"What said you, in reply?"

"That it was impossible, as she was a Protestant." "Thank you, thank you, father, for this: I shall not fail to have it stated, to your advantage, at the Court of Rome."

"Trouble not yourself to do so, I beg of you." "Trouble! my dear friend."

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But I must beg of you not; I do not desire it. The time has past, and with it, my ambition: allow me to end my days in this quiet retreat. I am too long out of the world, to fill an important position in it. It would be a trouble and a weariness to me."

"I am sorry, my dear friend, to hear you speak thus; but we must not allow you to rust out any longer the cobwebs which have gathered around your mental energies must be brushed away; at the next onset of our enemies, and the enemies of our Church, you will break them as Samson did the green withs, when the Philistines were upon him."

This eloquent flattery was pleasing to the old man, although he knew it was not sincere. He was wise enough to feel his own inaptitude for public life. Perhaps he felt that success, as a public man, demanded, at this time, a compromise or sacrifice of truth and virtue, which he could not

VOL. I.

L

afford to make, even for the sake of mother Church. He felt his inability to cope with such men as Archer, who were prepared not only to sacrifice life, but to strip themselves of every moral virtue, in order to support and adorn their great Alma Mater at Rome.

The old priest, therefore, shook his head and smiled, as he replied :-"The time is past, and I am not sorry for it. Ten or fifteen years ago, I might have felt and thought otherwise. I have now but one object that gives me an interest in life, or renders my life of any interest to myself-the dear child of whom we have been speaking."

"Yes; you answered the Earl that it would be impossible, as she was a Protestant. What said he to that?"

He was surprised to hear it, as he did then for the first time; but he made me promise-" "Promise what ?" said the Jesuit, with some impatience.

"He made me promise that, on condition of his inducing her to become a Catholic, I would not oppose their union."

"And did you promise your consent on this condition ?"

"Yes." "Madness!"

"How so? I thought this the great objection." "It is a great objection, but not the greatest. He must ally himself in marriage to some powerful Irish family. His followers of late are much lessened; and unless means be taken to strengthen them, he will lose the leadership, and we shall have endless contentions to find another, and never shall find another around whom so many will unite. But, should he think of marrying this humble maiden, his followers will desert him, as they did Thomas, the Sixth Earl."

"I did not think of this before," said the old priest, with whom the religious difficulty appeared paramount.

"And now that you have thought of it ?" "I shall speak to the Earl, and point out"No, not to him he is resolved: he has, no doubt, thought of it before now. But speak to the girl. She appears to have a noble, disinterested mind. Point out to her the injury it would do to him, and I think she will refuse his offer. But, if you find her otherwise disposed, you can mention the other matter; but do not mention your authority."

“To what do you refer by the other matter ?" "To the case of Lady Margaret.'

"No, no, you must excuse me, sir," said the old

man, drawing himself up. He was too much the gentleman to retail a slander against any one, and possessed too much Christian charity to believe half the slander which assailed his ears. When he saw the use which Archer intended to make of this evil report, he was almost confirmed in the suspicion that it had been invented for the purpose of breaking off the match. He knew that the Jesuits were as skilful in the fabrication of falsehoods-when they had an object to accomplish-as are housebreakers and thieves in the manufacture of false keys, and a variety of sharp and cunning instruments belonging to their profession :-"No," thought he," as I suspect the instrument is of his own making, he may use it; but I am resolved to employ no such Jesuit machinery for opening or wounding the heart of my beloved child."

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Well, you know the girl best; I shall, therefore, leave the affair to your management and wisdom," replied Archer; "and to give you an opportunity of speaking with your young friend, I shall leave you for the present."

CHAPTER XIX.

"Since secret spite hath sworn my foe,
And I am driven by destiny
Against my will, God knows, to go
From place of gallant company,
And, in the stead of sweet delight,
Το reap the fruits of foul despite.

"As it hath been a custom long,
To bid farewell when men depart,
So will I sing this solemn song,
Farewell to some, with all my heart:
But those my friends-but to my foes,
I wish a nettle in their nose."

"YOUNG friend !" said the old man, walking up and
down the room, repeating the words of the Jesuit,
แ young friend. He wishes to remind me that she
is neither kith nor kin of mine; but God knows
I could not love her more were she my own flesh
and blood. Young friend! yes, she is a friend, which
is more than I can say of him. But I must do as
he requires; I believe he is right, but it will sorely
grieve this dear girl; but the sooner it is done the
better," continued he, opening the door, and calling
her to him.

"Sit down, my child," said he leading Ellen to a