I told you that I loved you. You gave me but little hope, and you said that even if you cared for me you should regard your—your interest m me as a sin while I remained a Protestant." " Yes." said Alizon quietly. " Well 1 love you more than ever. I cannot kill it, I have tried to. That is the reason I have not accepted Lady Nevilles kind invitations." "Then you are still a Protestant.' " Yes, yes. I—l cannot be untrue to myself, even for you." 'For a moment the girl forgot the part she was playing in his life. She thought only of his conversion to her faith. "'Hut have you read the books Father Ritzoom lent you?" , " Oh, yes," he replied with a bitter laugh. " And they have not convinced you?" "Convinced me! No, they have not convinced me," . "Hut would you-that is, do you desire

"God forgire me, Miss Aluon, I would give anything to accept your faith. Uh, 1 wish it' were reasonable-far then 1 should hone that 1 could win you I would do anything for even the hope of winning you; but I cannot lea liar to God! "Have you read Newman.' " Yes." * "His 'Apologia?'" "Oh, yes." , . . . " Then surely, if he, the greatest thinker of the centurj, could yield to Koine, you could—" . „ .. "Forgive ma for interrupting you, said Duncan. "I am tired of this talk about Newman bcinj the greatest thinker of the century. I commenced to read his 'Apologia Pro VitaSua' with that idea. I suppose my opinion is heresy, but I cannot, help it. A more unconvincing, a weaker book, I never read. j It could never convince any thinking man. I wanted to he convinced -for your sab. I tried to sec as he saw. I read his celebrated tracts; I hungered to enter into his frame of mind. But it was impossible, People call him a philosopher. I have understtod that a philosopher always sees to it thai; he lias first of all a sure basis for his exclusions. Newman conceived a certain idea of the Church, and then drew certain conclusions front it. But Newman's conception of a Church is poor, artificial, and childish. He is simply playing with religfan all along the line. To him it is a pocr, shrivelled little caste, governed by arbitrary rules. 1 will admit that there is a great deal of clever sophistry ; but there is in broadness of outlook, no greatness of conception. Why, think of his protest at the time the Bishop of Jerusalem was appointed. He protested against a bishop giving flic sacrament to Lutherans and Calvinists without an examination of their beliefs, wlen the strength of religious life ill Europe las largely sprung from the work of Luther He deals with paltry issues. His idwi of faith seems to he the acceptance of certain views on little details which have no ijore to do with real religion than the ribbon; on your dress. Excuse me, Miss Nevilli, but 'Newman would drive me to Agnosticisn rather than to faith. 1 could not believein an Omnipotent God and Newman's tending at the same time."

"Ah! hut," Slid the girl, sadly, "you have never yet sen our Church as it really is. You look rom the outside."

"Where shall I go to see it?" asked Rutland. "Oh, I am sue," she went on, "that if you could see it where it was all powerful you would be coivineed. Here in Lynford we are but an alfen Church. Our people are mostly poor and Incouth. Hut if you could sco die Churchill Rome-then all would be different." '

Rutland went on a few minutes without speaking, then lo burst out eagerly: " But can yiu not care for mo as I am? For Ido love you, Ido love you!" "It would he a sin for me to think of you in the way'you wish, Mr. land, while you are engiged in the work of spreading heresy." "But if I couil he 'a Catholic—then.' Could you love lie then?" " I—'don't knot I regard you very highlv'-now; bij I don't know, IVrliaps I might." I "And—and—

"No, Mr. Rutand, I cannot say mora. Perhaps 1 havo aid too much now. But surely if you love mo as you say you do— you could— Oli, Mr. Rutland, you make everything impossible. You— do not it!" ' There were tear, in her eyes, and Rutland saw them. Both of them were excited beyond measure, and scarcely knew what they were saying. Tlty were both young, and the girl could notthelp being influenced by the passion in the roung man's words. "Try, try!" iried Rutland. "God knows I am tryijg. But give me some word of hope!" He grasped her hand and held it lightly. j "I do not knoj," sho cried, "I do not know. I-I wishl could—that is-evon if I were able, even if 1 loved you, I would l destroy it though It killed me, rather than I commit the sin of ting untrue to my faith."

"There can be no hope for me while I am a Protestant !" "' No, no; I dare not. It would be sindeadly sin," " Sin to love a man who was trying to do his 'duty, to do right!" he cried. He dropped' her hand. "lam a fool," he continued, bitterly. " You never can care for me, you could not under any circumstances, you 'could not if I were of your faith." " Oh, do not say that!" she cried. All her caution was gone. She forgot the difference in their positions. She was a woman, and, he was a mail, and that was all. "I— could, I believe I—l could not help myself if it were not a sin!" " But otherwise?" " Oh, I could not, I dare not. Don't be cruel!"

He caught her hand again, and held it tightly. ' God help me!" he cried, and then he left her without a word. •

A fortnight later he was lying on his bed with brain fever, brought on, the doctor said, by overwork and worry. For days bis life hung in a balance, and even when the danger was over his recovery was slow, so slow that it was not until after Christmas that he was able to walk about.

" You must leave Lynford for the rest of the winter," said the doctor, when he had reached this stage. " Where must I go?" he asked. "Oh, southward. To Nice, Algiers, Cairo."

" Would Rome do?" "Yes, splendidly." " Then 1 will go there." He gave no reasons for this decision; but a fortnight later he was on his way to the Eternal City, little dreaming of what lay before him.

CHAPTER XIX. "am roads lead to home." • Rutland had no companion on bis journrey to the home of the Vatican. Some of the members of his congregation had hinted that if he would wait a few weeks until they could make arrangements they would accompany him. But he did not encourage their advances. He wanted to be alone, wanted to be free from all prying eyes as he studied the Papacy at its centre. The local paper had announced that he intended taking the journey, and so all the town knew of it, and a number of people came to the station to see him off when he started for London, the first stage of his journey. Among these were Mattliy Bray and Jonas Dixon.

"Naa see that lima comes 'ome wi 1 a bit o' colour i' thee faaco," they said. "I'll try," said Rutland, with a wintry smile.

"'Appen as aa the Pope 'ev 'eerd on thee, and 'appen 'e'd want to see thee. If 'oo does, tbaa tell 'im as aa us Lancashire foak want nowfc of his tribe."

"All right." "Arid look 'ere," said Jonas Dixon, "see that thaa dosn't pick up wi' ony Italian lasses. Thou'lt find nowfc there as good as we 'ev i' Lancashire. Kb, but thou ought to 'avo 'ad a wife to fcak' care o' thee!" "I'll promise to keep clear of them all,' said Duncan. , "Yi, that's right. I tell thee, lot o th' Tudor lasses 'ave 'ad wet eyes while thou'sl bin i' bed. Ef owt 'appens to thee all th' town '11 go into mournin'. I mam it. Thou mayn't think it, 'cos wo doan't say over mien; but we think a lot 0 thee. I'm telling thee naa. Us be a bit rough, I reckon, but thcr'll be 'undreds o' foak praym for thee," and Duncan saw the tears in the old weaver's eyes. " Yi, and that ther' will," said old MattJ Bray. " Rut take kecr o' thy.sen, Master Rutland, I've 'ccrd as aa the Italians carry knives wi' 'em, and that they fair"aalo th Protestants." I'll be careful." said the young man. The express train came in, and scores of people thronged around him. Youths and girls, men and women, all waiting to shako bis hand and wish him God-speed. n "We'll be rare and glad to see ye back, they said. " God bless yo'." _ The train swept out of the station, and lett the crowd on the platform. _ " Eh, but von's a grand lad, they said to another, "flier's never been his equal i Lvnford. It 'ml be a sad day for Tudor if be left , „ n » i " Yi, it would," said another. Oo s been a rave defender o' th 1 faith. Meanwhile Duncan sat in the carriage thinking of the future. He was still weak, and had arranged to do the journey in easy stages. He had received a letter from Lady Neville, containing kind expressions, and the fervent hope that he would soon be restored to health, and also recommending him to a comfortable hotel. Unknown to him, moreover. Father Ritzoom bad written to several of his friends in Rome, telling them of his hopes concerning him, and asking him to show him every courtesy. Each day since the doctor had given his consent for Duncan to read, the young man had been studying books on Rome, and trying to get an insight into the condition of the city. He had become much interested in the endeavour of the Popes to try and retain temporal power, and had often looked at the picture of St. Peter's and the Vatican, and had noted the windows of the room where tin aged Pontiff spent bis days. Popular, rumour had it that Leo XIII. often stood at that window and looked out over the city which was lost to him. It was also said that he indulged in dreams of the time when the Papal States should be restored to the Vatican, and he should have Imperial as well as spiritual power. When the train had left the manufacturing districts, and drew nearer to London, the purpose of his visit to Rome became clearer to him. The people of Tudor had no idea why be had chosen Rome rather than Cairo or Algiers, but it was painfully real to him, and presently he was able to review the situation clearly.

Sometimes he wondered whether he was behaving quite worthily ; but he really could not see how lie could have acted differently. He could not help himself, neither could he have controlled the order of events. He could not accept the teachings of the Catholic Church ; but he could not resist being impressed by the picture of the Church which Ritzoom had brought before his mind, neither could he help feeling the beautiful atmosphere of that Catholic home at the Priory. Had he. not been brought into contact with Alizon Neville and Father Ritzoom, his life would doubtless have been' different; but both bad come across the pathway of his life, and both had impressed him. They had made him feel the greatness, the grandeur of the Catholic Church, had appealed to his love for the beautiful, the stately, and had caused him to sec visions of a great united Christianity all over the world. After all, it could not be Cod's w'll to see the Church split into sections, and each party glorifying its own little sect. Surely Cod meant His Church to be one. Well, had not the Roman Church' remained true to this idea? She was the same all over the. world. True, he recognised the fact that the Reformation had given religions liberty, but had not that liberty degenerated into license?- Reside, even a man like Goethe had condemned (he work of Luther and his followers. There could bo no doubt that liberty degenerated into license? lint could not even now a great reunion take place? jaoiuc was no longer what it ■ once was; she had been represented as a great loving mother waiting to welcome back her wayward children, and she had purged herself from the corruptions which were once destroying her. Again, if there was anything in Apostolical succession, doubtless the Romanists had (lie advantage of it, for all true Protestants had discarded it as a baseless dream. There was something in lite idea of an infallible Church; something WO*ndrously fascinating in the thought that poor, tired souls could rest on her great bosom and give doubts and fears to the wind. All this Ritzoom had made him feel, and now that, he was weak and ill, weary and worn from long weeks of studying and niggling and lighting, lie longed for rest and peace. lint, perhaps these things would not have affected him so much had not a great overmastering love for Alizon Neville come into his life. 'He felt instinctively that her life was pure and beautiful. She appealed to all that was holiest and best in him. And she had given him hope. The only thing that seemed to stand between them was the Uifferenco in (heir faith. He did not think of the bitter/ opposition which Lady Neville would offer, if he made known his wishes to her. He had no idea of the power of caste, and how one in her position would never give her consent for her daughter to link tier life with such as be. Lady Neville had expressed such liberal opinions, and hail received him with such kindness that it seemed probable that she would overlook the dii teeence between their birth and training. Alter all she must recognise the (ruth of Burns words, that the rank was but the guinea j stamp, and that the man was the gold, ler-

haps, too, the difference in their religion, which had been urged by Alteon as the reason she could not think "of loving him, had seemed so great that it overshadowed every--1 thing else. And surely he owed it to her, I to himself, to do all in his power to remove the obstacle that utopd between them. They were fellow Christians. Both believed in j God, and Christ,.and in the great fundamen- | tals of Christianity. It was only a difference lin detail which divided them. He had no j doubt about his own relation to God, no 1 doubt about his right to preach the Gospel, but then, if the Catholic idea of the Church was true— at least, he ought to use every means to investigate it. Books had altogether failed to convince him. Newman had driven him further away from sacerdotalism ; Purcell's" Life of Manning" had destroyed many illusions. All the same he would see Rome, study the effect of this wondrous system where for 15 centuries its power had been almost supreme. And then—well, he would follow the leadings of God. He had told his church nothing of this. It would have done harm rather than good had he done so. The people would not have understood. And he had done his duty at Lynford. On all hands it was admitted that lie had done the work of two men; on all hands, too, he was told that never had a minister been so successful.

If he were ever led to resign Tudor— he must face the fact fairly. In any case he must do his duty. He stopped one night in London, another in Paris, another at Turin, another at Genoa, and at each stage of the journey he felt himself gaining strength. It was a wondrous change to him. At Lynford the sky was black, murky, the air was smoke-sodden, and winter reigned supreme. In Italy the sky was cloudless, the air was clear and soft and balmy. He had arrived at Genoa at noonday, and after he had lunched he went out into the town. Everywhere the evergreen frees glinted in the sunshine. He stood in the square where the statue of Christopher Columbus stands and gazed around him. Ah. it was glorious to Ik away from the smoke and grime, beautiful beyond words to breathe the pure air of the sunny south. He walked slowly around the town, and by and by reached the suburbs. Here the gardens were filled with orange trees, and the luscious fruit was ripening beneath the warm, bright sun. He went towards the sea, where the waters of the Mediterranean lapped the shore. Behind him stood the mountains. Away, away, as far as the eye could reach they lifted their giant peaks into the clear, blue sky, beneath and beyond him were the waters of the Mediterranean. Italy seemed to him like a land of dreams, of fair visions.

He was tempted to stay at Genoa, hut he wanted to be in Rome, whose name had for two thousand years been a synonym for civilisation, for art, for culture. As a boy he had dreamed of going there, as a man he had longed to go, and now lie was on his way. Somehow lie felt that bis life's destiny lay in Rome, so the next day at noon be started on the last stage of bis journey. Prudence told him to stay at Pisa, and rest the night there. He was still languid and weak— few weeks before he had been at the very portals of death. He ought to rest there, and not overtax his newly returning strength. But he was too eager to bo in Rome, too eager to see those sights which he felt would mean the turning point of bis life.

He drew near Rome shortly before mid- 1 night, after a weary ride through a wide stretch of dreary country, and as he looked out of the carriage window he saw the lights of (he city. Rome! Rome! He grow excited. This city, hoary with age, and laden with mystery, was near at last. He thought of Romulus, who 700 years before Christ founded a mighty empire, thought of the great heroes who succeeded him, thought of the old Romans who conquered the neighbouring peoples, of the republic that was formed, and of the Cffisars who sat oil the Imperial throne. Rome! the city to which Paul came, and where he was persecuted and killed; the city, too, where, legend had it. Peter came, and was crucified. Here, too, Constantino came and bent before the conquering cross; to Rome also came Charlemagne, and handed over kingdoms to the Pope. Rome! Rome! there was music, mystery, romance in (lie word. He seemed to see the sweep of centuries as he sat back in the carriage-seat and closed bis eyes. He pictured one Pope after another reigning there. He saw Hildebrand scheming to make the world kneel to him, he pictured Huss coming to Rome to tell his dream to the Pope, saw Leo arranging for the erection of St. Peter's, and beheld Luther coining barefooted and alone to the Eternal City. Then he pictured it after the Reformation, and thought of Pius, and Paul, who, with stern relentlessncss, scut out their edicts concerning heretics. He thought of the findings of the Council of Trent, of the rise of Ignatius of Loyola, and the founding of tho Jesuits. He fancied Gregory on his way to St. Peter's, to thank God for the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and thought of St. Ignatius longing to come to Rome, but hesitating until he saw a vision of Christ, who told him (hat He would be with- him. Then the history of Rome's decay appeared before him. He" saw the power of the Vatican lessening year by year, until the Popes began to tremble for their own safety. England and Germany, instead of returning to the Latin Church, drifted further and further away, while France, the eldest daughter of Rome, plunged into mad orgies and wild revolt against organised religion. Then Napoleon came, and played with the Pope as ho plaved with the rest of the world, until Hie 'power of the Vatican was but a thin shadow of its former greatness. He thought of the schemes of Mazzini and Garibaldi for tho Unification of Italy, and bow, after heroic struggles and much bloodshed, the nation was re-born, and every state, with the exception of Rome, became united according to the dream of the Italian patriots. He fancied the French Army defending this one Papal State against Italy, and then saw the French soldiers march away only to be crushed by the Germans. How the 'pride of Pius IX.'must have suffered! And still this man, while yielding outwardly, held tenaciously to his opinions and demands, The dogma of Papal Infallibility became the faith of the Church, and afterwards the Immaculate Conception of tho Virgin Mary. Then Pius IX. died, and Leo XIII. sat on the Papal Chair; and this poor old man, after years of scheming and waiting, still hoped and longed for Imperial power. He fancied Leo XIII. standing at bis window at night and looking over the city thinking of the time when it belonged to the Church, and dreaming of the day when it should be again governed from the Vatican. Poor old man! It was a pathetic thought, and yet there was something sublime in it. ' Tho Church, so Father Ritzoom said, never legislated for a day, a century, but for eternity, and Leo would claim to be a link in tho Eternal Chain of the Church. Cardinal Manning had said that it was the work of (ho Church to bow tho neck of an Imperial race, tho English race, to the claims of Rome. Would this ever come to pass, would the dreams of Leo be ever realised?

His thoughts and fancies were dispelled by the cry of "Roma! Roma!" and ho alighted from the train to sec an excited throng, (living his luggage to a porter, and telling him the name of his hotel, he followed him until they reached the hotel bus, and a few minutes later he was on Ins way to the Grand Hotel de Russie, where he had arranged to stay, Although the day bad been warm, the night was cold, and Rutland was glad on his arrival to find that the dining-room had been heated, and a good supper provided. lie was still excited, and he had no desire to sleep, but he remembered his recent illness, and soon found his way to his bedroom, where ho immediately fell fast asleep, lie was up betimes in the morning, but he did not intend to start sight-seeing for a few days. He desired rather to wander around tho cilv, and become acquainted with its streets and squares before visiting the churches, and studying the life of the people. There was no need for him to hurry. Hie doctor had told him that he must on no account return under two months, and toe i church had requested him to stay until his j health was prefectly restored. A letter uaa also reached him from the manager of one ot the Lynford banks, telling him that arrangements had been made whereby he could, by applying at one of the Italian banks, obtain enough money to cover a much larger expenditure than he was likely to make, I ho manager assured him that this sum was deposited at his own bank by a friend (who desired that his name should be unknown) in his Rutland's, name, and for his use. and ' that lie must not hesitate to take advantage of tho arrangement. The young minister was much moved by this expression of kind-ness-at the same time ho determined not to benefit by it. He had a little private proI perty, and as ha had not spent tho whole of

i the salary his church had given him, he ' knew that he had no need to trouble about money. j He determined not to hurry himself thereI fore, and for three days he simply walked ! around the city, threaded its main thoroughfares, and watched the throngs of people | who passed by, without in any way troubling about the purpose of his visit. These three days were not without their effect upon him, however. It is impossible to be in Rome without being, impressed, impossible to see the old and the new, the Pagan and the Christian struggling together without being moved to wonder. During those three days he traversed Rome from side to side, and familiarise himself with the names and positions of streets and squares; he wandered among the ruins of the Forum, traversed the Corso, watched the Tiber in its sweep towards the sea, and saw the mighty dome of St. Peter's, and the great irregular buildings which comprised the Vatican. He had net sought to understand the inwardness of all these things; he had declared that he would not seek to study anything for at least a week, and yet Rome stunned him. He could not help marvelling at its revelation; sometimes he felt as though he was but dreaming a strange dream, from which be would soon be awakened. And yet, although he knew it not, he was adopting the best method of seeing Rome, he was preparing himself to see the wonders which would be revealed to him later.

At the end of three days, however, just as he was thinking of trying to discover some man who knew the history of Rome, who might be willing to explain to him some of the sights, a waiter came to him and handed him a card.

"Who can wish to see me?" thought Rutland. "As far as lam aware there is not a sold in Rome who knows me."

He glanced at the card and read the name. "Rev. Richard Matthew. 5.J.," he read. "Who can lie lie, I wonder?" He followed the waiter into the drawingroom, where he saw a young priest. " Excuse me for calling," said this young man, "but some English friends of mine told me you were here, and I thought I might be of service to you. I have lived in Rome a good many years, and know the city we.T." He seemed rather nervous, but he had a kind, frank face, and Rutland felt drawn to him immediately. "Sit down, will you?" he said cordially.

(To be continued on Wednesday next.)