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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 

 
 FATHER EUSTACE: 
 
 A TALE OF THE JESUITS. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. TROLLOPE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 " THE VICAR OF WREXHILL," " THE BARNABYS," 
 
 " THE ATTRACTIVE MAN, 
 
 ETC, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. IL 
 
 ' • 1 I 
 
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 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBUKN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1847.
 
 
 
 
 
 ••• ••• ••<
 
 PK 
 
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " I AM afraid, my dear Miss de Morley," 
 said Mr. Wardour, as he entered the morning 
 drawing-room at Cnthbert Castle, in which he 
 found Lady Sarah and lier daughter sitting 
 tete-a-tete — '' I am afraid that you are going 
 to be blocked out from your favourite lounge 
 upon the sunny terrace at Langley Knoll. 
 I was at Stockington yesterday, and Mr.. Mor- 
 rison told me that the place was let." 
 
 "I am 50 sorry!" exclaimed Juliana, in 
 reply. " I did so love to prowl about that 
 old place ! So, then, Mamma, all our readings 
 in that darling old porch are over! Mr. 
 
 VOL. II. B
 
 2 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Wardour, you really have been so unfortunate 
 this morning as to make yourself exceedingly 
 disagreeable." 
 
 " But suppose we should gain a pleasant 
 neighbour, Juliana?" said her mother. "Why 
 not indulge ourselves with the hope that Lang- 
 ley Knoll may be taken by agreeable people? 
 A little more variety would be charming !" 
 
 " I do not believe that I like agreeable 
 people, Mamma," replied Juliana. " Mrs. 
 Eov/ley says that the Lady Letchmeers are 
 very agreeable ; and Mrs. Stanberry says that 
 all the Mr. Eowleys are very agreeable; and 
 Mr. Ciu'tis pere^ the very last time I had the 
 happiness of seeing him, pronounced, ex 
 cathedra, that Mr. Raymond was the most 
 agreeable man in the county. No, Mamma, 
 depend upon it, the old stone porch was worth 
 all the agreeable people in the world." 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss de Morley, one agreeable 
 person might prove more endurable to you 
 than many," said Mr. Wardour. " Morrison's 
 news does not go the length of promising more 
 neighbours than one. Langley Knoll is taken, 
 he says, by a young Irish gentleman, who has
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 3 
 
 made choice of it solely to indulge his passion 
 for fishing. Langley Brook is one of the most 
 celebrated trout streams in Endand; and the 
 right of fishing in that stream has at length 
 obtained a tenant for the place." 
 
 " What a particularly stupid person this 
 tenant must be !" returned Juliana. " Fancy, 
 Mamma! — only fancy a man's selecting a 
 place for his home solely because it offers him 
 the precious privilege of sitting all day bob- 
 bing for trout ! Unless one should happen to 
 take a fancy to bob with him, I do not see 
 how it would be possible to find him agree- 
 able." 
 
 " Nay, Miss de Morley," said the Eector, 
 laughing, " I do not see why you should insist 
 upon his fishing every day, and all day long.'' 
 
 " Only, you know, if he comes on purpose, 
 we must suppose he will be rather strongly 
 devoted to the sport, as it is called." 
 
 " What age is he?" demanded Lady Sarah. 
 
 " I cannot satisfy your ladyship on that 
 important point," replied Mr. Wardour, " for 
 my informant did not allude to it. But he is 
 a bachelor." 
 
 B 2
 
 4 FATHEK EUSTACE. 
 
 " And his name?" 
 
 " Stormont — Edward Stormont, Esq., was 
 the address which I read upon the letter which 
 Morrison put into my hand when lie announced 
 the news to me, saying, as he did so, ' Here, 
 sir, that is the name of your ne^v parishioner.' " 
 
 " And did he tell you anything more about 
 him?" inquired Lady Sarah. 
 
 " Not much," replied Mr. Wardour. " He 
 said that the negotiation had been opened and 
 carried on in a very liberal and gentlemanlike 
 style, and that he had no doubt the in-coming 
 tenant, as he called him, was a man of good 
 fortune and liberal mode of livinc:." 
 
 It was not at Cuthbert Castle only that this 
 news, of a nature so important to a remote 
 country neighbourhood, was received and can- 
 vassed with interest, and for the most part it 
 was welcomed, particularly among the ladies, 
 with great satisfaction. Lady Setterton was 
 especially pleased by it, and declared, with a 
 grateful spirit, that they really ought all of 
 them to be thankful that there were no more 
 young ladies coming out among them. A 
 single man, rich enough to keep up a house
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 and establislinient, ought always to be wel- 
 comed in every neighbourliood with open arms. 
 Nevertheless it was, as usual upon all oc- 
 casions when new people were to be invited, 
 at Eagle's Crag Kail that Mr. Stormont was 
 first made visible to the Cuthbert neighbour- 
 hood. This was the more amiable on the part 
 of the Rowley ftimily, inasmuch as theirs was 
 the only house in which an additional bachelor 
 could not possibly be considered as a particu- 
 larly valuable acquisition. But the hospitality 
 of Eade's Crasf was boundless. It might almost 
 be said, without exaggeration, that ^^Irs. 
 Ilowley and her sons had as much pleasure in 
 giving dinners as in eating them. 
 
 Precisely the same party as the reader has 
 before seen assembled at Eagle's Crag Hall, 
 when Lady Sarah de Morley and her daughter 
 first came forth from their castle walls to meet 
 the most aristocratic portion of the neighbour- 
 hood, were now collected together again to do 
 honour to tlie arrival of Mr. Stormont among 
 tiiem. The onlv diiference was, that Fanny 
 Clarence, upon being told that she was to be 
 sent for in the evening in order to play waltzes.
 
 6 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 pleaded a strain in her wrist as a reason why 
 it would be impossible for her to perform the 
 duty required of her. 
 
 Playing waltzes for three hours with a 
 strained wrist was allowed to be physically 
 impossible, even by the enamoured and im- 
 perious Adelaide herself; though the look with 
 which she accepted tlie excuse had more of 
 indignation than of pity in it; nor had her 
 voice much of kindness when she said, that 
 " when people had but one way of making 
 themselves useful, they ought to be careful 
 not to render themselves incapable of it." 
 And it was with some bitterness that, after a 
 moment's reflection, she turned to her mother, 
 and added, " It will be a dreadful bore if these 
 formal dinner-parties, which, of course, will all 
 come over again for this new man — it will be 
 an unbearable bore if they are to be followed 
 by no dancing. There might be a remedy, if 
 that stiff girl at the castle should take it into 
 her head to repeat her offer of playing. Indeed, 
 if she does not, I shall certainly ask her." 
 * * # * * * 
 
 The appearance of a " neiv man " at a
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 7 
 
 country dinner-party, when it is known that 
 he means to make himself a permanent neigh- 
 bour, is always an event of some importance ; 
 and when, into the bargain, he is supposed to 
 be rich, and known to be a bachelor, the first 
 glance at him is likely to have a good deal of 
 curiosity in it. 
 
 Mr. Morrison, the attorney at Stockington, 
 who acted as agent to the owner of the Lang- 
 ley Knoll property, was the only individual 
 in the whole country who appeared to know 
 anything about this Mr. Stormont ; and even 
 his knoAvledge of him amounted to no more 
 than it was absolutely necessary he should 
 know, before the necessary routine of forma- 
 lities incident upon putting him into possession 
 of the property for a period of three years 
 could be gone through. But as all this was 
 transacted between the Stockington attorney 
 on the one part, and a London attorney on the 
 other, there was absolutely nothing known of 
 the gentleman's personal characteristics when 
 the dinner-party took place, save that when 
 the previous morning calls had been made, he 
 was himself invariably from home when the
 
 8 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 gentlemen of the neighbourhood waited upon 
 him; and when he returned their visits, it 
 was, in every case, at so late an hour that the 
 family of each house were at dinner. 
 
 Yet, in this case, as in every other of the 
 same kind, conjecture had supplied the want 
 of information. Of all the persons assembled 
 in Mr. Rowley's drawing-room, there was not 
 one who had seen him ; neither was there one 
 who had not conceived from the data, slight as 
 they were, which had been given, something like 
 a definite idea of the sort of man they expected 
 to see. 
 
 Mr. Stormont was the last of the invited 
 guests who arrived ; and when the drawing- 
 room door was tin-own open, and his name 
 announced, a variety of conversations which 
 were going on in different parts of the room 
 stopped short, and he walked up the noble 
 apartment with every eye fixed upon him, but 
 every tongue hushed in a silence so perfect, as 
 to produce an effect that would have been em- 
 barrassing to most men. But it did not appear 
 to be so to the stranger ; yet the absence of 
 this feeling evidently did not proceed from any
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 9 
 
 superabundant degree of assurance in the in- 
 dividual thus conspicuously displayed to the 
 curious eyes of those before whom he pre- 
 sented himself; for it was impossible than any 
 one possessing the very slightest power of read- 
 ing the mind of man in his countenance, could 
 have so blundered as to mistake the expression 
 of liis features for that of audacity, or any 
 other species of overweening self-confidence. 
 
 It would be a mighty useless undertaking 
 were I to attempt to give an account of all the 
 various notions respecting him which had been 
 preconceived by the various individuals who 
 formed the circle; let it suffice to say that 
 they were all wrong, — so wrong, that it could 
 scarcely be said that any one was more near 
 the truth than the rest. 
 
 And it was, moreover, scarcely possible that 
 it could have been otherwise. 
 
 For who could have exnected to have seen, 
 in the person of a bachelor gentleman, who 
 had taken a rather remote country house for 
 three years, in order to amuse himself Avith the 
 old-fashioned recreation of fishing — who could 
 have expected to see in such a one the form of
 
 10 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 a Belvedere Apollo? It was accompanied, 
 too, with a countenance ten thousand times 
 more intellectual than it ever entered into the 
 head of a Greek sculptor to conceive, and 
 adorned, withal, by an air of simplicity, if I 
 may venture such a word, that was to his grace 
 and comeliness what a pure atmosphere is to 
 the beauty of an antique temple. It permitted 
 neither false shadow nor false light to. inter- 
 fere with the purity of the outline. 
 
 The eifect produced by this unexpected 
 vision was uniform, or nearly so, as to the 
 degree of surprise it occasioned; but in other 
 respects it differed greatly. It may be sup- 
 posed, perhaps, that the most vehement admi- 
 ration produced by such extraordinary per- 
 sonal beauty was among the ladies, but it was 
 not so. Miss Stanberry, indeed, muttered to 
 herself, " What a magnificent creature !" But 
 she added, with the very deepest sincerity, 
 " I would not give up Curtis, though, for 
 a whole legion of such ! He looks a vast deal 
 more like an angel than a man." 
 
 Both the Lady Letchmeers thought it might 
 do very well for a duke, or even a marquis, to
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 11 
 
 wear that sort of exquisitely unmoved look,, 
 but tliat it was quite out of keeping with a 
 mere country gentleman. And they doubted 
 very much whether they should like him at 
 all; he looked like one of the men that one 
 now and then sees, who are too handsome 
 themselves to see any beauty in any one else. 
 They never did like that sort of man. 
 
 The individual who decidedly felt the strong- 
 est admiration of his appearance was William 
 Curtis. This young man, as the reader may 
 remember, had recently returned from abroad, 
 and had brought with hin^, unmixed with the 
 slightest aifectation, a strong and somewhat 
 an enthusiastic impression of that refinec^ type 
 of human beauty with which every school of 
 Italian painters, while inspired by the fostering 
 warmth of church patronage, seemed familiar. 
 The features, the expression, the form, and 
 even the attitude of the young man who now 
 entered Mrs. Rowley's drawing-room, recalled 
 all this; and the earnest gaze which yoang 
 Curtis fixed upon him was divided between 
 admiration and a species of affectionate in- 
 terest, which made him wonderfully more de-
 
 12. FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 sirous of making acquaintauce witli him than 
 is at all usual with reasonable people at fii'st 
 sight ; while, at the same time, he felt a sort of 
 doubt and timidity as to whether he should 
 succeed in winning his friendship ; which was 
 a very novel feeling to the petted and uni- 
 versally popular enfant cheri of the whole 
 neio;hbourhood. 
 
 Before the entrance of Mr. Stormont, Mrs. 
 Eowley had decided upon bestowing (as usual) 
 the distinction of her arm upon Mr. Curtis 
 fere ; but there was a something — she would 
 have been greatly puzzled to say what — which 
 led her to doubt of the propriety of this arrange- 
 ment, before the young stranger had paced 
 half the distance between the door and her 
 chair. And although his late arrival left little 
 interval before the announcement of dinner, 
 it was, nevertheless, sufficient for her to have 
 mentally argued and settled the question, 
 whether his being a stranger, though with 
 income unknown, ought not to insure him the 
 place of honour, even before the acknowledged 
 and undoubted possession of nine thousand 
 a-year. And this question being answered in
 
 FATHER EL STAGE. 13 
 
 tlie affirmative, Mr. Stormont bad presently 
 the honour of finding himself seated beside the 
 mistress of the splendid board to which the 
 company were marshalled within five minutes 
 after he had made his appearance. 
 
 There is only one other person of the com- 
 pany then present, of whose opinion respecting 
 the stranger I shall say anything at this early 
 period of his introduction to the Cuthbert 
 neighbourhood, and this one is the young 
 heiress of its castle. Juliana had certainly 
 expected xo find more gratification from being 
 introduced into society than the experiment 
 she had as yet made had enabled her to find ; 
 and upon hearing that she was going to meet 
 a new neighbour, she only expected, if the 
 whole truth must be told, to meet a new an- 
 noyance. It would, doubtless, have been much 
 more for her happiness had her taste been less 
 fastidious ; but when young people have been 
 kept completely out of the world, while per- 
 mitted, by means of very general reading, to 
 fill their fancies with imaginary beings con- 
 nected with it, they are apt to find a first 
 introduction to the reality rather fiat and un-
 
 14 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 profitable; and the more impressionable the 
 fancy is, and the deeper these imaginative im- 
 pressions have been stamped, the greater is 
 the disappointment when brought face to face 
 with the reality. 
 
 This was precisely the case with Juliana de 
 Morley. She was of a gentle and loving tem- 
 per; and had she not been first disappointed, 
 and then fatigued, by pretty nearly all the 
 people with whom she had made acquaintance 
 upon her first coming out, she would have 
 been ratlier more than less likely than most 
 people to have soon got upon terms of affec- 
 tionate intimacy with those about her. But 
 with the exception of Fanny Clarence, whose 
 first interview with her in the copse had taken 
 place about a fortnight before the present din- 
 ner party, she knew not a single being in the 
 whole world, besides her mother and Mr. War- 
 dour, to whom she would have felt any interest 
 in expressing any opinion upon any subject. 
 
 But the moment she raised her eyes to the 
 countenance of Mr. Stormont, she felt that 
 there might still be people in the world more 
 like the beings she used to dream of, than any
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 15 
 
 she had hitherto been fortunate enough to meet 
 in society ; and almost unconsciously she con- 
 tinued to look at him, as he walked up the 
 room, till Mrs. Rowley, in her old-world 
 civility, thought it necessary to present him 
 to all her guests in succession. 
 
 " They tell me it is not the fashion, Mr. 
 Stormont," said she, *' to make people who are 
 going: to sit down tocrether at the same table- 
 know one another's names. But I always go 
 on my own way, and I can't say I ever see 
 any harm come of it. And truly, if it was 
 wrong upon every other occasion, I think it 
 must be right upon this, on account of your 
 being a new comer amongst us. So now, sir, 
 if you please I will present you to the Dowager- 
 Countess of Setterton," &c. &c. &c. 
 
 ***** * 
 
 And then followed, in very proper order, his 
 presentation to every person in the room. 
 
 Any one who had watched Miss de Morley 
 while this rather awkward ceremony proceeded, 
 might have been puzzled to explain why and 
 how it was that a young lady of reserved man- 
 ners and great refinement of demeanour, could
 
 16 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 indulge herself so freely, as she seemed to do 
 on this occasion, in watching the manner in 
 which the young stranger sustained this trying 
 experiment upon his savoir fnire in the tactics 
 of a drawing-room. 
 
 Fortunately for her, however, she was no 
 longer the novelty of the hour, and therefore 
 escaped any very close examination; had it 
 been otherwise — had any of the standers-by 
 been sufficiently at leisure to note the earnest 
 attention she bestowed on him, a good many 
 satirical remarks might have been the result. 
 For who was there who knew her well enough 
 to comprehend the curious air of speculation 
 with which she watched him? 
 
 No one — no, not even her mother, could 
 have guessed that she was studying him as 
 she might have done the unknown inhabitant 
 of another world. And truly he appeared to 
 her, and perhaps really was, as completely 
 unlike all she had ever yet seen of human 
 beings, as if he had stepped out of another 
 planet. It was not only admiration that she 
 felt, but a strange mixture of surprise and 
 curiosity, which rendered her for the moment
 
 FATHER Et STAGE. 17 
 
 quite unmindful of herself, and of the rather 
 remarkable manner in which she was indulging 
 this curiosity. 
 
 But it was not very long before her turn 
 came ; the persevering hostess, with her finger 
 on his elbow to guide his movements, now led 
 him up to Juliana ; upon which she started, as 
 if the possibility of her having a part in this 
 ceremonial had never occurred to her. But 
 excepting by this start, her manner evinced 
 no portion of the sort of wonder which had 
 taken possession of her faculties. It must, 
 indeed, have been a very absorbing species of 
 enthusiasm which could have resisted the 
 prosaic tones of Mrs. Rowley's voice, as she 
 pronounced, " Mr. Stormont, my dear. Give 
 me leave to introduce to you Mr. Stormont, 
 our new neighbour at Langley Knoll. Miss 
 de Morley, sir." 
 
 But if this ceremony of introduction appeared 
 to have been favourable in its effect by recall- 
 ing the presence of mind of the young lady, it 
 very evidently had a quite contrary influence 
 on the young gentleman. Up to this moment 
 his manner had been quite perfect. Neither 
 
 VOL. II. C
 
 18 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 the absurd pomposity of j\Irs. liowlej, the 
 strangeness of every face around him, nor the 
 necessity of presenting himself to each in suc- 
 cession, had appeared in the very least degree 
 to agitate his nerves, or to shake the unaffected 
 air of tranquil self-possession which was the 
 most remarkable feature in his demeanour. 
 
 But no sooner had I^Irs. Rowley pronounced 
 the words, " Miss de Morley, sir," than the 
 pale olive-brown of his complexion became 
 crimson. For half a moment his large and 
 beautiful dark eyes were riveted upon her 
 face, but then fell, as it seemed, beneath her 
 glance, and fixed themselves upon the ground. 
 
 But this embarrassment, whatever its cause, 
 did not last long; for when his persevering 
 gentleman-usher passed on, and repeated the 
 same ceremony before the sofa on which Miss 
 Stanberry was sitting, Mr. Stormont had re- 
 covered his usual tranquil manner, and went 
 through the rest of the business, including the 
 presentation to her four sons, according to the 
 formula already given, with a sort of graceful 
 composure which precluded the possibility of 
 any unfavourable remark from any quarter.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 10 
 
 It can hardly be doubted, however, that Mr. 
 Stormont, notwithstanding this display of prac- 
 tical philosophy, felt exceedingly well pleased 
 when the business of introduction was over, 
 and the company seated round the bustling 
 lady's well-spread board. And then a very 
 good result of this universal introduction be- 
 came manifest; for, as the table was round, 
 everybody seemed sufficiently within reach of 
 the stranger to address him, and the conversa- 
 tion immediately became more general than 
 usual. 
 
 Notwithstanding the quiet composure of Mr. 
 Stormont's manner, it was very evident that 
 he had the power of making himself exceed- 
 ingly agreeable, and the inclination on the 
 present occasion to use it. There was nothing 
 at all forced in his manner of doing so, but an 
 observant spectator might have perceived that 
 he conversed in succession with every indi- 
 vidual at the table; and had such observant 
 spectator been keenly attentive, he might have 
 perceived also that there was rather more than 
 common cleverness and tact in the manner of 
 his turning to account the very lightest and 
 
 c2
 
 20 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 silliest word, as n foundation on which to build 
 a little causcn'e with the person who uttered 
 it, if it so happened that either lie or she 
 seemed unlikely to aiford any better oppor- 
 tunity for sucli an adA^ance towards better 
 acquaintance, as it was evidently his wish to 
 make to all. 
 
 In the case of Juliana, the intercourse be- 
 tween them at table went no further than their 
 taking wine together — an approach towards 
 good-fellowship still permitted at the dinner 
 parties of that rustic neighbourhood. She 
 blushed deeply when he asked her to do him 
 this honour ; but whatever had been the cause 
 of tlie emotion which he had manifested ofi 
 hearing her name, it seemed to have passed 
 away ; for he not only addressed her with the 
 same easy and graceful composure that marked 
 his manner to every one, but he ventured to 
 look at her lovely face with a degree of earnest 
 attention which, as Ophelia says, might have 
 sufficed if he had wished to draw it, and yet 
 he seemed no more moved by the contempla- 
 tion than if it had been tliat of a marble 
 statue.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 21 
 
 The nearest approach, however, to any con- 
 versation deserving the name, was the talk be- 
 tween 3Ir. Stormont and "William Curtis. They 
 were separated only by one person ; but though 
 that person was no other than the beautiful 
 Adelaide, the two young men went on chat- 
 ting together, without appearing to feel that 
 her being there was any impediment to it. 
 
 "When Adelaide, on leaving the drawing- 
 room, had, by a little clever manoeuvring, se- 
 cured the arm of Curtis, she felt as if she could 
 defy the power of destiny to render the next 
 hour and half otherwise than delightful to her. 
 But it proved otherwise. The time had been, 
 perhaps, and that at no great distance, when 
 the pretty agaceries of the enamoured beauty 
 raiirht have sufficed to check, if not altogether 
 overcome, the sti'ong inclination felt by young 
 Curtis to establish an acquaintance with the 
 interesting stranger. But although poor 
 Fanny Clarence had most carefully guarded 
 the secret of her cousin in the secret interviews 
 into which the young man had betrayed her, 
 it could not have been in her power, even 
 could she have wished it to be so, to prevent
 
 22 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 such evanescent admiration as he liad once 
 felt for the beaiitifal Adelaide from fading 
 away, and sinking into .utter indifference be- 
 fore the influence of her own gentler attrac- 
 tions ; and it is more than possible that the 
 inclination wliich he felt to converse with Mr. 
 Stormont was rather increased than diminished 
 by the vicinity of Adelaide. 
 
 Perhaps there are few things, not posi- 
 tively productive of strong suffering, less 
 agreeable than the fag-end of a flirtation, which 
 has become wearisome to the one party, while 
 still clung to with tender hope by the other. 
 Though wholly unsuspicious of the vehement 
 passion which he had so unfortunately inspired 
 in the bosom of Miss Stanberry, William Curtis 
 could not help being aAvare that she liked to 
 flirt with him ; and being very resolutely de- 
 termined that she should be indulged in this 
 fancy no longer, he eagerly seized the oppor- 
 tunity thus offered by the introduction of a 
 stranger, to Avhom politeness required that he 
 should show attention, for giving her a gentle 
 lesson in resignation. 
 
 Had it been a woman who had thus visibly
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 23 
 
 stepped between Adelaide and all the dear de- 
 lights of whispered nothings, and of laughing 
 glances which a tolerably free construing might 
 easily translate into looks of admiration — had 
 it been a woman who had done Miss Stanberry 
 this wrong, the result would, beyond all ques- 
 tion, have been very different. 
 
 As it was, indeed, her heart beat, not only 
 vehemently, but painfully ; and by degrees the 
 bright and world-defying sauciness which had 
 seated itself in her eye when Mrs. Rowley had 
 pronounced the delicious words — " Mr. William 
 Curtis, Avill you please, sir, to take out Miss 
 Stanberry ?" had faded into a dull and heavy 
 look of languor ; but there was no rage, and 
 but little of anger mixed with her vexation; 
 and, at length, when Curtis, by way of ac- 
 counting civilly for the comparative neglect 
 with which he was treating her, said, sotto voce, 
 in her ear, " What an extremely clever and 
 agreeable person Mr. Stormont is," she seemed 
 suddenly to resolve that there should at least 
 be sympathy of one kind, if not of another, 
 between them ; and, forthwith, all the power 
 of fine eyes, gracious smiles, and the sundry
 
 24 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 pretty evolutions incident to dinner-table talk 
 and dinner-table coquetry, were immediately 
 called to arms, in order to skirmish a little 
 against the peace of both gentlemen at once. 
 
 And here I must be permitted to make an 
 observation, the result of a good deal of look- 
 ing-on, which it would. I think, be really be- 
 neficial to woman-kind to impress upon their 
 minds as an immutable and incontrovertible 
 truth — namely, that the regulation which, in 
 matters of love, allots the initiative to the 
 man and not to the woman, is a divine and 
 not a human law. 
 
 Let those who doubt the fact observe the 
 effect of a vehement attempt at flirtation on 
 the part of a lady, during the first young 
 hours of a new acquaintance. 
 
 If it be not ninety-nine times out of a hun- 
 dred a dead failure^ I am very greatly mis- 
 taken. 
 
 If, indeed, the man thus obligingly selected 
 as the object to be fascinated, be absolutely 
 nobody, and the woman who undertakes the 
 incantation be decidedly somebody, the first 
 symptoms resulting from the operation may
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 25 
 
 be rather delusive to the eye of a superficial • 
 observer: but this iu no degree affects the 
 'profound truth of the remark. 
 
 The same woman who, if slie would let her- 
 self be quiet, and, in the spirit of nursery 
 education, " wait till she was spoken to," might 
 end by making a man devotedly in love with 
 her, would, probably, if she set at him at the 
 commencement of their acquaintance, " looking 
 beautiful with all her might," and in all other 
 ways endeavouring to convince him that she 
 was an angel, and he but a man, would end by 
 making him consign her to the prince of dark- 
 ness, with as little remorse as if she were a 
 troublesome puppy dog. 
 
 It will probably be difficult to make beau- 
 tiful ladies believe this ; but could they have 
 seen and understood what passed at Mrs. 
 Eowley's dinner table, on the day I am de- 
 scribing, between the magnificently handsome 
 Miss Stanberry and the gentlemen who were 
 on each side of her, this difficulty would be 
 lessened. 
 
 William Curtis had certainly more than 
 once wished, in the progress of their friendship,
 
 26 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 that she would not be so very particularly 
 kind to him; but since his acquaintance with 
 her mysterious cousin, this feeling had grown 
 prodigiously stronger; and now that she so 
 very greatly impeded his conversation with 
 the most agreeable man he had ever met with, 
 he did not scruple to confess to his heart that 
 he wished she were at the bottom of the sea, 
 or on the top of the moon, or anywhere else in 
 the world, except sitting between him and 
 Mr. Stormont. 
 
 And Mr. Stormont — hoAV did he feel 
 under all this encouraging kindness from the 
 unknown beauty? 
 
 When she first began so assiduously to talk to 
 him, he fixed his fine thoughtful eyes upon her 
 very earnestly for some seconds ; but although 
 few eyes were less likely to be accused of defi- 
 ciency of expression than those of Mr. Stor- 
 mont, it would have been difficult for any one 
 to have guessed at that moment what sort of 
 sentiment their expression signified. It seemed 
 as if he were endeavouring to recollect her. It 
 was such a look as might have been given by 
 a person who was certain he had seen her be-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 27 
 
 fore, but could not exactly recollect where and 
 when. But ere his eyes were withdrawn, he 
 appeared satisfied ; and then he listened to her 
 with the most irreproachable politeness, but 
 with less of interest and admiration than 
 might have been expected from a young man 
 of his age, Avho, as a stranger presenting him- 
 self in a new neighbourhood, might have been 
 expected to receive such advances with every 
 species of gratitude and satisfaction. 
 
 Whether Miss Stanberrv was aware of this 
 indifference may be doubted. Perhaps she was 
 too much occupied in watching the effect of 
 all she said and all she did upon her right- 
 hand neighbour, to be very acutely observant 
 of its success with him on the left. At any 
 rate, she perceived nothing which induced her 
 to intermit her animated attentions, and the 
 consequence was, that the conversation of the 
 trio became a distinct causerie between them- 
 selves, in which neither of the two gentlemen 
 could speak to the other without her taking 
 part in what was said, while the animation of 
 her manner, and the graciousness of her beau- 
 tiful smile, as she turned first to one and then
 
 28 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 to the other, caused more than one of the other 
 guests to whisper to a neighbour, " Good 
 Heaven! what a flirt Adelaide Stanberry 
 is !'' And so passed the dinner.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 29 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 When the ladies retired to the drawing- 
 room, there was not one among them who at- 
 tempted to utter a word on any other subject 
 than the " new many 
 
 Of his appearance there was but one opi- 
 nion; all declared him to be most superbly 
 handsome, and most exquisitely elegant — all, 
 with 07?e exception; but that exception shoAA^ed 
 itself, not by a dissentient voice, it was only 
 indicated by silence. 
 
 Miss de Morley said nothing. 
 
 But Mrs. Eowley, Avho seemed to assume to 
 herself no little merit from having been the 
 first to present so rare an exotic to the notice 
 of her friends, walked round the fair circle 
 with her coffee cup in her hand, collecting, as 
 it seemed, the different exj)ressions of applause,
 
 30 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 from tlie tranquil and prosaic " Very well 
 looking, indeed," of Mrs. Stanberry, to the 
 rapturous "He is positively divine!" of the 
 free-spealdng and enthusiastic Miss Raymond. 
 
 " And what do you say to him, my dear?" 
 she said, making a marked and very decided 
 halt in front of Juliana. 
 
 " I have not seen enough of the gentleman 
 to form any judgment of him," replied Juliana, 
 gravely. 
 
 " But what do you think of his looks. Miss 
 de Morley? Everybody can judge of a per- 
 son's looks in a minute, you know. Wliat do 
 you think of his eyes, my dear ? I do assure 
 you, that my Mr. Kowley had uncommon fine 
 large eyes of his own; and there isn't one of 
 his boys that don't more or less take after him 
 in that respect. But I am not such a fool of 
 a mother, or a wife either, for that matter, as 
 not to know the difference ; and I do say, that 
 I never saw such a pair of eyes as this Mr. 
 Stormont has got, from the hour I was born 
 up to this present speaking. Now do tell me, 
 Miss de Morley, just what you think of his 
 eyes. Don't be so shy, my dear. God bless
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 31 
 
 your dear face ! what a beautiful colour I have 
 contrived to call up, to be sure ! But I wont 
 tell him, nor anybody else, how I made you 
 blush about him, so you need not be alarmed." 
 
 And then the merry lady seized upon Ju- 
 liana's two hands, shaking them violently, and 
 laughing heartily as she did so. Juliana had 
 never been conscious of any propensity to 
 haughtiness of character till that moment, but 
 then she felt as if she wished for power to dis- 
 play as much of the repellant quality as might 
 suffice to cause a relaxation of the strong grasp 
 with which her helpless little hands were held 
 in the substantial lists of Mrs. Rowley. 
 
 But though she certainly did contrive to 
 look very tall, and very proud, ]\Irs. Rowley 
 continued to hold fast till she had her laugh 
 out, or rather till a violent fit of cous-hins: 
 succeeded to it ; and then she let her hands drop, 
 but as she passed on, she nodded her head 
 with a look of great penetration, and contrived 
 to say, in the intervals of the catarrhal convul- 
 sion, "Very well, Miss Juliana! very well, 
 my dear! we shall see, we shall see." 
 
 "As to his personal advantages, I conceive
 
 32 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 there cannot be two opinions," said Lady 
 Sarah de Morley; '* and as the character of his 
 countenance is that of the very higliest order 
 of intelligence, it would be difficult to doubt 
 his power of being agreeable. But as yet, I 
 think Miss Stanberry is the only lady among 
 us who is competent to give an opinion on this 
 point. How does he acquit himself in conver- 
 sation, ray dear?" 
 
 "Fascinating ! enchanting !" replied Ade- 
 laide, with energy, " Ask your son, Mrs. 
 Curtis," she added, turning to the lady she 
 addressed, who was, by the vv^ay, the only in- 
 dividual of the weaker sex to whom Miss 
 Stanberry ever paid the least voluntary atten- 
 tion — " ask Mr. William Curtis ; he at least is 
 capable, in every way, of judging what Mr. 
 Stormont really is." 
 
 " Well, then, I shall certainly consult Mr. 
 William Curtis myself," said Lady Settertoii ; 
 " for, to tell you the truth, I feel a good deal 
 of curiosity as to what he really is. I never 
 in my life saw a man that looked less likely to 
 .sit from morning to night with a fishing-rod 
 in his hand ; but it seems that this is the only
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 33 
 
 account lie has thought proper to give of 
 himself as yet. I only trust in Heaven that 
 he wont turn out to be an adventurer, come 
 down among us in the hope of making his 
 fortune by his handsome face." 
 
 " And if he is, my dear good lady," said 
 Mrs. Eowley, " you may still put your trust 
 in Heaven as to there not being the slightest 
 danger of his annoying you. If Lady Sarah, 
 indeed, were to take fright at such an idea, it 
 would not 1)e quite so wonderful. But I'll 
 venture to wager my judgment against yours, 
 Lady Setterton, that he is nothing of that 
 kind." 
 
 " I am inclined to be of your opinion, Mrs. 
 Eowley," said Mrs. Curtis. " He is alto- 
 gether one of the most remarkable persons I 
 have ever seen. But I feel quite sure, let him 
 be what else he may, that he is a gentleman." 
 
 And then followed an animated discussion 
 concerning the stranger's age, in which 
 Juliana was again the only one who did not 
 join. The judgment of the ladies upon this 
 point varied greatly; some declaring, that 
 from the thoughtful expression of his eyes, he 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 34 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 must be past thirty ; and others, that from 
 the lightness of his figure, the fr&shness of his 
 lips, and the smoothness of his skin, he could 
 not be much more than twenty. 
 
 "Forgive me, I entreat you," said Miss 
 Kaymond, suddenly cutting short this chrono- 
 logical discussion; "but I confess it seems to 
 me that you are all talking upon what does 
 not signify a straw. When a man is as beau- 
 tiful as Apollo, and as youthful as Adonis, 
 what matters it when he was born? You have 
 only to prove that he is a good deal older than 
 he looks, in order to convince me of what I do 
 partly suspect already — namely, that he is not 
 a man, but a demigod. Instead of discussing 
 this peculiarly unnecessary question, I sin- 
 cerely wish that you would all be pleased to 
 unite your wits together, in order to discover, 
 if possible, from what land and from what 
 race he springs. Surely, my dearest Miss 
 Stanberry, you cannot have talked to him so 
 long, and so unremittingly as you did during 
 dinner, without having made some slight dis- 
 coveries. Pity our ignorance, and if you 
 know anything, impart it."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 35 
 
 Of all the young ladies of the neighbour- 
 hood, Miss Raymond was decidedly the one 
 least obnoxious to the beautiful Adelaide. In 
 the first place, she had never appeared to think 
 it possible that William Curtis would dance 
 with her ; and in the next, she was the only 
 person who ever talked freely and frankly 
 to her concerning her beauty. In truth, Miss 
 Raymond admired her very much more than 
 she did any of the other beauties of the Cuth- 
 bert circle; and as the said Miss Ravmond 
 happened to know that the rector of Cuthbert 
 admired her less, there existed a greater absence 
 of everything like jealousy on either side, 
 than appeared to be usual in that very sensi- 
 tive neighbourhood. And so her appeal was 
 answered without reserve. 
 
 " I really would impart anything I know 
 concerning this very remarkable young man ; 
 but though, as you must have perceived," 
 continued the fair Adelaide, " that he talked 
 incessantly to me during the whole time the 
 dinner lasted, he did not let a single word 
 drop, whereby one might guess what he was, 
 or whence he came." 
 
 D 2
 
 36 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " How very extraordinary !" exclaimed 
 Lady Setterton. 
 
 " It is very odd," said Lady Sarah de 
 Morley. 
 
 " I wonder if he has brought any introduc- 
 tion to Mamma," murmured Lady Margaret 
 Letchraeer. 
 
 " I should like to ask him if he knows the 
 Duke — my uncle, I mean," joined in Lady 
 Louisa. 
 
 " Perhaps he may know some of the Stan- 
 berry liimily," observed the honourable widow 
 of that distinguished name. 
 
 " You need have no fears about his position 
 in society," returned Adelaide. " I will ven- 
 ture, upon what I already know of him, to 
 vouch for his never having been accustomed 
 to any vulgar associations." 
 
 But amidst all this there was not a word 
 from Juliana. 
 
 At length the hour of English penance 
 ended, and the gentlemen entered the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 If, on ordinary occasions, the hospitable 
 Mrs. Rowley felt anxious that her festivities
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 37 
 
 sliould surpass all others in animation and 
 enjoyment, the desire that it should be so on 
 the present evening, was the multiplication of 
 that wish a hundred fold. The effect pro- 
 duced on the feelings of her company in 
 general, by the appearance and manners of the 
 stranger, and that so frankly betrayed by the 
 ladies in particular, rendered her wish, that 
 he should leave her with the conviction that 
 hers was the most delightful mansion he had 
 ever visited, a perfect access of fever and 
 nervous excitement. No sooner had he fairly 
 passed the door, than she hurried, as rapidly 
 as her waddling steps would permit, to his 
 side. 
 
 " You must just please to sit down by me 
 for one moment, Mr, Stormont," she said, 
 panting, and almost breathless with excess of 
 eagerness. 
 
 Mr. Stormont smiled one of his own sweet 
 smiles, and slightly moving forward a most 
 delicious-looking bergere which stood near, he 
 took her by the hand, and placed her in it. 
 There was so much gentle kindness in the look 
 and manner with which he did this, that the 

 
 q 
 
 8 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 delighted Mrs. Eowley looked proudly round 
 the room, in the hope of perceiving that a 
 multitude of envious eyes were upon her. Mr. 
 Stormont meanwhile had taken possession of 
 one of the light conversation chairs whicii 
 were scattered about the room, and placed it 
 beside her ; but before he placed himself in it, 
 he fortunately espied a footstool under a 
 neighbouring table, which he immediately 
 seized upon, and placed beneath the feet of his 
 hostess; this done, he seated himself beside 
 her, and with a look of great interest said, 
 " Now, dear lady, let me have the pleasure of 
 hearing what you were going to have the good- 
 ness to say to me." 
 
 "My dear sir!" she began, "what an 
 example you are, to be sure ! I declare it will 
 be a blessing for all the young men in the 
 country, if such a one as you should determine 
 to bide among us. Not that our young 
 gentlemen are greatly deficient either, but you 
 have got such a way of doing things ! How- 
 ever, I must not talk of that till I forget what 
 I was going to say to you. I was going, my 
 dear sir, to ask you to tell me exactly what
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 39 
 
 you would best like we should all do? I do 
 assure you, speaking for the ladies, that there 
 is not one of us but what would gladly con- 
 tribute to your amusement, if we knew how. 
 So now, pray say quite candidly, what are you 
 for? My sons are great waltzers. They are 
 fine tall young men, aren't they, Mr. Stor- 
 mont? And all the young ladies are ready 
 enough to indulge them with a dance, when 
 they come here. But now there is something 
 else to be thought of, and I want you to tell 
 me which you shall like best — dancing — or 
 cards — or music ? There are some of our young 
 ladies quite celebrated for their playing and 
 singing." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Mr. Stormont, looking 
 very happy. " That must be a great plea- 
 sure, a great resource in a country neighbour- 
 hood." 
 
 " To be sure it is, my dear sir; you are quite 
 right in saying that. We should never pass 
 so many months at Eagle's Crag as we do, if it 
 was not for the accomplishments, and high 
 birth, and all that sort of thing, which we find 
 here. But you have not told me yet, Mr.
 
 40 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Stormont, which of our evening amusements 
 you like best?" 
 
 "I like everything, my dear madam," 
 replied the young man ; " and, indeed, a person 
 must be very fastidious if, in such society, he 
 could be otherwise than pleased." 
 
 " Then you have no ol>jection to dancing?" 
 said Mrs. Eowley. 
 
 " Objection !" returned Mr. Stormont, 
 slightly colouring. "No, certainly, not the 
 slightest objection in the world." 
 
 " Well, then, now tell me who you will 
 dance with first?" inquired his attentive 
 hostess. 
 
 " I never dance myself," returned the youth- 
 ful and graceful master of Langley Knoll, with 
 a still greater augmentation of colour; "but I 
 should feel great pleasure if I might be per- 
 mitted to look on." 
 
 This not dancing was rather a severe blow 
 to good Mrs. Rowley. The patient endurance 
 of almost endless waltzing upon her beautiful 
 drawing-room carpet, was her favourite cheval 
 de bataWe upon every occasion, when she was 
 particularly anxious to render a party agree-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 41 
 
 able ; and tlie discoYery of this singular defi- 
 ciency in her fascinating new neighbour caused 
 a look of such naive vexation to cloud her 
 joyous physiognomy, that the quick eye of Mr. 
 Stormont instantly perceived it, and had it 
 been in his power, he would have removed it 
 gladly ; but he really could not dance, and he 
 was therefore obliged to comfort her as well as 
 he could, by repeating his assurance, that the 
 looking at dancing was one of his most valued 
 gratifications. 
 
 ""Well, I am sure that is very obliging 
 of you," returned Mrs. Eowley, relieving her 
 full bosom by a heavy sigh ; " and certainly it 
 is a very pretty sight. But is there nothing 
 you would like to do better, Mr. Stormont? 
 Do you sing at all yourself?" 
 
 " Yes, I sing sometimes," replied the young 
 man, modestly. 
 
 " Well, then, that is what we must do to- 
 night ; and I have no doubt that we shall get 
 on very well. I am pretty certain that the 
 young ladies will not mind giving up their 
 dancing once and away, for the pleasure of 
 hearing you sing to them."
 
 42 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " But why should either music or dancing, 
 be given up ?" demanded .Mr. Stormont, with 
 a gayer smile than usually enlivened his perfect 
 features. " Why should we not indulge in 
 both alternately ?" 
 
 "To be sure — to be sure! Why not?" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Kovvley, with perfectly re- 
 covered cheerfulness. "Nothing can be better 
 than that! You will be amused by looking at 
 them, and they will be delighted with listening 
 to you. I only wish that we had our best 
 waltz-player to help us. But she has sprained 
 her wrist. So now, I must go and see which 
 of my dancing belles will consent to be fiddler 
 the first.'' And rising as she spoke, the good- 
 natured miUionnaire bustled away, in order 
 to make all " her people" as happy as she could. 
 
 The errand, however, upon which she was 
 now engaged, was by no means a pleasant one. 
 She knew right well, poor woman, that the 
 young lady she addressed first would wish her 
 at the bottom of the ocean. She was, however, 
 rather less afraid of Miss Raymond than of the 
 rest, and towards her she was directing her 
 unwelcome approach, when she suddenly recol-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 43 
 
 lected, that thougli she had never yet taken 
 the liberty of asking the heiress of Cuthbert 
 Castle to perform this greatly disliked office 
 for her, there was no very good reason why 
 she should not take her turn like the rest ; and 
 turning short round the moment the thought 
 struck her, she went up to Juliana, with a 
 coaxing face, and said, " I wonder, my dear 
 Miss de Morley, whether I could prevail upon 
 you to be so very kind as to play the lirst waltz 
 for me?" • 
 
 " Most willingly !" replied Juliana, rising, 
 and approaching the pianoforte with great 
 alacrity. " I have never yet played any 
 waltzes except for my own amusement, and I 
 do not feel quite sure that I shall be able to 
 please the ladies at first ; but if they will set 
 me right when I am wrong, they shall find me 
 very obedient. I shall like it so much better 
 than dancing !" 
 
 Here was a discovery! Mrs. Rowley be- 
 came absolutely radiant. The bell was rung; 
 a pair of well-tutored footmen entered. The 
 fleet and noiseless castors rolled over the car- 
 pet in all directions, till ample room and verge
 
 44 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 enough was left sufficiently unencumbered for a 
 much larger party tlian were now assembled to 
 have performed their evolutions in. 
 
 With a firm and brilliant finger, Juliana 
 instantly began playing one of Strauss's most 
 stirring airs ; nor had she wasted many bars 
 before the Lady Letchmeers, JMiss Stanberry, 
 and Miss Raymond, were in full activity — the 
 only drawback to the general satisfaction being, 
 that William Curtis could only dance with one 
 partner at a time, and that poor dear Samuel 
 Rowley had got no partner at all. 
 
 It was soon discovered by them all that it 
 was more delightful to dance to Miss de Mor- 
 ley's playing than even to that of Fanny Cla- 
 rence. And they were right ; for, although in 
 skill and power the two young ladies were pretty 
 nearly equal, Juliana felt a spur which Fanny 
 did not. The earnest desire to escape dancing, 
 to whicli, on this occasion, she felt a greater 
 repugnance than ever, induced her to exert all 
 her strength, as well as all her goodwill, in 
 order to convince them all, that the best thing 
 they could possibly do, would be to let her go 
 on without interruption. So well did she sue-
 
 FATHER EJSTACE. 45 
 
 ceed in this, that not only was no effort made 
 to stop her, but instead of permitting them- 
 selves the ordinary pause for needful rest, in 
 which they had been wont to indulge, they all, 
 apparently by common consent, continued to 
 whirl on, only exclaiming, as they occasionally 
 approached each other, " Isn't it delicious ?" 
 but never appearing to remember that the 
 elastic fingers which laboured so perseveringly 
 in their service were not made with steel 
 springs. 
 
 There was one among the company, how- 
 ever, who did remember this. Mr. Stormont, 
 conveniently seated both for beholding the 
 dancers and their musician to good advantage, 
 continued for some time to amuse himself 
 very satisfactorily, as it seemed, with both. 
 But he knew what playing upon a pianoforte 
 was ; and watching for the opportunity, which 
 his knowledge of the formation of human 
 lungs convinced him must come at last, by a 
 general pause in the dance, he took advantage 
 of it the moment it arrived, and approaching 
 the instrument, he profited by the privilege 
 bestowed by Mrs. Eowley's introduction, and
 
 46 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 said, " My finger, Miss de Morley, will make 
 but a bad substitute for yours, for I have 
 never been used to play dances; but I hope 
 you will not refuse to let me take your place? 
 I fear you have played too long already." 
 
 And it was by no means extraordinary that 
 he should think so, for Juliana first became 
 red, and then pale, as he spoke to her, and it 
 very evidently was not without considerable 
 effort that she answered him. 
 
 " Pardon me," said he, again addressing 
 her, " if I cannot receive your ' not tired at 
 all' Avith any great degree of confidence. I do 
 not mean to let you play any more," he added, 
 with a sort of friendly smile ; "so do you not 
 think it would be better to let me take vour 
 place at once?" 
 
 " Perhaps it would," she answered, in the 
 same tone ; and quietly drawing on her gloves, 
 she prepared to leave the instrument. 
 
 But Mrs. Rowley had not forgotten her pro- 
 mise, that music and dancing should be en- 
 joyed alternately; and hurrying across the 
 room to meet Miss de Morley, she took her 
 hand, and led her back to the pianoforte, at
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 47 
 
 which Mr. Stormont had already placed himself, 
 saying, " I am sure, my dear, it is now your turn 
 to be amused, and goodness knows that you 
 deserve it, for I never heard fingers go on like 
 yours did, in the whole course of my life. And 
 now Mr. Stormont is going to sing and to play 
 too, I hope, and you shall have the very best 
 place in the room to listen to him." 
 
 Juliana thanked her, and then, without in- 
 viting farther parley, sat down in the chair 
 that the old lady oflered to her, by no means 
 displeased at this proposed alteration in the 
 arrangement of the Eagle's Crag Hall amuse- 
 ments. 
 
 "Now then!" said Mrs. Eowley, looking 
 both hotter and bigger than usual, as she re- 
 membered that she was not only the first to 
 shov/ oif the handsome stranger to the eyes of 
 all her noble neighbours, but that she had, 
 with unequalled savoirfaire^ led him to dis- 
 play himself to their admiring ears also — 
 " now then ! what will you begin with, my 
 dear sir?" 
 
 " If I could guess what would be most agree-
 
 48 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 able among all the little that I know, I would 
 begin with that," he replied. 
 
 " How very kind you are !" exclaimed the 
 delighted lady. " Well, to be sure, there 
 never was anything so fortunate for the Cuth- 
 bert neighbourhood as your happening to 
 take a fancy to Langley Knoll! I wonder, 
 Mr. Stormont, whether you happen to know 
 ' We met, 'twas in a crowd?' " 
 
 Mr. Stormont often smiled, but he did not 
 very often laugh ; but now he did, and in a 
 manner that looked very much as if he could 
 not help it ; but almost immediately recovering 
 his usually tranquil and dignified demeanour, 
 he said, " I am afraid, my good madam, that 
 you overrate my skill. I am very far from 
 having much general knowledge of music — so 
 far from it, indeed, that I very often try my 
 
 " But here he stopped, adding, hoAvever, 
 
 the moment afterwards, " I will, if you please, 
 give you a very old song, both because it is 
 more in my way, and also because it pro- 
 bably is more new to the present company 
 than many airs composed a century later.''
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 49 
 
 And then, -without further preface, he played 
 a fanciful prelude, the beauty of which was 
 only appreciated by Lady Sarah and her 
 daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Rowley, whose gay ears liad antici- 
 pated some lively tune, that might lead her to 
 keep time both with her large foot and her 
 large fan, positively yawned twice before it 
 was ended ; nor would she, had she ventured 
 to speak the truth, have expressed much more 
 approval of the air which followed, than she 
 had felt for the learned harmony which had 
 preceded' it. Far different, however, was its 
 effect on some of the audience. Lady Sarah 
 de Morley felt that for the first time for many 
 years she was listening to music of the most 
 learned, though not of the most modern school, 
 and that the performer was one of those rarely 
 gifted mortals that we often read of, and hear 
 of, but seldom meet. His voice was a tenor 
 of the very richest quality, and the exquisite 
 taste and feeling with which he executed the 
 beautiful composition which he had selected, 
 caused her to feel as much wonder as delight. 
 
 All who had ears to hear, which poor dear 
 VOL. ri. E
 
 50 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Mrs. Rowley really had not, were quite aware 
 that they were probably listening to one of 
 the finest voices in the world ; and Miss Stan- 
 berry wliispered to William Curtis that she 
 should not be in the least surprised if he turned 
 out to be professional. But on Juliana de 
 Morley the effect of this performance, so every 
 way new, so every way unexpected, was of a 
 very different nature. Her eyes were filled 
 with tears, and for the first time in her life, 
 she was conscious of that strangely delicious 
 frissonnement which runs through tlie frame 
 when listening to music, that seems to use the 
 ears as a conductor to the heart, and wliich 
 teaches us more distinctly than any abstract 
 philosophy can do, how mysteriously intimate 
 is the union between soul and body. 
 
 It would not have been very easy for a by- 
 stander to have perceived that Mr. Stormont 
 was watching Miss de Morley as he sung ; but 
 nevertheless it is certain that his eye must, 
 more or less, have been upon her, for he was 
 quite aware that both his voice and the air 
 lie had selected were of a kind to awaken her 
 sympathy and satisfy her taste.
 
 FATHER EiJSTACE. 51 
 
 She was, indeed, sitting at no great distance 
 from the instrument, having, when Mr. Stor- 
 mont came to relieve lier from her fati2:uinsr 
 performance, moved into the nearest chair that 
 presented itself. She was, in fact, so near as 
 to enable him, while still running his fingers 
 in a masterly manner over the keys, to say to 
 her, unheard by any one else, " You like that 
 air, Missde Morley?" 
 
 This was a very simple question, and 
 common civility might have suggested an 
 answer without at all infringing on truth ; but 
 somehow or other it appeared greatly to em- 
 barrass Juliana. In the first place, she dared 
 not look at him, for she knew her eyes were 
 full of tears, which had not yet overflowed, 
 but which were likely to do so, if she failed to 
 take very particular care to prevent it ; and 
 in the next, she by no means felt quite certain 
 that she should be able to speak if she at- 
 tempted it: so she said nothing, but, with 
 her full eyes turned upon the ground, bent her 
 head as slowly and solemnly as the statue in 
 Don Giovanni. But, oh! most vexatious of 
 vexations ! — even this movement, slight as it 
 
 e2
 
 52 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 was, sufEced to make two great, large, heavy 
 drops escape from the jewelled cups that con- 
 tained thera, and run most conspicuously down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 But iMr. Stormont, if he did enjoy this little 
 triumpli, contrived very politely to conceal it; 
 for the very next instant he was busily em- 
 ployed in turning over the leaves of a prodi- 
 gious mass of miscellaneous music, which was 
 piled on a cradle beside him. 
 
 All this occupied not quite a minute; and 
 then the voice of Mrs. Eowley was heard as 
 she waddled towards the instrument, saying, 
 " I am no great musician myself — I never pre- 
 tended it ; but I have no doubt that real clever 
 musical people would allow that song to be 
 quite remarkable for its fineness. — And now. 
 Miss de Morley," she continued, drawing near 
 — " now it is vour turn, and I cannot doubt, 
 after your great obligingness about the playing, 
 that you will be equally kind about singing. 
 I'm sure the only reason why I never asked 
 you before, in any of the parties we have had 
 since your coming out, was because the dancing 
 seemed to be liked so much better than any-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 53 
 
 thing else. However, now we have got into 
 the sinsrino; line, on account of ^h\ Stormont's 
 not dancing, I am sure we shall all be very 
 much obliofed if vou will sive us a somr. — 
 Come, Mr. Stormont," she added, tapping him 
 upon the shoulder with her enormous fan, 
 " you have got a right, you know, to call for a 
 song, and I hope you w'ill be pleased to call 
 upon Miss de Morley; for I should think, by 
 what Mr. AVardour says, that she must sing 
 beautiful." 
 
 Thus called upon, Mr. Stormont rose, and 
 placing himself so exactly before Juliana as to 
 prevent any one from seeing her face but him- 
 self, he said, almost in a whisper, " May we 
 hope to hear you sing to-night. Miss de Morley ?" 
 
 Thus called upon, she promptly decided that 
 the best way of escaping what would be so 
 exceedingly disagreeable to her, as the singing 
 to the party now assembled, would be at once 
 to make her new acquaintance understand how 
 very genuine her dislike was; and frankly 
 looking up in his face, notwithstanding her 
 consciousness of the tears that were still wet 
 upon her own, she said, " I should be very
 
 54 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 much obliged to you, Mr. Stormont, if you 
 could prevent my being urged to do so." 
 
 He uttered no word in reply, but immedi- 
 ately reseating himself at the instrument, 
 began playing a waltz, with a brilliance and 
 vivacity that might have rivalled the dance- 
 inspiring piper of Auster Fair. 
 
 The result he hoped for immediately took 
 place ; and the four pair of dancing ladies and 
 gentlemen ran a great risk of oversetting poor 
 Mrs. Rowley, by the vivacity of movement 
 with which they obeyed this new and most 
 delightful call upon their activity.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 55 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It is so much a matter of course that Mr. 
 Stormont should furnish talk for all the men 
 and women to whom he was presented, upon 
 this his first appearance in their society, that 
 every intelligent reader will be quite aware of 
 it, without my taking the trouble of telling 
 him; neither can it be at all necessary to 
 enter into any details concerning the indi- 
 vidual opinions of the company. They may 
 be easily guessed at, and so also, perhaps, may 
 be the fact, that there must be one exception 
 to this prudent silence. But there is very 
 good and sufiicient reason for this exception, 
 namely, that the thoughts and opinions of 
 Juliana de Morley may not be so easily divined 
 as those of the rest. There are two circum- 
 stances respecting the commencement of Mr.
 
 56 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Stormont's acquaintance with the heiress of 
 Cuthbert Castle, which may be worthy of re- 
 mark. The one is, that of all the persons 
 assembled to meet him at Mrs. Rowley's, Ju- 
 liana was the one who had conversed with him 
 the least ; and the other, that of all those per- 
 sons, she was the only one who had left the 
 party with the feeling that she had advanced 
 considerably toAvards a friendly acquaintance 
 Avith him. 
 
 His meditations upon this same party could 
 not be communicated in speech, for the young 
 man was not at that time living Avithin reach 
 of any one to whom he could, viva voce, avow 
 what he thought on any subject. It is not 
 impossible, however, that Ave may discover 
 some other means of getting authentic infor- 
 mation respecting his opinions. 
 
 As to Juliana, the readiest way of discover- 
 ing what she thought of her new acquaintance, 
 will be by folloAving her, on the morning after 
 the dinner party, to her appointed meeting 
 with Fanny Clarence in the shrubbery, to 
 which she had given her access, by means of a 
 master-key, that opened every one of the nu-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 57 
 
 merous little hand-gates ou the premises. She 
 was luckily enabled to do this, because her 
 mother possessed a similar key, which Juliana 
 appropriated to herself for present use, without 
 inconvenience or difficulty, as Lady Sarah never 
 went into any part of the grounds beyond the 
 flower gardens, unaccompanied by her daughter. 
 
 Not a single morning since the two young 
 girls had first met, had they failed to meet 
 again, except once or twice that they had been 
 prevented from doing so by wet weather. To 
 both of them, these very innocent, though very 
 secret meetings, had been a source of great 
 pleasure ; but to Fanny it was something more 
 than mere pleasure. 
 
 Her strange and isolated position in her 
 aunt's family, the utter impossibility of making 
 her mother a confidante of any of the peculiar 
 features of this ridiculous, but most painful 
 situation, together with that one dear secret, 
 more sacred than all the rest, and atoning to 
 her (though she would scarcely have allowed 
 it) for all she sufiered, by the vague, distant, 
 unacknowledged, but most precious hopes it 
 brought ; the having all these matters on her
 
 58 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 mind, made the chance which had so unex- 
 pectedly given her a friend, one of the greatest 
 blessings that had ever befallen her. 
 
 To Juliana, the chief pleasure afforded by 
 their intercourse had hitherto arisen from the 
 consciousness that she was giving comfort to 
 one who very greatly wanted it. Not, how- 
 ever, that she was insensible to the charm of 
 having a young companion, who already loved 
 her well enough to avow to her, with unhesi- 
 tating confidence, ev3ry thought of an innocent 
 and right-feeling heart. But as yet Juliana 
 had never had the power of proving that she 
 too was capable of placing a generous and 
 undoubting confidence in the faith of a friend ; 
 for, with the exception, perhaps, of a rather 
 stronger distaste for pretty nearly all the indi- 
 viduals who formed their visiting list, than 
 she would have thought it right to confess, 
 even to her mother, — with the exception of 
 this feeling, Juliana, till her friendship for 
 Fanny had become one, had really not a secret 
 in the world. 
 
 It is true, indeed, that there were many 
 sweet and solemn thoughts blended with some
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 59 
 
 sad ones, which often occupied her mind, with- 
 out ever suggesting themselves for a moment 
 as subjects for conversation ; nor did her fa- 
 miliar and affectionate intercourse with Fanny- 
 Clarence appear at all likely to lead her to 
 make them so. But though Juliana had no 
 secrets of her own to tell, she loved her pretty 
 friend the better for the entire confidence which 
 she placed in her. 
 
 " I suppose you were right, my dear Fanny, 
 in not coming yesterday, but I greatly wish 
 you had been at Mrs. Eowley's," said Juliana, 
 as she met and shook hands with her friend on 
 the bright October morning which followed the 
 dinner party. 
 
 " It was very kind of you to think of me," 
 replied Fanny, with a melancholy smile, " but 
 there would have been, to me, more pain than 
 pleasure in it. To meet Mr. William Curtis 
 in society now, and not speak to him, would 
 be almost too — ." And there she stopped. 
 
 " Too cruel," said Juliana, finishing the 
 sentence for her. " Indeed, I feel that it 
 would be so ; but my reason for wishing for 
 you yesterday had no connexion with William
 
 GO FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Curtis. That is a graver matter a great deal, 
 and one concerning which it will require much 
 thought, and some wisdom, if we did but know 
 where to find it, in order to remedy all that is 
 wrong in it at present." 
 
 Poor Fanny pressed her joined hands mourn- 
 fully upon her breast, and sighed deeply. 
 
 '' The wisdom that I talk of, my dear Fanny, 
 will not be found in ceaseless meditation upon 
 the present very uncomfortable state of your 
 affairs, but rather in hopefully looking forward 
 to the time (and come it must) when your 
 cousin shall discover, that in pursuing William 
 Curtis, she is only running after a Will-o'-the 
 wisp, which will be sure to escape her at last. 
 This must happen, Fanny, there is no help 
 for it, even if we desired it ; and when it does, 
 we shall soon see what is to happen after. 
 The reason why I wished for you, yesterday, 
 was because we heard a song." 
 
 And here Juliana seemed to feel that she 
 had said something very flat and stupid, and 
 she blushed a little ; and then she blushed a 
 great deal more, because she was ashamed of 
 having blushed at all. But, fortunately for
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 61 
 
 her, Fannv Clarence saw nothino- of all this, 
 for they were walking arm-in-arm, and side by 
 side. 
 
 " A song I — and wlio sang it ?" demanded 
 Fanny. 
 
 " Heaven knows v>ho, or what he is," re- 
 plied Juliana, feeling decidedly relieved at 
 being able to speak her thoughts aloud. " As 
 to his name," she continued, " you doubtless 
 know it already; it is the person who has 
 taken Langiey Knoll." 
 
 *' Oh yes, I know," returned Fanny, " his 
 name is Stormont. I heard my aunt talking 
 about him to mamma. And he sinjxs, does he? 
 Does he sing well?" 
 
 "Well! — does he sing well?" repeated Miss 
 de Morley, suddenly stopping, and recalling 
 with closed eyes the sounds she had heard, and 
 which she was doomed never to forget, as long- 
 as memory lasted. " I say, dear Fanny, that 
 I wished you had heard him, chiefly because it 
 is so impossible to describe the manner in 
 which he sang. There is something extraor- 
 dinary about him, Fanny; I almost feel as if
 
 62 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 I were afraid of him ; one does not like to feel 
 so puzzled about a person." 
 
 "But what is there to puzzle you, dear?" 
 said Fanny, in an accent of great good sense. 
 " He is an independent gentleman, isn't he, who 
 is come here because he is fond of fishing? — at 
 least, that is what my aunt told mamma." 
 
 "Fond of fishing! Yes, I know they say 
 so; and it is exactly that which makes the 
 puzzle I complain of. If you could see his 
 extraordinary countenance, you would know 
 what I mean when I say that it is puzzling to 
 up-derstand how such a man as that can be 
 fond of fishins;." 
 
 " He looks too animated, too gay, I sup- 
 pose, for such a dull employment ?" said 
 Fanny. 
 
 " Gay ! Oli, what an unfortunate word, by 
 way of describing Mr. Stormont !" cried Juliana. 
 
 " How does he look, then ? — as if he should 
 not have patience for the sport?" 
 
 A moment of silence followed this question, 
 and then Juliana answered it by saying, " I 
 wish, Fanny, that it were possible — which,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 63 
 
 please Heaven, it shall be some day — but I 
 wish it were possible, now^ to take you into 
 my poor father's line old library, because 
 there is a picture there, which, without being 
 exactly like Mr. Stormont as to the features, 
 would at least give you a much better idea of 
 him than I can hope to do by description. 
 The picture is the portrait of a young man, 
 who has a celestial globe before him; he is 
 sitting at an open window, through which a 
 stream of moonlight falls upon his face. His 
 eyes are turned toAvards the heavens, and in 
 his hand he holds a telescope. In short, alto- 
 gether," added Juliana, concluding with a sort 
 of hurried rapidity the description which she 
 had begun in a manner that was quite the re- 
 verse, " in short, you never saw anything that 
 looked less like the gaze of a man watching for 
 a bite, than the dark, full, upturned eye of 
 this young philosopher." 
 
 "Meaning Mr. Stormont?" said Fanny, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Xo, no, meaning the picture," replied 
 Juliana, in the same tone. " However, the 
 two heads are very much alike."
 
 64 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " Then Mr. Stormont lias dark, full eyes, I 
 suppose," said Fanny. 
 
 " Yes, I believe so," returned her friend. 
 
 " You believe so ! — did you not look at 
 him?" asked Fannv. 
 
 " No, not much," was the reply. 
 
 " And now then, tell me about his singing," 
 said Fanny, with that sort of interest in the 
 question which is felt by one who sings himself. 
 *' What sort of voice has he ?" 
 
 " A rich tenor, I believe, but merely saying 
 that Giin give no idea of its tone," said Juliana. 
 " Of course I know very little about the mat- 
 ter, for I never heard any really good singing 
 but once, and that was at Stockington, for the 
 benefit of the county hospital, and I l)elieve 
 that on that occasion I did hear the finest 
 voices that could be procured in London ; and 
 long did their notes seem to vibrate on my 
 ear; — oh! for months after this great event 
 happened to me. But, unless I am strangely 
 mistaken, Mr. Stormont's voice is a great deal 
 finer than any I heard then." 
 
 " Indeed! Then I really do almost envy
 
 FATHER ECSTACE. 65 
 
 4 
 
 you for having acquired so delightful an ad- 
 dition to your neighbourhood," said Fanny. 
 
 " And if you had once heard him, dearest, you 
 would envy me quite," replied Juliana, eagerly ; 
 but added, rather plaintively, the moment after, 
 " however, I doubt very much if he will con- 
 tinue in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " But I heard my aunt say that he had 
 taken Langley Knoll for three years." 
 
 " I know it," replied Juliana, " yet still I 
 doubt his staying. I do not think he will be 
 able to endure us. I told you just now, that 
 I did not think he looked like a man v/ho 
 could sit watching for a bite; yet I suspect, 
 too, that he would greatly prefer even that, to 
 the listening to the gabble of the Lady Letch- 
 meers, or enduring the ponderous jocularities 
 of Mrs. Rowley; and why should he submit 
 himself to either?" 
 
 " The question does really seem to be a 
 puzzling one," returned Fanny, " and I do 
 confess that you have succeeded in making me 
 wish to see this stranger. If I could be quite 
 sure Mr. Curtis would neither look at me, nor 
 speak to me, I really should be tempted to 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 66 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 confess that my wrist was not too weak to 
 play a waltz, if it were wanted." 
 
 " I am afraid that there are two objections 
 to your scheme," replied her friend. " The 
 one is, that your conditions are too hard for 
 mortal man to agree to; and the other, that 
 this sublime and inspired-looking minstrel is 
 an admirable waltz player himself." 
 
 " Then, indeed, I shall have no chance of 
 seeing him!" said poor Fanny, with a little 
 sigh, that seemed to show something like 
 regret at hearing that her only chance of 
 seeing anybody was thus lost. " Yet, unless I 
 am a very sad fool indeed, I ought to laugh 
 rather than sigh at the reasonable hope which 
 this gives that I shall never again be called 
 upon to creep to all the pianofortes in the 
 country, wrapped about like a mummy, with 
 strict injunctions never to look up. Do not 
 think me a greater fool than I am, because I 
 sighed; I really am very glad that all this is 
 over." 
 
 ''• But my hopes of your hearing Mr. Stor- 
 mont sing are not over," returned Juliana, 
 kindly. " You plead guilty to folly, because
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 67 
 
 you sigli, my dear girl ; but you will think my 
 folly greater still, perhaps, when I tell you 
 what / sigh for. At this moment my heart is 
 fixed upon a whim which I neither know how 
 to obtain nor how to give up. You must 
 know, Fanny, that one of the very, very few in- 
 dulgences which my unhappy father permitted 
 himself, was playing church music on the fine 
 old organ that we have got at one end of the 
 library. My old castle is a comical place in 
 many respects ; I do not half know it myself 
 yet; but one of these days I hope we shall 
 range over it together. This organ that I tell 
 you of, for instance, makes, by its front, a 
 very stately piece of furniture in the library, 
 but it scarcely projects six inches from the 
 wall; the pipes are in a room fitted up as a 
 Catholic chapel behind it. The library is 
 quite at the very farthest end of the castle, and 
 as remote as possible from the part of the 
 building occupied by my mother, and thus she 
 was never disturbed, though the organ was 
 often played upon in the dead of night. I do 
 not believe that she knows the fact even 
 now ; her life, poor dear, was a very unhappy 
 
 F 2
 
 68 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 one, and now slie seems even cautiously to 
 avoid ever alluding to it. All I am now tell- 
 ing you about these midnight organ-playings, I 
 have got from our dear old housekeeper. She 
 is the only person who ever speaks to me of 
 my father, but she never misses an opportu- 
 nity of doing it." 
 
 " Is she a Protestant, Miss de Morley ?" 
 inquired Fanny, timidly. 
 
 '•It is odd enough, Fanny, that you should 
 ask that question," replied the heiress, " for it 
 is precisely one that I have asked myself a 
 hundred times, and I have never yet been able 
 to answer it. If she be a Roman Catholic, 
 my mother does not knoAv it, that is quite cer- 
 tain ; for she formerly proclaimed her resolu- 
 tion within — almost, I think, Avithin a few 
 hours of my father's death, that she v^ould 
 retain no persons of that faith in her service." 
 
 " But does not that fact answer the ques- 
 tion?" demanded Fanny Clarence. 
 
 " I do not feel quite sure of it," replied Ju- 
 liana. " The good old woman is exceedingly 
 fond of me ; and as my mother never permitted 
 any of the female servants to go to the mass,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. G9 
 
 which was daily performed, eitlier in my 
 father's private chapel up stairs, or else in that 
 which I have mentioned to you, behind the 
 library, she would have lost her place, and lost 
 me too, if she had refused to comply Avith this 
 regulation ; but it certainly has often struck 
 me since my father's death, that there was 
 something in her manner of speaking of him, 
 and of his faith, very different from that of 
 everyone else in the castle. My own maid, 
 for instance, is perpetually finding or making 
 an opportunity for thanking God, because my 
 father's confessor is gone away, without there 
 being the slightest danger of his ever coming 
 back again. And I have heard my mother's 
 woman say something of the same kind more 
 than once; but Hardwood, the old house- 
 keeper, never. And yet I talk more to her — 
 oh ! much more to her than I do to anyone else 
 in the world, except my mother and you." 
 
 " I dare say that it is a feeling of respect 
 for her master which causes this forbearance," 
 observed Fannv. 
 
 " I agree with you," returned Juliana, 
 quickly, and seemed as if she were about to
 
 70 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 say more on the same subject; but, checking 
 herself, she returned to the explanation of the 
 wliim^ of which she had been about to sj^eak 
 previous to the discussion concerning the 
 housekeeper. 
 
 " And now as to the whim I was talkinar 
 of," said she, " it is this : I long, with a long- 
 ing more vehement than I can express, to hear 
 Mr. Stormont sing, accompanied by himself 
 upon the organ ; and as an underplot, I want 
 you to be concealed in the chapel, where you 
 Avould be perfectly well able to hear him." 
 
 " And must it be before eight o'clock in the 
 morning, dear Juliana?" returned Fanny, 
 laughing; "for no later in the day can even 
 you, my fairy godmother, permit me to be 
 visible." 
 
 " That increases the difficulty, I confess," 
 replied her friend ; " but I read in some of the 
 learned pages contained in the said venerable 
 library, that woman's will and woman's wit 
 conjoined, can do much towards obtaining 
 woman's way." 
 
 "I see but one possibility," returned Fanny. 
 "If you would be pleased to invite my aunt
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 71 
 
 and mj cousin Adelaide to hear the singing 
 in the library, I should have no difficulty 
 whatever in obtaining leave from ray dear 
 mother to go where I would." 
 
 " Invite your aunt and your cousin to hear 
 ^Ir. Stormont sing in the library !" exclaimed 
 Juliana, in a voice of dismay, that quite 
 startled her companion, and caused her sud- 
 denly to stand still, and look up into Juliana's 
 face. And then she was yet more startled, 
 for her beautifully clear pale cheek was crim- 
 son. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, my dear Miss de Mor- 
 \ej^^^ said Fanny, timidly. 
 
 " Do not call me 3Iiss de Morleij^'' returned 
 Juliana, recovering herself, and affectionately 
 pressing the arm on which her own rested; 
 " but you have proved to me, by proposing your 
 aunt and cousin as assistants at the music I am 
 sighing for, that I have totally failed in my 
 attempt to make you understand what manner 
 of music it was to be." 
 
 " I do not remember your having said any- 
 thing about its manner," said Fanny, inno- 
 cently.
 
 72 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " Did I not ?" returned Juliana, again co- 
 louring. " Tlien it "was because I felt that I 
 could give you no idea of it. And I was right 
 then, and I "svill be right again now, my dear 
 girl, for I will be wise enough to say no more 
 about it. If my scheme should ever become 
 possible, I will not forget that I have pro- 
 mised to contrive that you shall take part in 
 it. But my thoughts are all in the moon, I 
 believe, for I am talking of things that have 
 little to do with earth. And now, Fanny, let 
 us speak of your mother and William Curtis, 
 and reason a little upon the pros and cons 
 concerning her being put completely in your 
 confidence." 
 
 And they did so, till the allotted hour for 
 Fanny's return arrived, when they parted, 
 each returning to her home, with enough of 
 new thoughts to occupy her fully till they 
 should meet ao-ain.
 
 •FATHER EUSTACE. 7 
 
 Q 
 
 CHAPTER ly. 
 
 I HAVE, I think, partly promised, at the 
 beginning of the last chapter, that some of 
 Mr. Storraont's thoughts and opinions should 
 be disclosed to the reader; albeit the long- 
 licensed mode of repeating confidential conver- 
 sations, to which most historians resort, is upon 
 this occasion beyond my reach, Mr. Stormont 
 not having, at that particular time, any person 
 near him with whom he could talk confiden- 
 tially. 
 
 There is, however, another mode of getting 
 at the opinions of an individual, which, al- 
 though more sacred still than even confidential 
 conversation, has nevertheless been deemed 
 fairly available for the purpose of developing 
 character. In short, I have, after mature con- 
 sideration, made up my mind to redeem my
 
 74 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 promise, by giving a few pages from the young 
 man's private diary. 
 
 It was Mr. Stormont's habit, as it is that of 
 many meditative persons, not only, like " good 
 Sir Charles," 
 
 " To sum the actions of the day, 
 Each night before he slept," 
 
 but also to write down all the items of that 
 sum in volumes carefully kept from the eyes 
 of all men, yet not sufficiently so to escape 
 the prying glance of such an industrious chro- 
 nicler as I am. 
 
 On returning from Eagle's Crag Hall, 
 which he did by means of a neat little cabrio- 
 let, which, Avith an excellent horse, had pre- 
 ceded by a few days his arrival at Langley 
 Knoll, Mr. Stormont retired to a small but 
 pleasant chamber fitted up as a study, and 
 overlooking the beautiful terrace which Lady 
 Sarah de Morley and her daughter had visited 
 on the first day tliat they had driven beyond 
 their own park gates, after the death of i\Ir. 
 de Morley. 
 
 This room, which opened on the right hand 
 upon a handsome bed-room, had another door
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. " 75 
 
 on the left, communicating with a still smaller 
 room situated over the porch, in which Lady- 
 Sarah and her daughter had reposed them- 
 selves. 
 
 But on this little room, v/hich, in point of 
 size, was scarcely more than a closer, much 
 labour and no small expense must have been 
 expended before it could have looked as it did 
 when Mr. Stormont entered it, which he did 
 immediately after exchanging the dress he had 
 worn at Mrs. Rowley's, for one of a totally 
 different form and fabric. 
 
 Nothing could, for its size, be more beautiful 
 and picturesque in its way than was this 
 little room at that moment. The moon was 
 at the full, and, riding at its highest noon, 
 sent through the bright clear air of the autumn 
 nio'ht such a flood of silver radiance, that no 
 other lidit was needed to render visible the 
 objects on which it fell. Yet there was other 
 light there, but of so soft and subdued a na- 
 ture, that, far from overpowering that of the 
 moon, it could by no means compete with it 
 in strength, for it was that of a lamp apparently 
 enclosed in a vase of alabaster, which hung
 
 76 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 suspended from the ceiling in front of a silver 
 crucifix of no mean dimensions. Beneath this 
 gorgeous crucifix was an altar, and before it, 
 four richly carpeted steps, on the second of 
 which, Mr, Storm ont, having closed the door 
 behind him, reverently knelt. 
 
 Whether the vounpr man was in the act of 
 prayer, or in that abstracted state of self-exa- 
 mination, which makes so important a part of 
 Eoman-catholic discipline, it is impossible to 
 say, but it lasted long; above an hour had 
 elapsed from the moment at which he knelt 
 down, to that at which he rose from his knees ; 
 and even then, the period allotted to this pri- 
 vate and apparently most intense devotion was 
 not completed ; for, after rising from his knees, 
 Mr. Stormont mounted the three remaining 
 steps, and then, after bending his knee and 
 crossing himself, he remained before the altar 
 in an attitude of prayer, in which he stood 
 fixed, and, as it seemed, immovably, for at least 
 half an hour more. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the profound stillness 
 which attended this act of worship. The very 
 breathing? of the vouna; man seemed almost
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 77 
 
 suspended while it lasted. Yet could it not 
 be mistaken for one of those unmeaning or, at 
 best, superstitious observances, frequent, as 
 we are told, among the Hindo, and often to be 
 seen also before popish altars, wherein the sus- 
 pension rather than the employment of the 
 mental faculties appears to constitute the ser- 
 vice offered. 
 
 But there was no mistakino; the devotion of 
 Mr. Stormont for such mummery as this. His 
 trembling lip was pale, the earnest up-turned 
 eye ■was wet with tears, and drops of sweat 
 were standing on his brow. 
 
 Even when this solemn service, whatever it 
 was, had ended, a minute or two elapsed, dur- 
 ing which his hand rested, reverently, as it 
 seemed, yet as if seeking support, upon the 
 altar, before he appeared sufficiently recovered 
 from the emotions which had shaken him, to 
 leave the place on which he stood. But these 
 moments being past, he descended to the floor 
 of the little chapel, and having again turned 
 his face to the altar, again bent his knee, and 
 again crossed himself, he returned into the 
 little study, and passing through it to his bed-
 
 78 FATHEil EUSTACE. 
 
 room, he repeatedly dipped his head in cold 
 water, and then, the dripping moisture being 
 partially drained from his thick curls hy a 
 napkin, he placed himself at the open window, 
 as if intending that the cold moonbeams 
 should absorb the rest. 
 
 This process seemed to answer well the pur- 
 pose intended; for, as the young man stood 
 supporting himself against the side of the win- 
 dow, his pale features gradually lost the suffer- 
 ing and agitated expression Avhich they had 
 previously worn, and his countenance resumed 
 the tranquilly thoughtful look which usually 
 rendered it a pleasure to look at him. 
 
 Perhaps it was the quiet beauty of the 
 moon-lit landscape which produced this sooth- 
 ing effect; or it might be the relief afforded to 
 an aching head by the cold bath to which it 
 had been submitted ; or, possibly, the mental 
 discipline so earnestly practised before the 
 altar had tended to chase fear and strengthen 
 hope; or all these salutary causes joined 
 might have produced the result. 
 
 However this may be, it w^as with an aspect 
 of resolute composure, though still with a
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 79 
 
 deeply thoughtful brow, that Mr. Stormont at 
 length withdrew from the window, closed it, 
 and then seated himself before a writing table 
 placed near the fire, which still remained 
 dimmerino- in the a'rate, notwithstandinfi the 
 lateness of the hour. For a moment or two he 
 rested his elbow upon his writing desk, after 
 he had opened it, and supported his head upon 
 his hand; his eves were closed, and thoudi 
 his complexion had lost the almost ghastly hue 
 which it wore while wrapped in his devotions 
 at the altar, he was very pale. But again he 
 seemed to struggle with some painful feeling 
 that evidently oppressed him, and taking from 
 a recess in his writing-desk a small volume, he 
 opened it, and Avrote as follows : — 
 
 " V.'^ith my own soul I may, and I must, 
 hold converse. It is the only human means 
 by v/hich I can hope so to subdue, and so to 
 regulate the rebellious struggles of my offend- 
 ing thoughts, as to prevent their overpowering 
 both my faith and my reason, and so leaving 
 me a maniac, instead of a faithfid servant of 
 the most Holy Company of Jesus. I have had 
 struggles before to-day — desperate and dread-
 
 80 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 ful; but faith, holy, heaven-inspired faith, 
 conquered, and the impious efforts of that fal- 
 lacious earth-born impulse which men call con- 
 science, Avas beaten down and trampled in the 
 dust before it. 
 
 " And why should I not devoutly believe 
 that it will be so again? I do, I do believe 
 it ! If I did not ! But this trembling terror 
 is as irrational as it is impious. It is for 
 others, weak but well-intentioned, to tremble ; 
 not for the Jesuit ! Others, presumptuous in 
 their own feeble virtue, trusting- in the value 
 of their own single-voiced cries to Heaven, 
 may well tremble; but not the Jesuit! The 
 strength of saint-sustained thousands is in 
 him ! His weakness is merged and lost, even 
 to the eye of God himself, in the congregated 
 holiness of which he is permitted to make 
 part. And what are the conditions upon 
 which this unequalled, this immortal privilege 
 is granted to him? Are they difficult of per- 
 formance? Do they demand the exercise of 
 such great powers of mind as are bestowed 
 but on a few? No. Blessed, thrice blessed 
 spirit of Loyola, NO !
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 81 
 
 " Obedience ! 
 
 " What is there in obedience, but repose ? 
 Who would not change the fearful, doubting, 
 trembling exercise of their own vacillating 
 and inconstant will, for the divine security 
 that waits upon obedience? 
 
 " But for the balmy healing which this simple 
 and all-sufficient law brings to the doubt- 
 ing spirit, this world would not only be a state 
 of purgatory, but hell itself ! 
 
 " Then here shall my spirit rest. There is 
 no middle course. Either I must throAv off at 
 once, and for ever, the sheltering authority 
 under which even my wavering weakness may 
 be safe, or else I must bow my still impiously 
 struggling spirit to the dust, and know no 
 will but thine — thine Scaviatoli ! the licensed 
 mouth-piece, the accepted interpreter of the 
 Holy Company of Jesus !" 
 
 The young man threw his pen from him, 
 and throwing his arms upon the desk, buried 
 his face upon them. 
 
 He remained thus for some time, as motion- 
 less as a sleeping child; but such was not his 
 condition, as might have been guessed by the 
 VOL. II. G
 
 82 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 sort of shuddering tremor which shook his 
 frame, as he again roused himself, raised up 
 his head, and resumed his pen. 
 
 He seemed to run over with his eyes the 
 lines he had just written, and having done so, 
 he wi'ote under them, in a larger character, and 
 strongly underlined, as if on purpose to attract 
 his eye when he turned the pages of the book, 
 
 " SCAVIATOLl ! HEAR ME ! I WILL OBEY YOU !" 
 ****** 
 
 And then, with a more free and rapid pen, 
 he went on, and wrote as follows : — 
 
 " If ever there was sent from heaven a pure 
 spirit fitted for the fellowship of saints on 
 earth, it is that of Richard de Morley's 
 daughter. Blessed must be the task of lead- 
 ing that lovely spirit from destruction to the 
 assured inheritance of everlasting bliss. 
 Blessed the task ! and if he FAit not, thrice 
 blessed is the man appointed to perform 
 it ! Am I not a wretch ? am I not a coward 
 to tremble thus at the idea of performing 
 it? What is it that I fear? That I should 
 myself suffer from some sinful — no, some 
 paltry human weakness? It is well for 
 rae that there exists a law, before which,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 83 
 
 if I bend with faith iindoubting, and a will 
 ' dead as a corpse' within me, I rest absolved 
 of sin. Ay, but for this, well might I 
 tremble ! But I tremble not. Xo, I am firm 
 in faith ; firmest in the faith of my own obedi- 
 ence ! I have two great objects to perform. 
 
 " The first is to recover the lost soul of De 
 Morley's daughter, and place it within the 
 reach of Heaven's mercy, by converting her to 
 the religion of her father. 
 
 " The second is to recover the estate be- 
 (jueathed to the Holy Company of Jesus, by 
 the dying breath of that repentant father. 
 
 " The success of the second can only be hoped 
 for from the success of the first. Juliana de 
 Morley once a professed nun, the disposal of 
 her property i^ests in the hands of her director. 
 Beautiful creature! I would I had not 
 found her so beautiful, so full of fcelino; ! 
 
 "It is difiicult not to regret that such a 
 woman can never be the mother of a lovely 
 race, as lovely as herself. And what if I do 
 regret it? 
 
 " Do I not see the eye of Scaviatoli before 
 me, looking as it would look, could he hear 
 
 G 2
 
 84 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 me ask this question? Does it look angry? 
 Oh no ! That cold, fixed glance speaks scorn, 
 not anger. And will it not bring a blessing 
 and a reward upon me, if my soul sinks within 
 me at the idea that she will have to suffer 
 sorrow, disappointment, and privation? As- 
 suredly it will. For I shall trample on all 
 such feelings, and obey — obey with feelings as 
 inexorable as those with which the command 
 is given !" 
 
 # * * * * * 
 
 Having finished this sentence, Mr. Stor- 
 mont replaced his diary in its recess, and drew 
 forth a sheet of letter paper, on which he 
 quickly inscribed the foUoAving epistle, written 
 in ''choice Italian," but translated for the 
 benefit of the English reader : — 
 
 " Most lieverend Fatlier, 
 
 " All your commands have, up to this 
 moment, been most strictly obeyed; and I 
 flatter myself tjiat things are now in such a 
 train as will enable me to obey you further, 
 not only with the same scrupulous exactness, 
 but in matters more important than the pre-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 85 
 
 liminary steps, which are as yet all I have been 
 able to take, towards the accomplishment of the 
 important objects for which I have been sent. 
 " I have no reason to complain of any back- 
 wardness in the neighbourhood towards estab- 
 lishing between myself and them such a degree 
 of familiar intercourse as will be necessary for 
 the progress of the undertaking ; on the con- 
 trary, all the principal families in the neigh- 
 bourhood have demonstrated a wish to make 
 my acquaintance, and to receive me as a guest. 
 But as yet I have only had time to return the 
 calls which have been made upon me, and to 
 make one dinner visit, from which I am just 
 returned, and mean not to close my eyes in sleep 
 till I have reported such circumstances con- 
 nected with this visit as appear to me likely 
 to prove important. Most, nay, I believe all, 
 of the principal families residing in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood of the village of Cuthbert 
 were invited to meet me to-day at the house 
 of a very wealthy widow, of whom it is need- 
 less for me to speak further, inasmuch as I 
 doubt not that any information that may be 
 worth knowing concerning her and her four
 
 86 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 wealthy sons, has already been collected by 
 Father Ambrose, and already laid before your 
 Keverence. It is more than probable, also, 
 that from the same respected authority your 
 Eeverence has been informed of more local and 
 statistic particulars respecting the neighbour- 
 hood inhabited by the persons with whom 1 
 have thus made acquaintance, than I should 
 as yet be able to give you myself. The most 
 important results of the visit, as far as I am 
 capable of judging, are the following: — 
 
 "In the first place, there seems to be a 
 general inclination to be civil to me, which 
 will render my mixing myself amongst them, 
 in the manner that your Reverence has com- 
 manded, an easy task to achieve. My power 
 of playing upon the pianoforte, while the 
 young people dance, will, I suspect, greatly 
 assist this. 
 
 " The whole society, with one single excep- 
 tion, appear to be frivolous; at least, their 
 inordinate passion for dancing leads me to sup- 
 pose so. The one exception to this general 
 observation, is the young person whose peculiar 
 situation has made her of sufficient importance
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 87 
 
 to attract the especial attention and tte espe- 
 cial protection of your Eeverence. The 
 daughter and heiress of the late Richard Ean- 
 dolphe de Morley is not frivolous, but evi- 
 dently of a character very greatly the reverse. 
 It it evident, also, that the statement made by 
 Father Ambrose relative to her love of music, 
 and especially of plaintive music, is perfectly 
 to be depended upon; and I shall, of course, 
 endeavour to make use of the talent which, as 
 your Reverence informed me, was one cause for 
 my being employed upon this mission. 
 
 " This young person appears likewise to 
 justify the opinion of Father Ambrose in an- 
 other respect. I cannot doubt her being pos- 
 sessed of tender and powerful feelings. She 
 wept, but Avith no ostentation of sensibility, 
 for none, as I believe, were aware of it save 
 myself; but I saw tears fall from her eyes, 
 occasioned, as I believe, by the plaintive 
 melody of the air I sung. 
 
 " This shall be attended to. 
 
 " I am thankful that upon this point, as well 
 as upon many others, the orders I have 
 received from your Reverence have been pre-
 
 88 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 cise. I trust that I am, and shall for ever 
 remain, too strong in obedience to be shaken 
 in my course by any human doubts as to right 
 and wrong. For the Jesuit there is but one 
 law, and its code is contained in the one word, 
 OBEY. And day by day, most Eeverend 
 Father, and night by night, do I bless this 
 law, which guards my human frailty from all 
 danger of sin." 
 
 •4f* -^ ^ .it, .Af, .U, 
 
 -TV" -Jr '71* =71^ 'TT •TT 
 
 A few pecuniary details, relative to the past 
 and future expenditure necessary to the posi- 
 tion in which the writer was placed, concluded 
 the epistle, which was written in cypher, and 
 bore no signature but the Christian name of 
 Eustace.
 
 FATHER rUSTACE. 89 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was only at Cutlibert Castle, at the 
 Grange, (which was the name of Mrs. Stan- 
 herry's jointure house,) at Mr. Curtis's hand- 
 some mansion, and at the Eagle's Crag, that 
 the frequent dinners were given which brought 
 together so constantly the scattered gentry in- 
 habiting the village of Cuthbert. For the 
 Dowager Lady Setterton thought that she 
 fully repaid all the hospitality that could be 
 offered to her, by accepting it; Mr. Eaymond 
 and his daughter spent too much money upon 
 their horses to " give feeds," as they expressed 
 it, to any living creatures beside; and the 
 Rector received only gentlemen. 
 
 Nobody, however, was so active in propos- 
 ing and arranging pic-nics, as the Dowager 
 Countess ; and she managed the doing this so
 
 90 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 cleverly, that she constantly contrived to have 
 every meeting of the kind denominated her 
 ^avty^ though her contributions towards the 
 good cheer, so universally deemed necessary 
 upon such occasions, were always more inge- 
 nious than solid. 
 
 There was no one in the society who did not 
 consider the arrival of Mr. Stormont as both 
 an important and agreeable event; but none 
 more cordially hailed it as both than Lady Set- 
 terton and her fair daughters. Dreadfully were 
 they all three alarmed at the idea of doing no- 
 thing to propitiate his friendship and fovour, 
 while others were doing so much. 
 
 " He is the most elegant creature that ever 
 was seen," said Lady Margaret. " William 
 Curtis is a perfect clown in comparison." 
 
 " Then what are the Rowleys, I should like 
 to know ?" said Lady Louisa, sighing. " Oh ! 
 heavens !" she added, raising her eyes towards 
 the ceiling, " how I wish he would waltz !" 
 
 " Waltz or not, he is a man of good f^imily, 
 in some way or other, you may depend upon 
 it," said her mother, " and his horse and cab 
 are charming ! He must have a good income,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 91 
 
 or he never would have taken a handsome 
 ready- furnished place, for the sake of the fish- 
 ing. In short, girls, we must do something ; 
 and I mean to propose a pic-nic. It wont 
 cost us much, whatever it may do the Kowleys, 
 with their eternal dozen baskets of champagne, 
 besides all their Perigords, and diable snit quoi 
 into the bargain. I shall get our old woman 
 to manufacture one of her mysterious dishes 
 of mashed potatoes and white of egg, nothing 
 looks prettier; and there are quantities of 
 roses and honeysuckles, of which you may 
 make bouquets, arranged in your favourite 
 cut-paper cups, which nobody here can make 
 but yourselves. You shall each of you carry 
 a little basket filled with these, one for each 
 person in the company ; and when you present 
 them to the gentlemen, I wonder who will be 
 considered as having contributed most to the 
 grace of the festival, Mrs. Rowley, or the 
 Countess of Setterton?" 
 
 " Why, yes, I think that will do very well. 
 It is rather a good notion," replied her eldest 
 daughter.
 
 92 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " And tlie sooner you fix tlie day for it the 
 better," added Lady Louisa. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The dinner at Cuthbert Castle was the third 
 that had been given to Mr. Stormont. The 
 first, as we know, was at Mrs. Eowley's ; the 
 second took place the week after it, at the 
 house of Mr. Curtis ; and the interval, in each 
 case occupying a whole week, had given op- 
 portunity to several very friendly morning 
 calls on the part of Mr. Stormont to all his 
 new acquaintance. 
 
 It was, therefore, no longer with the look 
 and manner of a stranger that the occupant 
 of Langley Knoll, that Father Eustace now 
 entered the drawing-room of Lady Sarah de 
 Morley. On the contrary, there was not one 
 of the individuals who there greeted him who 
 did not appear to have made some (trifling, 
 perhaps) but especial approach to intimacy. 
 
 " I almost feared you had forgotten us !" 
 exclaimed Lady Sarah, pointing to the time- 
 piece with one hand, while the other was cor- 
 dially extended to welcome him. " And if my
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 93 
 
 bronze Mercury there does not correct the sun 
 by the accuracy with which he points to the 
 hour, you must remember that it is your fault, 
 Mr. Stormont; for it was you who undertook 
 to set him right, after you had proved him 
 wrong the other day." 
 
 " Guilty of being five minutes behind my 
 time ! I confess it," replied Mr. Stormont, witli 
 a smile that mif]rht have disarmed the an^-er 
 of Ude himself, had he been presiding at the 
 office in person. 
 
 "But he does not tell you the reason for 
 it," cried young Curtis, eagerly. " We saw 
 him, as our carriage was entering the lodge, 
 busily engaged in collecting, and restoring to 
 order, the miscellaneous contents of a basket,,. 
 that a luckless urchin, intrusted with an er- 
 rand to the shop, had permitted to roll in tlie 
 mire. I protest that I did not expect to see 
 him arrive for half an hour at least, he ap- 
 peared to have such an immense variety of 
 operations upon his hands." 
 
 Mr. Stormont shook his head, laughed, and 
 passed on.
 
 94 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 "Mr. Stormont ! my bird lias never had a 
 fit since !" said Lady Margaret Letchmeer. 
 
 '' A thousand thanks for the flower seeds !" 
 murmured Lady Louisa. 
 
 " Don't forget your promise, Mr. Stormont,'* 
 said Lady Setter ton. " Remember, that your 
 own gardener is to come and put them in." 
 
 " Well, my good sir, I believe you were 
 right about the colt after all," said JNIr. Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 " And I mean to appoint you my Master of 
 the Horse," added his daughter. 
 
 " I have been regularly expecting you every 
 morning since you called last," pouted the 
 beautiful Adelaide. " I thought you said that 
 you would write out for me the notes of that 
 Avaltz." 
 
 " Have you recovered your climb to the top 
 of Eagle's Crag?" said Mrs. Rowley, quite 
 affectionately. 
 
 "I have got all the fishing flies in good 
 order for you to examine, Stormont," said the 
 oldest Rowley. 
 
 " My puppy is ready for you," nodded the 
 second.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 95 
 
 " Have you thought about our ride to the 
 Devil's Cave?" demanded the third. "And 
 remember, I am to have a day's fishing with 
 you," added the fourth. 
 
 " Have you made the sketch of Adekiide, 
 that I asked you for?" inquired Mrs. Stanberry. 
 
 " The county map that you were inquiring 
 about is quite at your service. I thought I 
 had lost it, but I found it this morning," said 
 Mr. Curtis, senior. 
 
 All these little friendly mutterings took 
 place during the successive hand- shakings 
 which followed his entrance. 
 
 Mr. Wardour Avas the last person in the 
 company to whom he addressed himself, but 
 not the least in his estimation, as it appeared, 
 for he remained several minutes in conversa- 
 tion with liim. 
 
 And then followed the dinner, at which the 
 conversational talents of Mr. Stormont, which 
 were very considerable, had now a fair oppor- 
 tunity of being appreciated ; for he knew every- 
 body, and everybody seemed so happy to know 
 him, that nothing he said fell to the ground ; 
 males and females, young and old, grave and
 
 96 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 gay, all seemed equally of opinion that lie was 
 the most delightful man they had ever met. 
 
 It certainly was not by the display of any 
 rich stores of erudition that he thus drew 
 golden opinions ; for, to say the truth, nothing 
 could be much more trivial than the table talk 
 upon this occasion. But it seemed as if the 
 presence of their new neighbour had put them 
 all in good humour; everything he said was 
 listened to with interest; if he smiled, every- 
 body else was perfectly ready to smile too; 
 and if, by accident, any theme was for a mo- 
 ment discussed, which elicited from him some- 
 thing deserving the name of an opinion, the 
 company listened as if it were an oracle that 
 spoke. 
 
 It would be long to tell how this remarkable 
 young man had contrived thus rapidly to con- 
 ciliate all the various individuals of whom the 
 societv was formed. 
 
 His person and voice had doubtless much to 
 do with it ; and a certain gentle modesty of 
 demeanour, which seemed to keep affectionate 
 watch and ward over the self-love of every 
 body he spoke to, a great deal more.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 97 
 
 But besides this, Mr. Stormont, though still 
 quite a young man, had already made human 
 character sufficiently his study, to enable him 
 to address all men, and all women too, in the 
 style and manner most sure of pleasing them. 
 This power would be more frequently possessed 
 if individual self-gratification did not interfere 
 to prevent it. Nothing less than a complete 
 abnegation of self, and selfish likings and dis* 
 likings, can enable any one to obtain this 
 species of universal influence over their fellow- 
 creatures. Nor is it any particular proof of 
 undue attention to our own spontaneous feel- 
 ings, that this degree of self-abnegation is 
 found so rarely. For, in fact, it is scarcely 
 natural in any, and never, perhaps, reaches to 
 that degree of systematic perfection in which 
 Mr. Stormont possessed it, save where the ac- 
 quirement has been both motived and assisted 
 by a strong purpose and a steadfast will. In 
 the case of Father Eustace, this purpose and 
 this will were in the strongest possible action ; 
 for they were generated by as solemn a sense 
 of duty as it was possible for a man to feel. 
 
 VOL. II. H
 
 98 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Nor was this the only spur to his ceaseless 
 ejQforts to please. 
 
 Not only had he been carefully instructed — 
 most carefully instructed in the science of 
 reading the human heart, with the avowed 
 purpose of influencing human actions for the 
 service of the "most Holy Company of Jesus," 
 but upon this particular occasion he was act- 
 ing under the special and distinct command of 
 his superior, for a special and distinct object ; 
 and as he believed, as faithfully as he did in 
 the omnipotence of God himself, that abso- 
 lute, implicit, unquestioning obedience to that 
 superior, was "the way and the life," yea, 
 the only way that could lead him to life ever- 
 lasting, amidst saints and angels, it was by 
 no means surprising that he should succeed so 
 well. 
 
 Wise indeed, in their generation, are the 
 children of Loyola ! We have but to study 
 their code, and read with common attention 
 their declarations and their history, in order 
 to perceive the admirable skill they have ac- 
 quired in the art of reigning, not over the 
 bodies, but over the souls of men. This art is
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 99 
 
 the vast Heirloom left by Ignatius Loyola to 
 his disciples. 
 
 Inquire — and in these days such inquiry is 
 not vain — inquire what happens in their 
 schools, and colleges, when they find a child 
 gifted by nature witli the power in any way of 
 charming, and thereby influencing his fellow- 
 creatures. Inquire, and you will find that 
 every such child becomes an object of especial 
 care, of especial instruction, and especial watch- 
 fulness. They look upon him as a master 
 ship-builder may look upon a goodly oak, 
 that, while flourishing in the forest, he already 
 sees " fit for the tall mast of some admiral." 
 Beauty, personal grace of every species and 
 description — an expressive smile — a sweet - 
 toned voice, are all carefully noted and care- 
 fully cherished. A talent for music is another 
 favourite decoy ; and, though not held of equal 
 importance, a strongly developed natural fa- 
 culty for the limner's art is never neglected. 
 There are natural sciences, too, a special pro- 
 pensity for which is occasionally demonstrated 
 — such as chemistry, anatomy, botany, and the 
 like. These indications are never neglected; 
 
 H 2
 
 100 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 for knowledge of every kind is power; and 
 where ever lived the autocrat who knew the 
 value of poAver, or comprehended the use of it, 
 like the Jesuit? Would Saint Francois de 
 Sales have ever been the powerful servant to 
 the most Holy Company which he lived to be, 
 had not all his powers to charm been schooled 
 anc] cultivated as sedulously as those of a 
 young actress, by her prescient father ? 
 
 And thus it was that Father Eustace was 
 now all we find him. Nature Jiad been boun- 
 tiful to him, most bountiful in all her choicest 
 gifts — for he was born not only with the organ- 
 ization which leads to a brilliant development 
 of all the finer faculties of our nature, but, if 
 it could philosophically be said of any man 
 that he was born good, it might have been said 
 of Father Eustace. 
 
 By a strong and most unhappy fatality, 
 however, the best qualities of his nature were 
 converted into tlie means of using his highest 
 talents for the lowest purposes. For what qua- 
 lity is there so purely good in its origin as that 
 which leads to reverential devotion to the God 
 of the universe? And to what viler purpose
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 101 
 
 can brilliant talents be turned, than the being 
 made a decoy to cheat men out of the reason- 
 able guidance of their own souls, for the pur- 
 pose of converting them into the tools of an 
 ambitious faction? 
 
 Had Father Eustace been less deeply in 
 earnest in his piety, he never could have 
 yielded himself to the pernicious state of ab- 
 ject obedience which was demanded of him; 
 and had not this slavery of the soul been re- 
 presented to him from his earliest childhood as 
 the one thing needful to salvation, he would 
 not have learned to tremble, as he did now, at 
 feeling his nature recoil from the acts which a 
 diseased idea of duty compelled him to per- 
 form. 
 
 There is something very sad, and very piti- 
 able, in seeing a set of thoughtless people yield- 
 ing themselves up to the fascinating influence 
 of a being who is conscientiously bent upon 
 making fools of them all, and very miserable 
 wretches of ^feiv; but more sad, and pitiable 
 still, is it, to see such a man as Edward Stor- 
 mont so employed ! 
 
 tF S7P w * ^ "Sv
 
 102 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 It is the custom when musical people expect 
 to have amateur music at home, that they 
 should themselves commence the performances. 
 Lady Sarah de ISIorley had repeatedly received 
 large dinner parties at the castle. Both her- 
 self and her daughter were decidedly musical, 
 and yet no single individual of the whole 
 neighbourhood had ever heard Juliana sing> 
 except Mr. Wardour. 
 
 When she had first made her appearance in 
 society she had been invited to sing, but not 
 till she had heard all the young ladies and 
 gentlemen declare, that although music was a 
 most delightful accomplishment, and that they 
 liked it excessively, they liked dancing, they 
 must confess, a great deal better. 
 
 This was quite enough to set Juliana de 
 Morley upon her guard, and never had she 
 yet inflicted upon her neighbours the heavy 
 penance of hearing Avhat they could not under- 
 stand. 
 
 At home, she had made herself almost po- 
 pular by the unwearying manner in which she 
 had ministered to the monomaniacal furor for 
 the waltz which raged among them; and if
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 103 
 
 anything had been necessary to confii'ni her 
 resokition of keeping the power of her line 
 voice a secret, she would have found it in a 
 few words which she heard addressed, by no 
 means in a whisper, by Miss Stanberry to Mr. 
 William Curtis. 
 
 " What a blessing it is that Miss de Morley 
 does not sing !" said she. 
 
 "It is certainly more agreeable for us that 
 she should play," he replied ; and having thus 
 fortunately discovered in what way she could 
 please them best, she most conscientiously ad- 
 hered to it. 
 
 But now the ideas of the fair Juliana ap- 
 peared to have undergone a very important 
 change. She no longer appeared to think that 
 the first duty of hospitality consisted in setting 
 the majority of her mother's guests to dance, 
 while the remainder sat round the room to 
 yawn and look at them. 
 
 That Mr. Stormont should be prevailed 
 upon to sing had been the predominating 
 thought of her mind from the moment that the 
 party was invited ; and no sooner had the cere- 
 monies of coffee and tea been gone through.
 
 104 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 than Juliana very deliberately "walked to the 
 instrument, happy in the thought that she 
 was at home, and might preserve its keys, for 
 the present, at least, from the degradation of 
 being made to jingle to the " glancing feet" of 
 her guests. 
 
 " ' Thee the voice, the dance obey,' " 
 
 she murmured, as she opened it. " Please 
 Heaven, it shall be the voice this time ; the 
 dance has had its turn." 
 
 " How very kind it is of you to begin so 
 early 1" exclaimed Miss Stanberry, running up 
 to assist in arranging the music-stool, lights, 
 and so forth. " How very delightful all the 
 parties at the castle are, on account of your 
 playing so charmingly, Miss de Morley !" 
 
 " You are very kind," replied Juliana, 
 slightly colouring at this ill-timed effusion of 
 gratitude; "but I do not think it would be 
 civil to Mr. Stormont to begin with dancing, 
 do you?" 
 
 " Oh dear, yes ! perfectly so, my dear Miss de 
 Morley. Just think how you will make us all 
 hate him if you let him put a stop to our dear
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 105 
 
 waltzing ! For his sake, let me implore you 
 not to do it." 
 
 " Lady Sarah wishes to hear Mr. Stormont 
 sing again," replied Juliana, for the first time 
 in her life speaking as if she were conscious of 
 being the mistress of Cuthbert Castle. 
 
 It is probable that Miss Stanberry at that 
 moment became conscious of it too, for she 
 answered not a word, but walked back, not to 
 the place she had left, but to a vacant chair 
 immediately behind that on which William 
 Curtis was seated, and taking possession of it, 
 in defiance of the indignant glances exchanged 
 between the Lady Letchmeers at such a breach 
 of decorum, she began to pour her complaints 
 into his ear. 
 
 " Just fancy our having to sit still all night, 
 in order to indulge this new man with the 
 sound of his own voice! Is it not too bad? 
 The Letchmeers declare that they think him 
 the only very handsome man they ever saw, 
 so I suppose they will be perfectly contented 
 with this new arrangement. But for us — but 
 for me — " And here the magnificent and much
 
 106 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 too eloquent eyes of the beautiful Adelaide 
 Hxed themselves on his face. 
 
 How the young man might have replied to 
 that look if he had never made acquaintance 
 with Fanny Clarence, it boots not to inquire ; 
 but as it was, he did what it would have been 
 better if his fair companion had done; he 
 coloured, or, in plainer English, he blushed 
 vehemently, and suddenly starting up, he 
 said — 
 
 " Do you think Stormont is going to sing? 
 Then I must go and listen to him." 
 
 This was the first time that William Curtis 
 had ever perfectly succeeded in making Miss 
 Stanberry feel that he was not quite as much 
 in love as herself, and the effect of this success 
 was such as to render the expression of her 
 features, for one short moment, absolutely dia- 
 bolical. She speedily recovered herself, how- 
 ever, and again looked beautiful, despite the 
 dreadful tumult wliich was raging in her 
 breast. No eye hut one had marked that 
 fearful look. The movement of Miss de Mor- 
 ley towards the piano had made her the object 
 to which all attention was directed, save only
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 107 
 
 that of Mr. Cuitis senior. He chanced to be 
 so placed as to see it perfectly. 
 
 Meanwhile Miss de Morley found herself 
 very essentially assisted in making the arrange- 
 ment she desired, by William Curtis's joining 
 her. 
 
 " You are going to make Stormont sing, are 
 you not ?" said he. 
 
 " Yes, I hope so,'' she replied, '' and it will 
 be very kind if you will help me to do it. I 
 will begin playing something, to show, you 
 know, that we intend to be musical, and while 
 I am so engaged you can go to him, and say 
 that my mother will be greatly obliged if he 
 will have the kindness to sing." 
 
 The young man instantly obeyed, and de- 
 livered his message. 
 
 " Does not Miss de Morley sing herself?" 
 inquired Mr. Stormont, in return. 
 
 "No, I believe not," replied Curtis; "at 
 least, I never heard her." 
 
 This testimony, strong as it was, did not 
 appear to satisfy Mr. Stormont, for he imme- 
 diately turned to Mr. Wardoui", who was 
 standing near him, and repeated the inquiry.
 
 108 TATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " I rather think she does," replied Mr. 
 Wardour, smiling. 
 
 " Then why has she never let us hear her?" 
 demanded Curtis, looking rather angry. 
 
 " I hardly know how she could have found 
 time to let you hear her," replied Mr. "War- 
 dour, " for no party noAv is ever given in the 
 neighbourhood without dancing." 
 
 " Confound the dancing !" exclaimed Curtis, 
 very energetically, but fortunately not in a tone 
 loud enough to reach Adelaide, who had placed 
 herself at a distant table with a volume of 
 engravings. Had she heard it, the effort she 
 was then making to control herself would have 
 been utterly vain. 
 
 " Pray use your influence with Miss de 
 Morley, to induce her to sing this evening," 
 said Mr. Stormont, addressing the Rector. 
 " As you have heard her, she cannot plead 
 inability to you." 
 
 " No, she will not plead inability," replied 
 Mr. Wardour, " though I think it very pos- 
 sible she may decline singing, as she has often 
 done before, and that without so severely
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 109 
 
 taxing her veracity, as she must do did she 
 plead inability." 
 
 "Then what will she plead?" demanded 
 William Curtis. 
 
 " The doubt, I believe, whether her singing 
 would be likely to give pleasure," said Mr. 
 Wardour. 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried Curtis. " Mav I tell 
 her, Mr. Stormont, that you have promised to 
 sing, provided she will set you the example?" 
 
 " You may, indeed, Mr. Curtis," replied 
 Stormont; "and I wdll accompany you, in 
 order to confirm the promise in person." 
 
 The bounding movement of the young 
 squire, brought him to Juliana's side a full 
 minute, before the sedater and more graceful 
 step of the elegant Jesuit had taken him half 
 across the room ; and when he reached her, she 
 had received his message, and had risen from 
 the pianoforte to meet him. 
 
 Juliana expected that he would ask her to 
 sing, and fully intended to comply with his 
 request; but although she had never, as yet, 
 in the whole course of her short life, felt the 
 slightest embarrassment in singing, or even
 
 110 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 fancied it possible she could do so, partly be- 
 cause she had no spirit of display in her, and 
 partly, perhaps, from conscious power, she did 
 feel embarrassed now. 
 
 Was it because there were so many ladies 
 and gentlemen assembled who had never heard 
 her sing before? 
 
 No. She might almost be said to be uncon- 
 scious that any one was going to hear her for 
 the first time, except Mr. Stormont. Yet even 
 so, it was from no shyness on his account that 
 she felt embarrassed. It was anxiety, but not 
 shyness. 
 
 Her mother had taught her to sing, and 
 taught her well ; but her musical library, 
 though by no means poor, was totally deficient 
 in the fashionable bravuras of the day. Her 
 great ambition, however, .was to find that 
 somehow or other they might be able to sing 
 together. Her mother's voice was sweet, and 
 well taught, but far from powerful ; and often, 
 in their practisings, they had both felt, and 
 expressed to each other, the wish to find a 
 voice of equal power with that of Juliana,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. Ill 
 
 and of a quality to permit their singing 
 together. 
 
 As yet Juliana was unconscious that the 
 influence of Mr. Stormont on her mind pro- 
 ceeded from any other source than her enthu- 
 siastic admiration for his musical talents, and 
 her earnest wish to profit by practising with 
 him. 
 
 She had trembled from an emotion of new 
 and strange delight from hearing him sing; 
 and now she trembled again from the antici- 
 pation of another new delight — namely, that of 
 singing with him. At least, it was thus that 
 she accounted for it to herself, and the expla- 
 nation was completely satisfactory. 
 
 Juliana's ignorance of life, its passions, its 
 objects, and its manceuvrings, was in very 
 natural and exact proportion to the paucity of 
 the means which she had possessed to become 
 acquainted with them. She was far from 
 being a silly girl, but there were many points 
 on which she was a very ignorant one, and 
 this ignorance now did her good service, for it 
 permitted her to express a part, at least, of 
 what she felt, without the slightest conscious-
 
 112 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 ness that slie was doing anytliing out of the 
 common way by it. 
 
 " Mr. Curtis tells me that you wish me to 
 sing, Mr. Stormont," she said, blushing beau- 
 tifully ; but Avith perfect simplicity she added, 
 " I should like to sing very much, if you will 
 sins with me." 
 
 Father Eustace, perhaps, understood his 
 own feelings quite as little as Juliana under- 
 stood hers. He perceived that she was well 
 inclined to permit the sort of intimacy which 
 he had been most especially commanded to 
 cultivate with her, and for this he felt truly 
 and dutifully glad. But he did not very 
 well understand, why it was that he felt his 
 cheeks burn, and his heart throb, as she looked 
 at him. Some (not very clear) notion that he 
 had not been used to the sort of thing, and 
 that therefore it embarrassed him, suggested 
 itself, and the young Jesuit was perfectly 
 satisfied by this sort of mental explanation. 
 
 After a very short pause for reflection, he 
 replied, " It will give me great pleasure to 
 sing with you, Miss de Morley, but it will 
 scarcely be fair if you do not permit me to
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. H^ 
 
 hear your voice first. You have heard me, 
 you know, and therefore you may be able to 
 form some idea of what we could sing together. 
 Let me hear you once, and then I have no 
 doubt but that we shall be able to arrauire 
 something, in which both may have a part to 
 suit them." 
 
 " Very well," said Juliana, with the most 
 perfect absence of all afiectation ; " I will sing 
 directly." 
 
 And she did sing, and in a manner which 
 made Mr. Stormont feel more strongly than 
 ever the admirable precision with which the 
 reverend and reverenced General of the Com- 
 pany of Jesus obtained information. 
 
 " He told me that the heiress of Cuthbert 
 Castle sang well," thought he. -'Could he 
 have been more correct in his statement had 
 he lived in daily intercourse with her from the 
 hour of her birth?" 
 
 And then they sang together — and then 
 they conversed, perfectly apart and uninter- 
 rupted by any one, on the schools of music 
 with which they were acquainted; the ma- 
 jority of the company, meanwhile, being very 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 114 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 pleasantly engaged in confessing to each other 
 that they really thought the very greatest hove 
 they knew in the world was to liave to listen to 
 old-fashioned music: and if the heiress of the 
 castle had set her heart upon having such an 
 outrageous flirtation with tlie handsome 
 stranger, it would have been a great deal 
 better if she had persuaded her lady mother to 
 invite the young man by himself. 
 
 Although Lady Sarah did not exactly over- 
 hear all this, she seemed to read a good deal 
 of it in the looks of her guests. The four Mr. 
 Eowleys all sat yawning; and their mother 
 looked from one to the other of them, as if she 
 thought they were so many ill-used angels. 
 
 The Lady Letchmeers liad joined them- 
 selves to Adelaide, and Miss Raymond speedily 
 following, the table at which they sat soon 
 became the centre of the malcontents, for the 
 four young ladies quickly attracted the four 
 Eagle's Crag gentlemen, and then the defi- 
 ciencies of the Cuthbert Castle drawing-room 
 were very fully discussed. 
 
 Poor Lady Sarah was greatly distressed. 
 It certainly would not have been very civil
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 115 
 
 to ^h\ Storinont, who had declared decisively 
 that he never danced, had she cut short the 
 singing, in which he so admirably and will- 
 ingly took part, in order to make him play a 
 waltz for those afflicted with the mania, which 
 at that time was rasrino- with alarmino^ violence 
 in all the provinces. She felt the difficulty of 
 doing this so strongly, that even when Lady 
 Setterton asked her if she were afraid of pro- 
 faning the solemnity of her old Catholic castle 
 by letting the young people dance in it, she 
 preferred answering, " Yes," with a sort of 
 stiff smile, to making the attempt. 
 
 Nevertheless, the singing seemed to have 
 come to an end. Either in obedience to orders 
 received, or moved by his own inclination, IMr. 
 Stormont had told Miss de Morley, upon her 
 asking him to sing again, that he had rather not. 
 
 " I do not think," he said, " that the style 
 of music which we both, as I suspect, prefer to 
 all other, is likely to please your present party, 
 and we should enjoy it much more without 
 them.' 
 
 This was so perfectly true, that Juliana, 
 instead of opposing, only answered it by a 
 
 i2
 
 116 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 slight smile, and a gentle inclination of the 
 head. 
 
 And then, no more pleasure of the kind she 
 had just enjoyed being at present within her 
 reach, it is possible that she might have been 
 led, by a wish to be civil, to propose playing 
 the detested waltz, for the gratification of her 
 cross-looking guests, had not Mr. Stormont, 
 at the very moment this amiable idea suggested 
 itself, said to her — 
 
 " How deliirhtful it would be, Miss de 
 Morley, if we could find an organ some- 
 where! I can sing so much better to that 
 than to any other accompaniment. And from 
 the quality of your voice, and the manner of 
 your singing, I think you w^ould like it too." 
 
 Now this was a very Jesuitical speech; for 
 Mr. Stormont knew there was an excellent 
 organ within the walls of the castle, quite as 
 well as Miss de Morley did ; but it was a part 
 of the very detailed instructions he had re- 
 ceived that he should contrive to get this fact 
 communicated to him, and then make such use 
 of it as he should fuid noted in schedule F of 
 the instructions written in cypher. Father
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 117 
 
 Eustace was certainly not a conceited man, 
 and by no means apt to fancy that anything 
 he did was particularly well done; his nearest 
 approach to self-approval usually being ex- 
 pressed mentally in these words, " By the 
 blessing of the holy Loyola, I have obeyed 
 faithfully." But when he saw the beautiful 
 eyes of Juliana beaming with satisfaction, as 
 she listened to the wish he had expressed, and 
 heard her exclaim, with undisguised delight, 
 " We have got an organ in the castle, Mr. Stor- 
 mont!" he thought he had not only obeyed 
 faithfully, but well. 
 
 A half- whispered conversation then followed, 
 in which it was arranged that Mr. Stormont 
 should ride over on the followinsr mornino-, 
 examine the state of the organ, and if it were 
 found lit for use, they should at once enjoy a 
 long practice upon it. 
 
 For a minute or two after Mr. Stormont 
 had used the phrase "fit for use," Juliana 
 made no remark upon it, the reason for which 
 was, that her mother knew nothing about her 
 occasional solitary practisings upon it. She 
 even doubted whether Lady Sarah was aware
 
 118 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 that any such instrument existed in the castle. 
 Juliana herself had scarcely ever entered the 
 library, and never the chapel behind it, till 
 after the death of her father. The instru- 
 ment, when not opened for use, was masked 
 on the side towards the library, by a heavy 
 green damask cui'tain, which being en suite 
 with the curtains both of the windows and 
 doors, might easily have been overlooked by 
 her mother; and her old friend the house- 
 keeper, when she had first taken her into the 
 little chapel, had begged her to say nothing 
 about it to her ladyship, because "all things that 
 made her turn her thoughts back seemed painful." 
 It was for this reason, and because Juliana 
 herself had made the same observation as to 
 the sadness which invariably took possession 
 of her mother's features upon any allusion to 
 things which recalled the memory of her father, 
 that she had so readily complied with Mrs. 
 Hardwood's request, for Juliana was not 
 naturally disposed to mystery; and, also, that 
 when indulging herself in the secret delight of 
 playing on the organ, it was Mrs. Hardwood 
 who used the bellows for her.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 119 
 
 But a feeling greatly stronger than any 
 wliicli had hitherto dictated her secresy re- 
 specting the instrument, now led her to resolve 
 that it should exist no longer ; and she pre- 
 sently said, in reply to Mr. Stormont's doubts 
 as to the state of it, " We will examine it, 
 Mr. Stormont, in order to ascertain whether 
 it be in perfect order. But I know that it is fit 
 for use, for I have often played upon it, though 
 nobody but the old housekeeper knows this, be- 
 cause my mother's spirits cannot stand anything 
 which recalls the memory of my poor father." 
 
 Little did Juliana think, as she said this, that 
 her auditor understood the cause of this shrink- 
 ing from the memory of the past, a great deal 
 better than she did herself. Little did she 
 guess that her mother's sufferings from the 
 gloomy excess of her husband's religious obser- 
 vances, had left the shuddering of past terror, 
 rather than the memory of past affection upon 
 her mind ; and still less did it enter into her 
 imagination to conceive that the young man 
 beside her not only understood her mother's 
 feelings, but from the bottom of his very soul 
 execrated her for them.
 
 120 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 So great, indeed, was the horror and abhor- 
 rence with which the portrait of Lady Sarah, 
 drawn powerfully, and with very effective 
 exaggeration, by Father Ambrose, had im- 
 pressed the youthful and ardent-minded Father 
 Eustace, that no influence short of the autho- 
 rity of his superiors could have induced, or, 
 rather, could have enabled him to treat her 
 with civility. 
 
 But such, and so great, was the power 
 which this all-absorbing duty of obedience 
 exercised upon him, that not only was he civil, 
 but respectful, and not only respectful, but 
 observant ; and every proof of this which he 
 forced himself to display rested upon his con- 
 science, when the trial was over, with the 
 soothing feeling, produced upon the spirit by a 
 good action done, and a great temptation 
 conquered. 
 
 In answer to Juliana's words he said, after 
 the interval of half a moment, " Perhaps your 
 good housekeeper might attend you still. Miss 
 de Morley ? Do not let so innocent a recrea- 
 tion as you propose be rendered culpable by 
 giving your mother pain."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 121 
 
 For an instant an expression bad passed 
 across the features of Father Eustace which 
 had startled Juliana; but it did so only 
 because she did not comprehend it. The pecu- 
 liar beauty, and the peculiar sweetness too, of 
 those matchless features, have been already 
 dwelt upon ; but despite this beauty and this 
 sweetness, they had the power of expressing 
 hatred. Yet no, not hatred either, for his 
 nature, to speak truly, was not capable of that, 
 but something that in him had become stronger 
 than nature had caused the emotion, the 
 expression of which upon his countenance had 
 caused Juliana to start. Had the feeling been 
 genuine hatred, he would probably have 
 wished to have had the object of it in his 
 power. But in the very inmost recesses of 
 his struggling soul there for ever lay a hope, 
 a wish, a prayer, concealed almost from himself, 
 that he might never be called upon to admi- 
 nister the deserved portion of evil upon any of 
 those, whom his superiors commanded him to 
 hate. 
 
 His abhorrence, his truest detestation of such 
 inveterate active heresy as that exhibited by
 
 122 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Lady Sarah de Morley were perfectly genuine, 
 and ever at the command of those who ruled 
 his conscience and his acts; but as for real 
 genuine hatred, poor Edward Stormont never 
 could achieve it. 
 
 This disagreeable expression, however, such 
 as it was, rapidly passed away from his 
 features, and Juliana soon forgot all about it, 
 and only remembered that she was now so happy 
 in the prospect of what was to happen to- 
 morrow, that she might easily aflect a little 
 complaisance for the follies of her guests that 
 night. So, giving a very happy look and nod 
 of acquiescence to what he proposed, she said, 
 "Now, then, Mr. Stormont, I think I have 
 indulged myself, and my own whims, quite 
 sufficiently, and, therefore, with your leave, I 
 will now make the best atonement for doing so 
 that I can, which will be, I believe, by playing 
 those everlasting waltzes till my fingers are 
 too stiff to move." 
 
 " I doubt not that you are right. Miss de 
 Morley," he replied, " and therefore I will 
 steal off as soon as you have set your friends 
 in movement."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 123 
 
 Juliana gave him a very beautiful smile in 
 return, and having gently nodded her farewell, 
 walked back to the pianoforte, without deem- 
 ing it necessary to announce her amiable pur- 
 pose as she passed, being quite aware that no 
 words which she had the power to utter, could 
 be so eloquent in expressing her meaning as 
 the first bar she should play. 
 
 She was quite right. No doubts or diffi- 
 culties were expressed on the subject; and 
 before Father Eustace had fairly got beyond 
 hearing, the whole of the dancing set were as 
 merrily and as vehemently in movement, as 
 it was possible for one pair of hands to put 
 them.
 
 124 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 On the following morning, the two early- 
 rising friends met again in the castle shrub- 
 bery. A few words, and but a few, passed on 
 the subject of the dinner party of the preced- 
 ing day, and then Juliana said, in reply to 
 some very natural question from Fanny, re- 
 specting what had occurred — 
 
 "Stay awhile, my dearest Fanny; before 
 you di-aw me into talking of the events of yes- 
 terday, I will volunteer an observation upon one 
 subject, although it seems the only one on 
 which you are not disposed to question me ; 
 and that is, that it is high time our good 
 friend William Curtis should be released from 
 the persecution of your cousin. The longer 
 things are left in the state they are now, the 
 worse it will be for you all. I never before
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 125 
 
 saw lier so tender, or him, so cold. Tell me, 
 then, in one word, dear Fanny, have you fol- 
 lowed my parting advice, and told your 
 mother everything ?" 
 
 " Miss de Morley, I have !" replied Fanny, 
 almost solemnly; " and I tremble to think of 
 what must happen next. My mother says as 
 you do, Juliana. She says that my unfortu- 
 nate cousin must be undeceived immediately." 
 
 " I was sure she would say so," replied 
 Juliana, " and I rejoice to hear it. Now, then, 
 there will be an end to all this ridiculous 
 mummery, and I shall at last have the comfort 
 of meeting you in society without being afraid 
 to speak to you." 
 
 " Speak to me — meet me in society ! My 
 dearest Miss de Morley, Avhat can you mean? 
 Are you not aware that the very day, the very 
 hour, I should think, in which my cousin 
 Adelaide learns the truth concerning William 
 Curtis, we shall cease to find a home at the 
 Grange? Indeed, indeed, I am most unhappy! 
 Don't believe that I am ungrateful for the 
 happy chance that, so completely in defiance 
 of circumstances, so completely in defiance of
 
 126 FATHER EDSTACE. 
 
 all probability, has made me acquainted with 
 you ; nor shall any false feeling, any artificial 
 reserve, restrain me from saying that I bless 
 Heaven for having made me acquainted with 
 William Curtis too. Perhaps it may seem 
 wrong and indelicate that I should love him so 
 easily. But how can I help loving him? And 
 yet his affection, for which I feel so greatly 
 thankful, may, after all, perhaps, prove the 
 heaviest misfortune of my life." 
 
 " No, Fanny, no !" replied her friend, while 
 both look and voice testified the sincerity of 
 the feeling she expressed — " do not say so. 
 On the contrary, be very sure that not all the 
 other blessings which Heaven could shower 
 upon you, would ever atone for the loss of 
 William Curtis's affection, for you love him, 
 Fanny !" 
 
 " Indeed I do," answered the poor girl ; 
 " and as far as I am concerned, I would far 
 rather die than live to believe that he loved 
 me no longer. Yet for all that. Miss de Mor- 
 ley, it is a great misfortune to have formed an 
 attachment which must deprive my poor suf- 
 fering mother of her only home."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. ' 127 
 
 And tears, which no tender thoughts of re- 
 quited love could stop, ran copiously down the 
 fair face of poor Fanny. 
 
 " You are right, Fanny ; you say truly, my 
 poor dear friend ; and I know not where my 
 common sense has been that I should treat it 
 so lightly; but nevertheless, there may be a 
 cure for it yet. I came to meet you this 
 morning witli my heart brim full of my own 
 little plots and plans," said Juliana, blusliing, 
 *' and full of hope that I should be able to 
 keep my promise to you, and let you hear our 
 first performance upon the organ. But you 
 have chaced all these thoughts by others a 
 thousand times more important. I have made 
 an engagement with Mr. Stormont for this 
 morning," she added, while the colour became 
 yet deeper upon her cheek, " and that I cannot 
 now avoid keeping — but " 
 
 Then suddenly stopping herself, Juliana re- 
 mained apparently lost in thought for some 
 minutes, but at length resumed her speech, by 
 saying, "Fanny! will you give me carte 
 blanche to act as I see best in this affair? I 
 will do nothing without consulting my mother ;
 
 128 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 and if you will trust us, I cannot help'thinking 
 that everything may go well at last. Will you 
 trust me?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I do trust you. I have trusted 
 you, my dearest Miss de Morley, with ever) 
 secret I have in the world!" replied Fanny, 
 innocently. " How can I show greater trust?" 
 
 " But I mean," returned Juliana, smiling, 
 *' to ask if you will trust the management of 
 this very thorny love affair to me?" 
 
 Fanny looked frightened, and replied, with 
 very evident trepidation, " But tell me what 
 it is you mean to do." 
 
 " That I cannot do," replied Miss de Mor- 
 ley, " because I am very far from knowing 
 myself. All I mean to ask of you, my poor, 
 trembling, terrified little bird, is, that if my 
 mother and I, after talking the matter over 
 together, should think that any good might be 
 done by consulting with some of the other 
 parties concerned, we may feel ourselves at 
 liberty to do it? Will you give us leave?" 
 
 " Only promise that the safety and comfort 
 of my dear mother shall ever be the first ob- 
 ject in all you do and say," replied Fanny, "and
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 129 
 
 I will throw myself into your hands implicitly 
 — and, need I say, most gratefully ? But it is 
 Mamma who must be thought of first." 
 
 " Fear nothing on that score, Fanny," re- 
 turned her friend; " I should as soon think of 
 endeavouring to make you happy without your 
 head, as without your mother." 
 
 The conversation had taken a turn too 
 gravely important, to permit any playful pro- 
 posals for Fanny's hiding herself in the chapel 
 to make a part of it ; so no more was said be- 
 tween them on the subject of the organ play- 
 ing, and they parted, without Juliana's having 
 repaid her friend's confidence, by confessing to 
 her any portion of the intense happiness which 
 she anticipated from the projected occupation 
 of the morning. 
 
 There were, however, some few little preli- 
 minaries which it was necessary for the heiress 
 to submit to, before her promised enjoyment 
 began. 
 
 In the first place, she had to tell her good, 
 kind Hardwood that their new neighbour, Mr. 
 Stormont, was coming to play upon the organ, 
 and that she should want somebody to blow 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 130 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 the bellows for her. She had also to tell her 
 mother that she had, upon hearing JMi'. Stor- 
 mont express his regret at having no organ to 
 play upon, proposed his coming to the castle 
 library, in order to try the old instrument 
 there. 
 
 The last-named communication was the one 
 she made first, their tete-d-tete breakfast table 
 being the scene of it. 
 
 Juliana was quite aware that it would be 
 impossible to mention the library without re- 
 calling the idea of her father; for it was in 
 this room that he had passed by far the 
 greater portion of his time during the latter 
 years of his life ; but instead of shrinking from 
 producing, as she feared she must do, a pain- 
 ful sensation by naming the room, she rather 
 rejoiced at the opportunity it would give her 
 of communicating a wish that was very near 
 her heart — namely, that this magnificent room 
 should no longer remain so much deserted. 
 She herself, indeed, often entered it. But she 
 had never yet ventured to confess this; and 
 still less had she ever thought of asking that it 
 might be prepared for daily comfortable use,
 
 FATHER EilSTACE. 131 
 
 by having a fire made in it, a womanish table 
 or two introduced, with such bergeres, foot- 
 stools, and so forth, as might suffice to make 
 it comfortable. And yet this very proposal 
 had often been in her head before it was 
 warmed into activity by this business of the 
 organ playing. 
 
 Hitherto, however, the avowal of it had been 
 checked by the idea, which was considerably 
 strengthened by the opinion of Hardwood, that 
 such an arrangement might, at least at its 
 commencement, be disagreeable to Lady Sarah. 
 But now, the motive being stronger, and the 
 reason for yielding to it more pressing, she 
 decided upon conquering her scruples, and 
 opened the business by saying, " Mother, dear ! 
 I have a boon to bee:." 
 
 "Have you, fair daughter?" replied her 
 ladyship, gaily; "and what may it be?" 
 
 " I want you to grow as fond of our noble 
 old library as I am, and as the best means of 
 obtaining my wish, I am going to beg that you 
 will order a fii-e there, and tell dear, good 
 Hardwood to set her wits to vrork in order to 
 make it look comfortable." 
 
 k2
 
 132 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 There was nothing in the countenance of 
 Lady Sarah as she listened to this that could 
 in any degree tend to confirm the house- 
 keeper's notion, that " the very name of the 
 library was hateful" to her. On the contrary, 
 her reply was spoken both kindly and cheer- 
 fully : " Whether, as a matter of taste, I ad- 
 mire your dark-Avainscoted old library as much 
 as many others may do, signifies little, my 
 dearest Julia; but I assure you I shall rejoice 
 greatly if you grow fond of it. In the first 
 place, it contains a. very noble collection of 
 books, and that alone is reason good why such 
 a one as you are should like to inhabit it. 
 Besides, Avith all its gloom, it is truly stately. 
 I almost doubt whether it be not the noblest- 
 looking room in the house, and, as such, the 
 heiress of Cuthbert ought not to neglect it. I 
 know that it is always a pleasure to old Hard- 
 wood when she can get you to herself for a 
 little while, and therefore I strongly recom- 
 mend your giving all necessary orders about it, 
 yourself." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear mother,'' said Juliana? 
 rising, and kissing her, and perhaps feeling
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 133 
 
 rather ashamed of having fancied that her 
 mother's prejudices could have gone the length 
 of objecting to the use of the fine old room, 
 which had now become so more than ever in- 
 teresting to her. " And now," she said, " now, 
 that you have so kindly afforded your patron- 
 age and support to my venerable pet, I will 
 candidly confess to you the immediate cause 
 of my application. Do you know, dear 
 mother, that there is a very fine old organ in 
 the library?'' 
 
 The daughter blushed a little as she asked 
 the question, and the mother blushed a little 
 as she answered it. But nevertheless she re- 
 plied, very tranquilly, " Yes, Juliana, I know 
 that there is an organ there." 
 
 " Well, then, that organ. Mamma, is the 
 cause of my wishing to make the library habi- 
 table immediately. Mr. Stormont wishes ex- 
 ceedingly to practise some old chants with 
 me, accompanied upon an organ." 
 
 " Old chants !" repeated Lady Sarah, while 
 the slightest possible frown passed over her 
 delicate features. " I doubt if I shall like the 
 old chants better than I do the old library.
 
 134 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 However, Julia, the next time Mr. Stormont 
 dines here, we will contrive to have some 
 music in the library." 
 
 " Nay, dearest mother ! I hope we shall have 
 music in the library before that," replied her 
 daughter. " Mr. Stormont is coming this morn- 
 ing ; and having obtained your permission for 
 getting the room ready, I shall profit by it im- 
 mediately, and go and find Hardwood the very 
 moment you have finished your breakfast." 
 
 Lady Sarah felt a little surprised, perhaps, 
 at the promptness of this arrangement, but she 
 did not say so, and only remarked, that she 
 thought it would be wise not to delay the fire- 
 making, as it was so very long since the room 
 had been opened. 
 
 Juliana did not answer this observation by 
 saying, as she very truly might have done, 
 that no day passed in which the windows were 
 not opened by the housekeeper, and but few 
 in which she herself did not spend an hour or 
 two at a certain commodious reading-table, 
 pkced in the deep recess of a bay window, 
 which looked out upon one of the prettiest 
 points of the park.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 135 
 
 Hardwood had so constantly counselled her 
 not to allude to these library readings when 
 talking to her mother, that the avoiding it had 
 become habitual, and she now only replied by 
 saying, " You shall not stay a moment longer 
 than you like. Mamma, and I hope you will 
 find it quite warm and comfortable." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I dare say I shall," was the 
 reply ; and then, as Lady Sarah requested an- 
 other cup of coffee, Juliana asked herself 
 whether there might not be time, before her 
 library business began, to speak to her mother 
 on the subject of Fanny Clarence. Lady Sarah 
 already knew that the two girls were in the 
 habit of meeting during their morning walk; 
 and also that poor Fanny considered it to be 
 of vital importance to her mother's peace and 
 tranquillity, that the imperious Adelaide should 
 not be made acquainted with the fact that her 
 dependent cousin had dared to form a friend- 
 ship in the neighbourhood, without her being 
 consulted on the subject. 
 
 The misery of dependence upon a woman 
 so weak as Mrs. Stanberry, while ruled by such
 
 136 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 a spirit as that of Adelaide, had often been 
 made the theme of tete-d-tete conversation be- 
 tween Lady Sarah and her daughter, but upon 
 these occasions the name of William Curtis had 
 never been mentioned. 
 
 But now the time was come, and the leave 
 obtained for this important confidence; and 
 much was working in the head of the young 
 heiress, from which she anticipated the most 
 important benefits for her poor friend, pro- 
 vided Lady Sarah could be persuaded to see 
 matters in the same light as herself. But 
 would not her doing so depend upon the judi- 
 cious manner in which the cause was pleaded? 
 And was there time to do justice to it now ? 
 No ! there was not. And there was as much 
 affection, as prudence, in her finally deciding 
 that she would not enter upon the subject till 
 she could do so with no restraint of any kind 
 upon her faculties which might interfere with 
 its success. 
 
 While these thoughts were passing through 
 her mind, the breakfast of her ladyship was 
 brought to a conclusion, and Juliana rose to 
 leave her.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 137 
 
 " At what hour did Mr. Stormont say he 
 would call ?" inquired Lady Sarah. 
 
 " He only said he would ride over in the 
 morning, Mamma," replied Juliana, slightly 
 colouring. " He did not name the hour. But 
 I suppose you are not going out, Mamma? 
 You will be ready to receive him whenever he 
 comes, will you not?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly I shall. And if Mr. War- 
 dour should happen to be here, which it is very 
 likely he may be, I presume there would be no 
 objection to his hearing the organ too?" said 
 Lady Sarah. 
 
 What it was which jarred against the feel- 
 ings of Juliana in this speech might be doubt- 
 ful. It might be, that she had observed, or 
 fancied so, something like a shade of coldness 
 in the manners of INIr. Stormont towards the 
 Eector ; or it might be, that she was beginning 
 to think that Mr. Wardour could hardly be 
 more constantly at the castle, if he were flat- 
 tering himself with the hope of healing all the 
 wounds inflicted on his heart by the tender 
 passion, during the early part of his life, by 
 falling in love with her mother in his maturity.
 
 138 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Perhaps both came into her head side by side ; 
 but even if it were so, she did not permit 
 herself to dwell upon either ; for gaily replying, 
 " Oh dear, no, Mamma ! no objection in the 
 world !" she left the room, in order to seek the 
 old housekeeper, and was much too happy 
 in the task of preparing everything for the 
 musical treat she anticipated, to have a 
 moment's leisure left for meditating upon what 
 was disagreeable.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Mrs. Hardwood, the housekeeper at Ciith- 
 bert Castle, was a tall, intelligent, well-looking 
 woman, of about fifty-five years of age. Her 
 mother had held the same situation there before 
 her, and it was in the castle that she had been 
 born and educated. She had never married, 
 and had filled the successive situations of 
 nursery attendant upon the bonne who had 
 enjoyed the honour of bringing to school -boy 
 maturity the late Hichard Randolphe de 
 Morley ; then, that of laundiy-maid ; then, that 
 of upper housemaid ; and, finally, of mistress of 
 the household, to which dignity she had just 
 attained by the death of her mother, when Mr. 
 de Morley brought Lady Sarah to the castle 
 as his bride. To say that Mrs. Hardwood 
 was an honest, and faithful servant, would
 
 140 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 scarcely be doing her justice. Her honesty was 
 of a kind which certainly had never suggested 
 to her own mind any feeling of self-satisfaction, 
 from the consciousness it gave of possessing a 
 virtue ; it was so essentially a part of herself, 
 that she would have been as likely to exalt 
 herself in her own esteem, on account of being 
 healthy as of being honest ; and to say she was 
 faithful, but weakly expresses the devotion 
 she felt for the race in whose service she had 
 passed her life. 
 
 How it happened that so old and highly- 
 esteemed a servant of the Catholic De Morleys 
 could have become one of the most constant 
 attendants upon the Protestant services in the 
 village church, shall be explained hereafter; 
 but certain it is, that Lady Sarah de Morley, 
 who was far from being inattentive to the cir- 
 cumstance, esteemed her for none of her excel- 
 lent qualities more highly than for the unvary- 
 ing regularity of her attendance at church. 
 
 To the private sitting-room of this attached 
 old servant Miss de Morley now hastened; 
 and with the kind familiarity which, when 
 once established between the honoui*ed retainer
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 141 
 
 of a family and one of its young members, is 
 never forgotten, unless there be a fault on one 
 side or the other, she sat down beside the little 
 table at which Mrs. Hardwood was occupied, 
 and addressed her more as if she had been her 
 child than her mistress. 
 
 " My dear Hardwood, I hope you will 
 not tell me that you are almost too busy, 
 as you did the other day, when I wanted 
 you to blow the organ for me; because 
 this morning I must have it blown for I know 
 not how long! for whole hours, I hope! 
 However, dear old woman, there will be 
 no occasion for you to fatigue yourself, as 
 I am afraid you have done sometimes at this 
 work, by your too patient love for me. There 
 will be no occasion for your doing so to-day; 
 for, thank Heaven I all mystery on the subject 
 is over. Mamma is coming herself to hear the 
 organ played, so you may send for anybody 
 you please to help you, when you get tired. 
 Only I should like for you to begin, that w^e 
 may not have any blundering or bustle at first 
 setting off." 
 
 " Lady Sarah going into the library !" said
 
 142 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Hardwood, looking for half an instant more 
 surprised than pleased. 
 
 She immediately recovered her usually 
 placid look, however, and added, " How did 
 you contrive, my dear, to conquer her repug- 
 nance?" 
 
 " Oh ! I hope all that is over now. Hard- 
 wood," replied Juliana, " and I shall be very 
 glad of it. I do so greatly wish that she 
 should look back to all the conduct of my poor 
 father with the same feeling that I have 
 myself. I know she was unhappy, but from all 
 I remember ever since I began to observe at 
 all ; and from many things that I have heard 
 you say yourself, Hardwood, I feel only too 
 sure that he was not less unhappy than she 
 was ; and besides that, I never can, and never 
 will forget that he never did anything but what 
 he thought was right." 
 
 " If ever a truly good man was permitted 
 to abide on earth, Miss de Morley, trust me, 
 your departed father was such," said the old 
 women, solemnly. " But I greatly fear," she 
 added, "that her ladyship will never be 
 brought to take this into consideration, when
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 143 
 
 her thoughts turn back to the days that are 
 gone. I even doubt, my dear, whether it 
 would be wise in you to argue with her on 
 the subject." 
 
 " I never do. Hardwood," replied Juliana. 
 " It is not by arguing with her, I assure you, 
 that I have prevailed upon her to accompany 
 me to the library to»day. But the fact is, 
 Mrs. Hardwood, I could not go there myself 
 to-day, unless she went also, for — " and here 
 the young lady's delicate complexion became 
 considerably redder than usual — " for there is 
 a gentleman going there too." 
 
 It was now the good housekeeper's turn to 
 blush, which she did to a degree that, being 
 conscious of it herself, made her feel embar- 
 rassed, and she got up and walked to the 
 window, as if looking for something on the seat 
 of it, which, as she did not find, she went still 
 farther away in pursuit of it. 
 
 "What are you trotting after, Hardwood?" 
 cried Juliana, reproachfully. " It is very bad 
 of you, when I come here on purpose to con- 
 sult you, that you should run away im- 
 mediately."
 
 144 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " I beg your pardou a thousand times, ray- 
 dear young lady," replied the good woman, 
 returning to her place; "but you know, 
 my dear, that I cannot live without my snuff- 
 box. And what was it. Miss de Morley, that 
 you were going to say to me, in the way of 
 consulting, as you are pleased to call it?" 
 
 " Why, I want to know whether you think 
 Mamma would like the room better, if we Avere 
 to remove that chair, you know, and the read- 
 ing desk, at which my poor father passed so 
 many hours? I would wish to do everything 
 possible. Hardwood, to prevent her feeling un- 
 comfortable in that room. The organ is such 
 a delight, you know !" 
 
 " Yes, Miss de Morley, it is a noble instru- 
 ment, and it is something more than a delight, 
 it is an improvement, my dear young lady; 
 I shall rejoice with all my heart if you take to 
 the using it constantly. I think that your 
 poor Papa, if he could look upon you out of 
 heaven, my dear, would be all the happier for 
 seeing it." 
 
 The beautiful countenance of Juliana grew 
 pensive as she listened to these words, and for
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 145 
 
 several minutes slie remained silent. She had 
 never forgotten, never fully recovered from 
 the effect produced on her imagination by the 
 tremendous words of Father Ambrose, wherein 
 he so solemnly declared that it was in her 
 power to shorten, or to prolong the period of 
 suffering which must of necessity be her father's 
 portion in a future life, as the punishment 
 for sin committed in this. 
 
 The total silence preserved by Lady Sarah 
 on the subject of Father Ambrose, and of all 
 he had said at the time he had asked for and 
 obtained the casket of jewels, had greatly con- 
 tributed to render the recollection of it perma- 
 nent on the mind of Juliana. Had the transac- 
 tion been freely discussed between the mother 
 and daughter — had Lady Sarah fully and freely 
 explained to Juliana her reasons for doubting 
 the efficacy of post-obit intercession, and if 
 Juliana in return, had as fully and freely ex- 
 plained to her mother the species of supersti- 
 tious tremor whicli the idea of such awful re- 
 sponsibility suggested, the state of the young 
 heiress's mind would have been very different. 
 But as it was, the subject, or, more properly 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 146 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 speaking, tlie vague images suggested by her 
 uncommunicated meditations on it, rested 
 painfull}'" upon her spirits. No fete that could 
 have been proposed to her would have ap- 
 peared one hundredth part so agreeable as the 
 being permitted to listen to a conclave of 
 learned clergymen, engaged in discussing the 
 value, or no value, of the prayers of the living 
 for the repose of the dead. 
 
 But all her thoughts on the subject, and 
 they were very nearly as visionary as it was 
 possible for ignorance to make them, had been 
 of necessity confined to her own bosom. Lady 
 Sarah having ever most carefully avoided the 
 subject, for two reasons. The first consisted 
 of a sort of general and habitual persuasion, 
 that the less she alluded, in the presence of 
 her daughter, to the Eoman-catholic religion, 
 and all which it had caused her to suffer, the 
 better it would be for them both. The second 
 arose from the feeling, that if she expressed 
 any opinion at all on the subject of the casket, 
 and Father Ambrose's manner of obtaining 
 possession of it, there might be considerable 
 danger of Juliana's thinking that she blamed 
 her for the part she had taken.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 147 
 
 That her ladyship did think her daughter's 
 conduct upon that occasion had been indicative 
 of more softness of temper, than strength of 
 mind, is certain; but, nevertheless, she was 
 very far from wishing to express anything that 
 might be construed into blame for what she 
 had done. 
 
 This reserve, however, was most unfortunate 
 in every way; for it not only made the soli- 
 tary girl feel that her mother was not in all 
 respects on confidential terms with her, but it 
 produced, inevitably, the effect which brooding 
 upon a subject in secret always must do. Its 
 importance became magnified by its nearness 
 and isolation^ and the consequence was, that 
 Juliana de Morley, though a carefully educated 
 Protestant, had her head perpetually filled with 
 thoughts of Purgatory, and the possible effect 
 of earnest prayer to shorten the period of 
 its duration to departed friends. 
 
 The image, therefore, suggested by the words 
 of the old housekeeper, of her father looking 
 down upon her from heaven, caused an emotion 
 that for some moments kept her silent; and 
 when she spoke again, it was not to answer 
 
 L 2
 
 148 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 lier, but to say, " You will go into the room 
 yourself, then. Hardwood, if you please, and 
 do the best you can to make it look clieerful 
 and comfortable." 
 
 Her old servant did not attempt to prolong 
 the conversation, but replied, " I will, Miss de 
 Morley." And then Juliana left her, feeling 
 certain that the library would be made ready 
 to receive, not only Mr. Stormont, but her 
 mother also ; and that it Avould be treason to 
 poor Fanny Clarence, if she any longer delayed 
 to make her intended appeal to the judgment 
 of Lady Sarah on the singular, and most em- 
 barrassing situation of her affairs. 
 
 *' If I can do this, and do it well," thought 
 she, " before he comes, my conscience will be 
 at rest on the subject of my poor friend, and 
 I shall be able to enjoy the hours that will 
 follow, more completely, perhaps, than I have 
 ever yet enjoyed anything."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 149 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Ox re-entering the drawing-room, Juliana 
 found that her mother was no longer alone, for 
 Mr. Wardour was sitting with her. 
 
 Her first feeling upon perceiving him was 
 that of disappointment, as there was now no 
 chance of her finding herself alone with Lady- 
 Sarah before the arrival of Mr. Stormont, and 
 having received, and returned his friendly salu- 
 tation, she retreated to a Avindow, in order to 
 meditate upon the possibility of getting her 
 mother out of the room. 
 
 But ere this meditation had lasted long, it 
 occurred to her that the advice of the Rector 
 might be still more valuable than that of her 
 mother, inasmuch as he knew the parties infi- 
 nitely better, and was, moreover, much more 
 likely to be a useful agent in any application
 
 150 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 which it might be deemed advisable to make 
 to auy of them, than either her mother, or 
 perhaps any other person whatever, could hope 
 to be. 
 
 No sooner had this very rational idea sug- 
 gested itself than she acted upon it, and turn- 
 ing round, addressed both her companions at 
 once in these words — " Will you have the great 
 kindness to listen to me while I tell you a 
 secret, which is no jest, I assure you, but 
 which, on the contrary, is of the very deepest 
 importance to one whom I dearly love ?" 
 
 There was such an unusual degree of earnest 
 eagerness in Juliana's manner, as she said this, 
 that Mr. Wardour rose, and kindly taking her 
 hand, said, " Tell me truly, my dear Miss de 
 Morley, whether you really wish me to hear 
 what you are going to say, or whether the 
 accident of my having called at so unusually 
 early an hour, may not, in some degree, have 
 compelled you to admit of my presence ?" 
 
 " At the fii'st moment of my finding you 
 here," replied Juliana, smiling, "I certainly 
 wished you away ; but a moment's reflection 
 has convinced me that your being here is very
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 151 
 
 fortunate, and will probably save your being 
 sent for express ; for what I have got to say 
 requires very grave counsel upon it, and I 
 know no human being besides my mother that 
 I should think it right to consult, but yourself." 
 
 " In that case," replied the Rector, re-seating 
 himself, " I will listen to you as patiently as 
 ever you did to me.'' 
 
 " But what is it, my dear child, that you 
 have got to say to us?" demanded Lady Sarah, 
 anxiously ; " you look agitated." 
 
 "No, dear mother, not quite agitated, I 
 hope, or I shall not be able to do my strange 
 tale justice; but I am deeply, deeply interested, 
 and I shall be woefully disappointed if you do 
 not become so too." 
 
 And then the fair narrator began to give the 
 strange history of Mr. William Curtis's love 
 for Fanny, and Fanny's love for him, beginning 
 from the thoughtless words by which she had 
 herself awakened the young man's ciu'iosity, 
 and ending exactly where poor Fanny herself 
 had ended on that very morning. 
 
 Both her auditors were already aware that 
 the few whispered words which had been ex-
 
 152 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 changed at the pianoforte between her and the 
 mysteriously unknown niece of j\Irs. Stanberry 
 had ripened into an intimacy, which had been 
 fostered on the part of Miss de Morley, by pri- 
 vately facilitating her admission to the Cuth- 
 bert shrubberies ; but beyond this, ]\Ir. Wardour 
 knew nothing, and Lady Sarah very little. 
 
 A very few moments, however, now put 
 them both in possession of all the strange and 
 miserable circumstances which had rendered 
 the sisterly hospitality of T\Irs. Stanberry a 
 source of so much lamentable suffering to her 
 niece. 
 
 And then came the question as to what it 
 would be best to do in order to put an end to 
 a persecution so every way intolerable, and 
 without, if it were possible to avoid it, de- 
 priving the unfortunate Mrs. Clarence of the 
 only provision that was left lier. On this 
 part of the subject, indeed, Juliana was very 
 positive, declaring that the one paramount 
 condition upon whicli Fanny Chirence had 
 placed the management of her affairs in her 
 hands, was that her mother's well-being should 
 be the first object cared for.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 153 
 
 " But most unfortunately," said Mr. War- 
 dour, " this condition, in my opinion, renders 
 every effort that can be made to serve this 
 poor girl a breach of promise to her. I am 
 sorry to say, Miss de Morley, that I already 
 know the imperious character of the beautiful 
 Adelaide too well, to entertain the slightest 
 hope of persuading her to suffer her rival to 
 remain under the same roof with her a single 
 hour after she becomes convinced that she is 
 such. The love of Miss Stanberry has long 
 been known to me, and to pretty nearly every 
 one else in our little circle, except the gay and 
 unsuspicious object of it ; and the lamentable 
 self-delusion in which she is lapped on this 
 subject is such, that even if no such person as 
 your friend Fanny Clarence existed, I should 
 be terrified at the idea of her discovering the 
 truth. Yet discover it soon she must, and 
 this, too, is a fact of which I was quite aware 
 before I heard your communication. Miss de 
 Morley; for though quite unsuspicious of 
 Curtis's attachment elsewhere, I knew that 
 she was utterly mistaken in supposing that he 
 loved her. When he first returned from Italy,
 
 154 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 he was mucli struck with her beauty, and un- 
 fortunately made no scruple of letting the 
 young lady herself perceive this ; but even on 
 this point he seems lately to have changed his 
 mind, for 1 heard him say the other day, that 
 he w^as sadly afraid the magnificent Adelaide 
 would soon lose all her beauty, she was grow- 
 ing so very coarse. But let the discovery 
 come upon her as it will, I really dread the 
 result !" 
 
 " Dread it, Mr. Wardour !" said Lady Sarah, 
 laughing, " what can you mean ? Do you 
 suppose the young lady will go mad? — or do 
 you think she will avenge herself on the too 
 captivating youth by a dagger or a bowl ?'' 
 
 " I think, Lady Sarah," he replied, very 
 gravely, " that there is nothing which you can 
 suggest which I should deem impossible, in the 
 way of despair and vengeance. I have watched 
 the tremendous flashings of her Ijeautiful eye, 
 and, moreover, she once did me the honour of 
 entering into a long discussion with me on the 
 irresponsibility of persons born with strong 
 passions, wherein she very ably demonstrated 
 that, by the nature of things, what is a crime
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 155 
 
 in one human being, is no crime in another. 
 In short, I give you my word, without any 
 mixture of jest, that I think the vengeance of 
 such a girl as Adelaide Stanherry may be 
 something frightful." 
 
 " Must we do nothing, then ?" cried Juliana, 
 greatly disappointed. " Must that sweet, good, 
 interesting little creature, Fanny Clarence, go 
 on living as if she were a felon escaped from 
 prison, who, as the newspapers tell us, are 
 obliged to cut off their hair, and submit to all 
 sorts of disguises, in order to keep themselves 
 unknown? Is it not monstrous, Mamma?" 
 
 '"''Most monstrous!'' replied her mother. 
 " But although I am sure you are serious, Mr. 
 Wardour," she continued, " in declaring that 
 this terrible young lady would be likely to 
 permit herself to do all the mischief she could, 
 in case she wished it, I do not suppose you are 
 under any very serious alarm for the life and 
 safety of our good friend Curtis. You do not 
 seriously suppose, do you, that she is likely to 
 assassinate him?" 
 
 " Why, no, Lady Sarah; when you put it to 
 me in that particularly matter-of-fact style, I
 
 156 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 do not tliink that, in honest sincerity, I can say- 
 that I am in any very great alarm for the 
 safety of my greatly esteemed young friend, 
 William Curtis ; but if you ask me, in the same 
 manner, what I think of Mrs. Clarence's chance 
 of remaining with her daughter, under the 
 shelter of the same roof that has the honour of 
 protecting the magnificent ^liss Stanberry, 
 after the attachment of William shall be made 
 known, I as fairly answer, none ! — none what- 
 ever ! I would bet my existence that, let poor 
 foolish Mrs. Stanberry do what she would to 
 prevent it, they would both be sent off as fast 
 as post-horses could take them." 
 
 " Thank you," said Lady Sarah, " you have 
 been explicit exactly in the manner I wished 
 and wanted. And now I will tell you mt/ 
 plan. I vote that I should innnediately call 
 upon Mrs. Stanberry, and tell her. that having 
 heard her sister is suffering from chronic rheu- 
 matism in her limbs, I have come to entreat 
 that she will do me the favour of passing a 
 week or ten days with my daughter and myself 
 at the castle, for the purpose of trying the 
 effect of the warm baths for which we have
 
 PATHER EUSTACE. 157 
 
 such excellent accommodation here. We may 
 even plead, you know, the superstitious rever- 
 ence which used to prevail respecting the 
 virtues of the well from which the bath is 
 supplied, a superstition, by the way, that has 
 been so long prevalent, that it has left behind 
 it, with many people, a strong persuasion that 
 there must be some medicinal virtue in the 
 water. Do you not think that it would be 
 very difficult for J\Irs. Stanberry to refuse 
 conveying such a message as this to her sister ? 
 And do you not think, also, that it would be 
 very easy so to prepare the mind of Mrs. 
 Clarence, by tlie influence of her daughter, as 
 to make her at once accept it?" 
 
 " For that I will undertake to answer," said 
 Juliana, eagerly. " I cannot thank you enough, 
 my dearest mother," she added, " for the cor- 
 dial kindness with which you espouse the 
 cause of my poor friend ; and to you, also, Mr. 
 Wardour, to you we owe many thanks, for 
 giving light to our path, and strength to our 
 counsels; and amongst us, I do begin greatly 
 to hope that we shall find means to rescue this 
 dear girl from the power of her tyrant cousin."
 
 158 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " Be very sure of it," returned Lady Sarah; 
 " I liate tyranny and oppression wherever I 
 find them, and assuredly they appear to wear 
 rather a more hideous aspect than usual in 
 this case. But you have not yet heard half 
 my scheme, Julia. When we have got the 
 poor helpless mother and daughter safely lodged 
 within our castle, I will undertake, if this 
 committee sanction the measure, to introduce 
 them both in a proper style to the Curtis 
 family, and this once done, I think we may 
 safely venture to let the double love aJBfair 
 work itself on to its own catastrophe. If poor 
 dear doting ]Mrs. Stanberry should have 
 strength, by tlie joint aid of her sisterly affec- 
 tion, and her honourable dignity, so far to do 
 battle with lier awful daughter, as to insist 
 upon still offering an asylum to Mrs. Clarence 
 and Fanny, till such time as they shall no 
 longer want it, so much the better. In that 
 case, you know, the whole of this most absurd 
 affair may be buriqd in oblivion; but should 
 this be too much for her strength, we must 
 somehow or other contrive to do for her what 
 she cannot do for herself. The Clarences must 
 
 /
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 159 
 
 remain our guests, Julia, must they not, till 
 we have given our friend William Curtis fair 
 time and opportunity to bring his romance to 
 a happy conclusion? We all know that he 
 has no great reason to fear any very insur- 
 mountable difficulties at home." 
 
 The only reply of Juliana to this equally 
 kind and spirited proposal, was given by her 
 suddenly darting across the room, and enfold- 
 ing her happy mother in a fond embrace. 
 Though deeply affectionate, Juliana was too 
 quiet in her manner to be often demonstrative, 
 and the joyous warmth of this grateful caress 
 was the more Avelcome because it was unex- 
 pected. The conversation continued but for 
 a few minutes longer, before it was interrupted, 
 but these few minutes were enough to arrange 
 all their future plans. Juliana promised to 
 meet her friend on the following morning, and 
 to give her the necessary instructions for pre- 
 paring her mother for what was to follow ; and 
 Mr. Wardour agreed to call on Mrs. Stanberry 
 as soon as Lady Sarah's invitation had been 
 given, in order to open a conversation with 
 her on the subject, that he might impress upon
 
 160 TATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 her mind the great efficacy of warm batliing in 
 such a complaint as that from whicli Mrs. 
 Clarence was suffering. 
 
 It was at the moment when a gay laugh was 
 following Lady Sarah's injunctions to him t) 
 he eloquent upon this theme, that the door 
 opened, and Mr. Stormont was announced.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 161 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It -was fortunate for Juliana that the con- 
 versation in wliich she had been engaged was 
 of so interesting a nature. It perfectly ac- 
 counted to both her companions for the strik- 
 ing change of complexion, and unusually em- 
 barrassed manner, which followed this an- 
 nouncement. But there was something in the 
 address of Mr. Stormont which rendered it al- 
 most impossible that any one should long feel 
 embarrassed by his presence. He immediately 
 spoke of the object of his visit, and asked Ju- 
 liana if she were now at leisure to take him to 
 her organ, with an air of so much simplicity, 
 that it seemed the most natural thing in the 
 world for her to answer in the affirmative, and 
 to set about complying with his request di- 
 rectly. 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 162 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Under any other circumstances, Juliana 
 would not have failed to remember how many 
 years and how many events had passed, since 
 her mother had last entered the room to which 
 she now led her. But at that moment, it 
 must be confessed, that she thought of nothing 
 but the organ, and of the performer whose 
 voice and finger were to give it life. This 
 complete pre-occupation prevented her also 
 from observing that Mrs. Hardwood had not 
 displayed any great skill in so changing the 
 aspect of the room, as to lessen the painful 
 emotions likely to be produced by her re- 
 entering it. 
 
 Mr. Wardour, however, who was by the 
 side of Lady Sarah, perceived that she turned 
 very pale, and whispered in her ear, " Do not 
 go on!" But she shook her head, without 
 either speaking or looking at him, and walking 
 rather rapidly forward towards the fire-place, 
 seated herself in a chair that stood near it. 
 
 That there was something antipathetic be- 
 tween the Eector and Mr. Stormont, was at 
 this moment very evident ; for otherwise it is 
 impossible but that the former would, as the
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 163 
 
 old friend of the family, and honorary libra- 
 rian of the castle, have volunteered some little 
 attention to the latter upon his first visit to 
 this very interesting part of the premises ; but 
 instead of this, Mr. Wardour remained standing 
 beside her ladyship, partly occupied in im- 
 proving the fire, and partly in urging, in a ver}'' 
 low whisper, the great want of wisdom which 
 would be displayed if she permitted herself to 
 remain for a moment in the room, if the doins: 
 so made her feel cold, or in any way uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 For a moment, Juliana perceived this 
 strongly marked want of observance with vexa- 
 tion; but in the next she totally forgot it, 
 for Mr. Stormont immediately made his way 
 to the dark curtain, and instantly applying his 
 hand to the cord which drew it aside, disclosed 
 the keys of the instrument, which were opened 
 ready to his touch, and without pausing for a 
 moment, he sat down, and caused such a misrht^- 
 stream of harmony to swell through the lofty 
 room, as never before had blessed the ears of 
 the astonished and entranced Juliana. 
 
 Even the languid spirits of Lady Sarah 
 
 M 2
 
 164 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 were roused to admiration, by sounds so unex- 
 pected and inspiring; nor could the assumed 
 apathy of Mr. Wardour resist them long ; he 
 looked at Lady Sarali, and she at him, with a 
 degree of wonder that almost approached 
 alarm. " Who and what is he?" she ex- 
 claimed; but Mr. Wardour, who alone heard 
 her, only replied, by repeating, perhaps un- 
 consciously, her words. 
 
 But when the seemingly inspired performer 
 added his magnificent voice to the charm he 
 was throwing over them, the emotions he pro- 
 duced were stronger still. 
 
 Solemn, slow, and most divinely sweet, 
 were the notes he breathed. The words were 
 Latin; but none there could fail to discover 
 that it was a requiem for the dead. 
 
 Why he should have chosen such a subject 
 for his first performance on the instrument, 
 was a question which at that moment neither 
 of his auditors seemed at leisure to ask them- 
 selves or each other. The silence was as per- 
 fect as that of the grave itself; and the long- 
 drawn sigh by which each bosom relieved it- 
 self when he ceased, spoke more eloquently
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 165 
 
 than any words could have done, how power- 
 ful had been the effect which he had produced 
 upon them. 
 
 But this was not the only result of it. The 
 face of Juliana was as pale as marble ; and her 
 beautiful features, Avhich remained fixed as if 
 she were listening still, might have indeed 
 been well compared to some chef cToeuvre of 
 the sculptor's art, but that the fast-falling 
 tears attested her living power to feel. 
 
 Lady Sarah, too, was pale, and though she 
 did not weep, she trembled. 
 
 In truth, either from cold or from emotion, 
 she shook in every limb ; and Mr. Wardour, 
 who was near enough to perceive it, although 
 her daughter was not, earnestly entreated 13 er 
 to go back to the drawing-room. 
 
 For a minute or two she refused to listen to 
 him, but at last she rose, and, taking his arm, 
 she approached Juliana, and said, " Excuse 
 me, dearest, if I leave you for a minute or two. 
 I will come back again directly." 
 
 Had Juliana been in an ordinary state of 
 mind, she would unquestionably have accompa- 
 nied her, for in that case, the idea of her
 
 166 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 being ill would doubtless have occurred to lier ; 
 but now no such thought even entered her 
 head; and merely saying, probably without 
 looking in her face, " Don't stay long ! — he 
 v/ill sing again !" she turned her eyes towards 
 the instrument, as if there, and there only, 
 could be found anything capable of recalling 
 to earth the faculties which had almost seemed 
 to follow its sounds to heaven. 
 
 But till Lady Sarah and the Rector had 
 left the room, and closed the door behind them, 
 Mr. Stormont neither moved from the organ, 
 nor touched it. But when they were gone, he 
 fu'st caused a few solemn chords to breathe 
 their spirit upon the air, and then rose and 
 approached Miss de Morley. 
 
 There was nothing in the state of Juliana's 
 feelings at that moment in the least degree 
 resembling shyness, or that species of embar- 
 rassment which young ladies sometimes appear 
 to feel when left tete-d-tete with young gen- 
 tlemen. No idea that her mother was ill 
 having entered her head, she felt glad of her 
 absence, for she greatly wished to ask Mr. 
 Stormont what it was which had induced him to
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 167 
 
 commence their experiments upon the organ 
 by a requiem. 
 
 As he drew near her, she rose also, and 
 waving him back again to the place he had 
 left, she said, " I will not deny, IMr. Stormont, 
 that you have produced from our old organ 
 by far the most delightful sounds I have ever 
 listened to; yet, nevertheless, I am half in- 
 clined to reproach you for having awakened 
 our feelings by a strain of such sad solemnity. 
 Nevertheless," she added, with a smile, as 
 beautiful as ever curled a young girl's lip — 
 " nevertheless, I shall feel well inclined to for- 
 give you if you consent — not to obliterate 
 the impression, for indeed I would not have it 
 obliterated for the world — but if you consent 
 to sing again, something less overwhelmingly 
 solemn in its harmony." 
 
 The eyes of Mr. Stormont were lixed upon 
 her as she said this, and indeed it could hardly 
 be otherwise, for she stood immediately before 
 him, and at no great distance. What he thought 
 of that fair face, it boots not to inquire ; but 
 almost before she had ceased to speak, he 
 turned away, and said, advancing towards the
 
 168 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 point wliicli be indicated v/itli his finger — 
 " That, dear Miss de Morley, must lead to a 
 room behind the instrument; let us enter it, 
 to examine the bellows." 
 
 And without waiting for her reply, he 
 stepped rapidly forward. 
 
 She, too, walked on beside him, and thej 
 entered the little chapel together. 
 
 Juliana was about to say something to him 
 respecting the decoration of the room, and in 
 explanation of its sacred character, when she 
 was startled by seeing him turn toAvards the 
 little altar, and cross himself. 
 
 If, instead of the heiress of Cuthbert, it had 
 been her mother who thus unexpectedly found 
 herself the spectator of this popish ceremony, 
 the effect of it would have been very different. 
 Lady Sarah would probably have turned away 
 and left the chapel, without attempting to dis- 
 guise the disagreeable impression which every- 
 thing that recalled "the ancient faith" was 
 sure to produce on her. But no feeling of this 
 sort was either expressed or felt by Juliana. 
 On the contrary, no one could have looked at 
 her at that moment, without perceiving that
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 169 
 
 this unexpected action impressed her with as 
 much solemnity, and reverence, as surprise. 
 Her whole aspect was immediately changed by 
 it. She suddenly drew back, as if to avoid the 
 danger of interfering in any way with an act 
 of devotion ; her hands seemed spontaneously 
 to cross themselves on her bosom, and she 
 bowed her head and fixed her eyes upon the 
 ground. 
 
 How much of this unmistakeable feeling of 
 reverence was perceived by J\lr. Stormont, it 
 might be difficult to say. There certainly are 
 some individuals who see a great deal more of 
 what is passing round them than "other 
 some," and it is possible that Mr. Stormont 
 misfht be one of these. Certain it is, that 
 after the duration of about a moment of very 
 solemn silence, he turned round, and held out 
 his hand to her, while his eyes fixed them- 
 selves on her face with an expression of aftec- 
 tionate interest, that seemed to claim her as a 
 friend. 
 
 Juliana frankly placed her hand in his, but 
 said, as she did so —
 
 170 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " I must not let you mistake me, Mr. Stor- 
 mont: I have been bred a Protestant." 
 
 " I am aware of it, Miss de Morley !" he 
 replied, with a deep, but seemingly suppressed 
 sigh ; " and you are now aware that I, on th-i 
 contrary, am of the faith in which your father 
 lived and died." 
 
 Juliana felt embarrassed. She knew not 
 how to answer him. She could not, she dared 
 not, say that he was the more interesting to 
 her on that account ; and yet, had she said it, 
 she would but have spoken truly. 
 
 The Protestant zeal of Lady Sarah had, un- 
 questionably, a dash of bitterness in it — the 
 result, and the perfectly natural result, of all 
 she had suffered in consequence of her unfor- 
 tunate marriage with one of a different per- 
 suasion. The unbending truthfulness of her 
 character had led her rather to display this 
 bitterness, than to conceal it ; and the effect of 
 this upon the feelings of her daughter was as 
 nearly as possible the exact reverse of what 
 she most resolutely purposed, and most earn- 
 estly wished it should be.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 171 
 
 The impression left upon Juliana's mind by 
 all she remembered of her father was, not that 
 he was a bad man, (which assuredly he was 
 not,) but a very unhappy one. And this idea, 
 to such a temper as hers, could not fail of being 
 productive of a degree of pitying tenderness, 
 which effectually softened every feeling of re- 
 ligious animosity, 'and left her greatly more 
 disposed to mourn at the severity of the oppo- 
 sition with which his opinions had been met, 
 than to lend herself cordially to the doctrines 
 which had produced it. 
 
 But, nevertheless, no idea of adopting the 
 religious opinions of her father had ever, for 
 a moment, suggested itself to her. She never 
 had been heard to utter a syllable expressive 
 of reprobation or contempt concerning the 
 Eoman-catholic religion, or any of its obser- 
 vances ; but as yet she had gone no farther. 
 The only point whereon her thoughts had ever 
 dwelt, with anything approaching a spirit of 
 controversy, was that which had been suggested 
 by the earnest demand of Father Ambrose for 
 the jewels which were to purchase masses for 
 the repose of her father's soul.
 
 172 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Her mind, certainly, on that occasion, more 
 free from prejudice than her mother's, had 
 received a strong impression of the sincerity 
 of the old priest's disinterestedness when he 
 pleaded for the possession of the casket she 
 had bestowed upon him; and altogether she 
 had been left with an impression that there 
 was something very soothing in the belief that 
 any service Avithin the power of the living to 
 tender, might avail to shorten the painful pro- 
 bation of those they had lost. 
 
 In short, no hostile, no painful feeling of any 
 kind, was generated in the mind of Juliana by 
 this accidental discovery of the faith of her 
 nev/ acquaintance ; and yet, she hardly knew 
 why, perhaps, she Avas immediately conscious 
 of a wish that her mother might remain 
 ignorant of the fact ; and it was doubtless this 
 feeling which led her to remember the presence 
 of the old housekeeper, who, though she had 
 not as yet looked for her, she knew must be 
 stationed beside the bellows, which had been 
 made so effectually to supply breath to the 
 or2;an. 
 
 But now she turned towards the corner
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 173 
 
 ■where she was sure to be, and there, indeed, 
 she found her, but there was nothing in her 
 aspect which could suggest the idea of her 
 being an hostile witness of what had passed. 
 On the contrary, her eyes were fixed on the 
 stranger with a look of such profound reve- 
 rence, that Miss de Morley instantly felt con- 
 vinced that all her former vague sus})icions 
 were correct, and that, notwithstanding all 
 her punctual attendance at the village church, 
 the old woman was in her heart a Koman- 
 catholic. 
 
 And another conviction also came upon her 
 at the same moment — namely, that it was 
 affection, first for her lost master, and then for 
 her, which had led to this concealment; 
 for the old woman's worldly circumstances 
 were well known to be such as to render her 
 continuance in service a matter of choice 
 rather than of necessity. 
 
 It was no decision of judgment, but entirely 
 a movement of impulse, which made Juliana 
 say, " Mr. Stormont, if you will look in the face 
 of my old servant — of my poor father's old 
 and faithful servant, I think you will perceive
 
 174 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 at once, what I, for the first time, am now con- 
 vinced of — namely, that she is, and must have 
 been, of her old master's faith, although, in 
 order to remain near him, and near me, she 
 has kept it secret. But you have nothing to 
 fear from my having made this discovery, my 
 good Hardwood! I fully understand, and I 
 hope that I properly appreciate your motives ; 
 and I must not lose you now, merely because 
 I have found out how truly you are attached 
 to me." 
 
 The poor old woman was completely over- 
 come by these words, and by the whole scene, 
 which, although probably it was not wholly 
 unexpected, affected her by a variety of feel- 
 ings, that caused the tears to flow plentifully 
 down her furrowed cheeks. 
 
 Nor was the young Jesuit priest, who now 
 stretched out his spread hand towards her, 
 and pronounced a solemn benedicite, less 
 deeply affected than herself. The resolute 
 composure of his features, indeed, was not 
 shaken, but he was very pale; and had a 
 skilful finger been laid upon his pulse at that 
 moment, it would have been found that, not-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 175 
 
 withstanding the marble stillness of his coun- 
 tenance, the heart was human and alive. 
 
 It was not without considerable effort that he 
 had spoken at all ; but having cheered the old 
 woman's spirit by his earnest benedicite, he 
 turned to Juliana, and said, in a voice less 
 steady than his look, " Do you wonder now, 
 Miss de Morley, at the selection I made for 
 my first performance on your organ?" 
 
 " No ! Mr. Stormont, no !" she replied, 
 without aifecting to conceal the emotion she 
 felt. "Whoever composed those notes, Mr. 
 Stormont," she continued, "must have be- 
 lieved, must have felt himself inspired ! And 
 who shall dare to say that it was not so? 
 Who shall dare to say that such strains may 
 not have power in heaven as well as on 
 earth?" 
 
 " Will you listen to them again. Miss de 
 Morley?" returned Father Eustace, eagerly. 
 " Will you listen to them, now that you know 
 their meaning — now that you know they 
 implore peace for the troubled spirit of your 
 father?" 
 
 " I will, Mr. Stormont !" replied Juliana,
 
 176 FATHEr. EUSTACE. 
 
 startled, and in a manner, subdued by tlie 
 almost passionately earnest tone in which he 
 made the request. " Why should I not?" she 
 added. " Can there be sin in so listening to it ?" 
 
 " Sin !" repeated the young Jesuit, in a 
 tone that made her tremble. " Can there be 
 sin, Miss de Morley, in doing all that you have 
 power to do, in the pious filial hope of 
 wiping out some portion of the sin, for which 
 your most unhappy father suffered in life, and 
 suffers still in death? Can you pause, before 
 you permit your spirit jto join in such a sacri- 
 fice as this, in order to inquire if it be sinful? 
 Alas! unhappy man! Dead, as alive, un- 
 happy ! And see you not, that it is because 
 he left a cliild to doubt, as you do now, that 
 iiis soul needs our prayers, and yet you 
 pause to ask, if prayer for his pardon be a sin?" 
 
 " No, no, I do not pause !" cried Juliana. 
 " Let me hear these notes again, and my soul 
 shall join in prayer with yours for his 
 forgiveness !" 
 
 It is impossible to do justice by description, 
 to the exquisitely touching manner in which 
 these words were uttered. The very heart of
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 177 
 
 the tender melancholy girl seemed to sink, and 
 melt within her, as she heard the voice of 
 Stormont plead to her for her father — that 
 father who had lived in sorrow, and died in 
 sin, because he had no power to lead her in 
 the path which in his aching soul he believed 
 the only one which did not lead to destruction I 
 Her young heart melted, and seemed to bleed 
 for him. 
 
 And did not the young Jesuit see it all? 
 No ! not all. The faculties and the feelings 
 of the unfortunate young man were torn, and 
 tortured by thoughts and by passions, whicli 
 waged dreadful war within him. He looked 
 in her lovely face — ten thousand times more 
 lovely for the pallor and the tears that 
 obscured its brightness — for was it not sym- 
 pathy for him that caused these tears to flow, 
 and that sent the youthful blood back to her 
 heart as she listened to him? He looked in her 
 lovely face, and saw and felt its beauty. 
 
 For one moment of fatal madness he suf- 
 fered his too speaking eyes to fix themselves on 
 hers ; and in that glance both read, and knew, 
 and felt, that they loved, and were loved again ! 
 
 VOL. II. N
 
 178 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 The moment was overwhelming to Juliana. 
 But Avhat was it to Father Eustace ? In his 
 very soul the wretched young man believed 
 that the feeling of which he was at that 
 moment conscious, had in it sin sufficient to 
 doom him to everlasting perdition in the life 
 to come. 
 
 And strong as was the resolution which in 
 the next instant I'ose within him, to conquer, 
 both in himself and her, (for he saw her love, 
 though he failed to see the heavenly purity 
 that was mixed with it,) the madness which 
 had seized upon them, he found but little con- 
 solation in it. For had he not already com- 
 mitted the sin of disobedience ? And did not 
 this so far outweigli all other sins, as to 
 make them seem light in the balance; and 
 every effort, however powerful, however suc- 
 cessful, to conquer them, as valueless as a 
 baby's wooden sword, with which he beats 
 down flies? 
 
 The glance of passion faded into the cold 
 and paralyzing glare of abject, spiritless despair. 
 But Juliana saw it not. That one short look, 
 before the meteor was changed to ashes, was
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 179 
 
 enough to make her bend her eyes upon the 
 earth. Slie dared not look at him again, but 
 stood trembling, like a bird that has received a 
 shaft, uncertain whether it can fly away, or no. 
 
 In what manner the unhappy Father Eustace 
 might have displayed the sense of liis own lost 
 condition, and of hers, had nothing crossed his 
 spirit that could assuage its anguish, it is im- 
 possible to guess, and needless to inquire; for 
 at the very moment Avhen he felt as if the only 
 wish his soul could form was that the earth 
 might yawn, and swallow him into the blessed 
 night of eternal unconsciousness — at that very 
 moment, he remembered that, with his last in- 
 structions, he had received one terrible com- 
 mand, which, even while bending low before 
 the awful glance of Scaviatoli, he had ven- 
 tured to promise to himself should never, never 
 be obeyed. 
 
 But now he thought of this as of the one 
 only help that Providence had left him. 
 
 That which he had before shrunk from with 
 abhorrence, he now contemplated with a spirit 
 Df hope, so fixed and firm, as once more to give 
 him something like masterdom over himself; 
 
 N 2
 
 180 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 and no sooner had tlie memory of it recurred, 
 than he once more ventured to look at the 
 downcast face of Juliana* and to resolve upon 
 so using his influence over her, as, at least, to 
 place her, all dangerous as she was, wdtliin the 
 reach of meeting him in paradise. 
 
 The character of Father Eustace was a 
 strange union of weakness, and of strength. 
 The abject terror in which he lived, not so 
 much of his superiors, as of the perdition in- 
 evitably consequent upon disobedience to them, 
 was a proof irrefragable of his Aveakness ; while 
 the vigour with which he combated and over- 
 came the obstacles to this obedience, was an 
 equally certain proof of his strength. 
 
 But in order to make strength valuable, or 
 even respectable, the object which it is exerted 
 to obtain, must be both; and as the object 
 wdiich the unfortunate Father Eustace had in 
 view was neither, such strength as he had 
 Avas rather a snare than a safeguard. Had 
 his education been precisely the reverse of 
 v/hat it was, he Avould have been one of the 
 most amiable and estimable men that ever 
 existed ; for then the law of God Avould have
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 181 
 
 been Ms guiding loadstar, and not the law 
 of man. 
 
 But so deeply rooted was that first lesson, 
 which inculcated the necessity of crushing 
 the individual will, however pure its dictates, 
 in order to follow, with the inertness of a 
 CORPSE, (for such is the acknowledged and pro- 
 claimed laAv of the Jesuit creed,) the com- 
 mand of his superior, that judgment was para- 
 lyzed within him, and conscience slumbered. 
 But even in this strange kind of moral numb- 
 ness there was a sort of passive strength ; and 
 even at that moment, when, for the first time 
 in his life, he felt the full influence of the 
 tenderest of human passions, he suddenly 
 seemed to be endued with all the harshness 
 and the hardness of a worn-out ascetic, and 
 might truly be said to have become 
 
 " Withal 
 
 Most terrible in constant resolution." 
 
 He once more took her hand, which, though 
 it trembled, seemed passively to repose itself in 
 his, and leading her to the steps of the altar, 
 he said, in that sweet voice of his, which, in its 
 touching gentleness, was as penetrating as that
 
 182 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 of Saint Francis of Sales itself, " Kneel down, 
 Miss de Moiiey ! kneel at this same altar, 
 where for years yonr suffering father knelt, 
 and join your soul to mine in prayers for his 
 repose. Kneel! while once again I sing hi:< 
 requiem." 
 
 The grace, the meekness, the yielding gentle- 
 ness, with which Juliana bent her knee at his 
 command, and knelt before an altar, the holi- 
 ness of which her faith denied, spoke so 
 plainly of the influence he had obtained over 
 her, that it needed not the Avatchful acuteness 
 of a Jesuit to understand it. 
 
 And Father Eustace saw it all, and once 
 again a burst of passionate feeling rushed 
 through his heart, that for a moment shook his 
 Jesuitism to the centre. 
 
 Perhaps within the whole wide range of 
 human feelings, there was but one of power 
 sufficient to curb, stifle, and overpower what 
 he felt at that moment. But not only are the 
 principles in whicli the unearthly disciples of 
 Loyola are reared, of so stringent a quality as 
 to impede, and finally destroy, every natural 
 movement of the soul, but they are also made
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 18 
 
 9 
 
 to be, habitually, of suck ready application, 
 that no emotion can arise without bringing its 
 antidote with it. 
 
 Mr. Stormont dropped the hand of Juliana, 
 and left her; but though he had also left at 
 the foot of the altar the first warm rush of 
 gentle human feeling that had ever assailed 
 him, he carried away with him the conviction 
 of having inspired an affection, which, though 
 his iron-bound heart refused to share it, caused 
 a tumultuous throb of pleasure in his bosom. 
 
 He felt it, and he frowned — frowned sternly, 
 as he turned away ; but ere he reached the in- 
 strument, by the aid of which he was again to 
 seize upon her soul, and turn it in Avhatever 
 direction he pleased, his features recovered the 
 aspect of serenity so frequently found among 
 the disciples of his order, for he had become re- 
 conciled to the sensation of pleasure of which 
 he had been conscious, by remembering that 
 he was bound to rejoice at whatever promised 
 success to the work upon which he was 
 employed.
 
 184 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The notes of the promised requiem again 
 sounded through the lofty library, and again 
 the delicious voice of the Jesuit breathed forth 
 the touching words that consign the departed 
 spirit to repose. 
 
 Never had the young priest shown such 
 power, and skill, as he did then. Every pulse 
 was throbbing — every nerve was strained ; and 
 while the overwrought spirit appeared almost 
 too powerful for the frame of clay to which it 
 belonged, it seemed to seek and find relief by 
 producing sounds which it is difficult not to 
 believe of closer kindred to heaven, than to 
 earth. 
 
 Having concluded the sacred strain, he suf- 
 fered the instrument to breathe a sort of dying 
 cadence after it, that seemed to separate the
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 185 
 
 pious strain from silence, as a soft halo sepa- 
 rates the moon from darkness. And then he 
 rose and bent his steps towards the chapel. 
 
 Had he not at that moment experienced 
 what he truly believed to be a preternatural 
 assurance of the strength and immutable firm- 
 ness of his own obedience, he would have been 
 too much terrified by what he felt at the idea 
 of again seeing Juliana, to have ventured to 
 approach her. But he needed it not. He 
 felt her power, her charm, in every nerve ; he 
 knew it was so — he was fully conscious of it — 
 yet still he heeded it not. There was over him 
 a shield, whose office it was to turn himself ta 
 stone; and boldly confident in its power, he 
 drew near her, and determined that for one 
 terrible moment he would kneel at her side, 
 invoke the blessing of the sainted Loyola upon 
 her wavering spirit, and then tear himself away, 
 to put in action all the terrible artillery with 
 which he came armed against her. 
 
 But neither his firmness, nor her own were 
 doomed at that moment to undergo any 
 farther trial ; for when Mr. Stormont reached 
 the altar, he not only found her prostrate upon
 
 186 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 the steps — an attitude that he truly hailed 
 with joy, but he found that she had fainted. 
 
 He was greatly terrified ; for, totally unac- 
 customed to the species of malady which now 
 appeared before him, so very nearly under the 
 aspect of death, he believed for a moment that 
 she ^\^as really dead, and during that one mo- 
 ment he forgot that he was a Jesuit, for he 
 uttered such a cry of piercing anguish, as 
 proved that he could feel a pang in Avhich his 
 superstitious terrors had no share. 
 
 Mrs. Hardwood, who had Ijeen assiduously 
 engaged in her dark corner at the important 
 work of Ijlowing, and, not aAvare that the 
 priest had left the instrument, still continued 
 her exertions, was quite unconscious of what 
 had happened; but the cry of the Jesuit 
 brought her to his side in a moment, and her 
 instantly exclaiming, " She is not dead, Father 
 Eustace ! Be not so terrified, father ! — she is 
 not dead!" produced for him an instant of 
 more unmixed gladness than he had perhaps 
 ever experienced during his whole life before. 
 
 The old housekeeper, having placed the in- 
 sensible girl in an easy recumbent position,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 187 
 
 with the pillow of a sofa under her head, 
 hastened to procure such remedies as her skill 
 suggested ; and again begging the still trem- 
 bling Mr. Stormont not to frighten himself, 
 she left the room. 
 
 For two or three minutes afterwards, Juliana 
 continued to lie perfectly motionless, and still 
 deadly pale, at the feet of the young Jesuit; 
 but she was no longer insensible. Her eyes, 
 however, were still closed, for, in truth, she 
 had no strength to open them; and he stood 
 gazing upon her, in the persuasion that all the 
 faculties of life were suspended, in terror un- 
 speakable, lest they should never return, yet 
 with a rapturous fearlessness of admiration, 
 that seemed permitted not only by her uncon- 
 sciousness, but by the desperate feeling that it 
 mattered not in what way his allotted cup of 
 suffering was to be filled — whether by loving 
 her alive, with a passion which must make the 
 sight of her a torture, or by mourning her 
 dead, till his firm spirit should melt within 
 him, and leave him for ever incapable of serv- 
 ing the cause of heaven upon earth. 
 
 Poor Juliana! Could she at that moment
 
 188 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 .have seen the expression with wliich these elo- 
 quent eyes looked down upon her ; could she 
 have read all the intensity of passion, all the 
 fond melting tenderness of love, which they 
 now spoke without restraint or disguise, she 
 'Would at least have known at once, and far 
 too surely for any doubt to poison the sweet 
 joy, that she was beloved. But though she 
 did not see his eyes, she heard his voice; she 
 heard him bless her, and she heard him pray 
 that the same holy feeling wliich, in its inten- 
 sity, had overpowered her strength, might bear 
 her soul to God, and give her straightway a 
 place among the angels, of whom she already 
 seemed as one ! And then she heard the rich, 
 melodious voice falter as it murmured expres- 
 sions of love. And then she distinctly heard 
 these words, " That I do love thee, sweetest, I 
 may deny to thee, but can I deny it to my 
 own soul? Can I deny it to the God that 
 reads my aching heart ? Vain ! vain ! vain ! 
 It is the will of Heaven that I am doomed to 
 love thee! and shall I repine at its decree? 
 Shall I dare to struggle against the visible will 
 of God? That there is another will — a will
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 189 
 
 that in his sacred wisdom he permits to be 
 omnipotent on earth, I know." 
 
 And here he stopped. 
 
 There was something fearful in the accent 
 with which the unhappy man pronounced this 
 terrible " I know," and its sound long rested 
 on the ear of Juliana. 
 
 As to its sense, she was as far from compre- 
 hending what it was, as if its syllables were of 
 an unknown tongue; but, nevertheless, after 
 her own fashion, she interpreted its meaning, 
 as we shall see hereafter. 
 
 It was not at that moment, however, that 
 she thus fancied she could make it out; for 
 before her thoughts had time for any such 
 deliberate work, she suddenly felt the gentle 
 warmth of a soft, soundless sigh upon her 
 cheek. 
 
 Was Juliana still incapable of moving, or 
 did she only fancy that she was so ? Had one 
 instant — only one, been granted to her for re- 
 flection, she would doubtless have profited by 
 it, and roused her still languid faculties, in 
 order to prevent any possibility that the lips 
 which breathed that soft silent sigh should ap- 
 
 VOL. II. N 7
 
 100 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 proach nearer still; but there was no time 
 given, or, at least, not time enough for any 
 such exertion ; and before Juliana had formed 
 the very slightest surmise as to what was 
 likely to happen next, the lips of the young 
 Jesuit had touched her cheek. 
 
 However great had been the degree of 
 languor which still hung upon the faculties of 
 Miss de Morley, it was completely chased by 
 this action, and raising herself from her re- 
 cumbent position, she opened her eyes, and 
 then blushed deeply, as her eyes met those of 
 Mr. Stormont riveted upon her. 
 
 "Where is Hardwood?" she exclaimed, 
 being quite unconscious that the old woman 
 had left the room. "But she will come back 
 again," she added, as she discovered her ab- 
 sence. " Pray leave me, Mr. Stormont; I 
 shall recover more quickly if I am left alone." 
 
 It is probal)le that Juliana soothed her 
 delicacy by the belief that Mr. Stormont might 
 still suppose she was unconscious of the very 
 unwarrantable act he had committed ; and she 
 so earnestly desired that he might continue so 
 to believe, that she cautiously avoided express-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 191 
 
 ing any feeling of displeasure, though amidst 
 the wild tumult of emotions that were strug- 
 gling together in her heart, something a little 
 akin to anger unquestionably mixed itself. 
 
 But this, and almost every earthly feeling 
 else, was hushed into holy stillness by what 
 followed. 
 
 The sudden madness which had caused the 
 unhappy young man so blamably to transgress 
 all sorts of laws, had passed away as suddenly 
 as the electric flash that shoots athwart the 
 thunder-cloud, but, as like it in power as in 
 speed, it blasted as it passed. 
 
 Pale as the corpse whose quiescence his 
 religious code commanded him to imitate, 
 thouR-h at that moment the resemblance went 
 no farther, for every pulse was throbbing with 
 painful excess of life, the young man threw 
 himself upon the steps of the altar, and in a 
 voice of anguish cried aloud, " Not upon her ! 
 Let no sin rest on her ! Oh blessed Virgin ! — 
 Holy ! Holiest ! save her ! My soul is in the 
 dust — I dare not raise my eyes ! But let me 
 fall alone ! Abject, and soiled with sin, I still 
 may testify my terrible obedience to the power
 
 192 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 that exists but for the glory of God, by ." 
 
 But here, his voice grew hoarse. He still 
 muttered words, but Juliana understood them 
 not. And then again his articulation was 
 clear, though almost whispering in its fervent 
 tenderness, and he invoked a blessing on her 
 head, which, while it seemed to separate her 
 from him, as something almost too much above 
 himself for him to speak of as a fellow mortal, 
 had in it so beautiful a mixture of fervent de- 
 votion and impassioned love, that Juliana's 
 heart melted within her, and she almost longed 
 to say, not only tliat she forgave him, but that 
 she did not recognise any of the terrible infe- 
 riority to which he had alluded in himself, and 
 out of which he seemed inclined to fabricate a 
 mountain of separation between tliem, which, 
 as far as she had the power of judging, was 
 about equally unnecessary, and disagreeable. 
 
 Though it is probable that they might have 
 remained a good while together, without her 
 finding herself either able or willing to say 
 this, it might not, however, have been equally 
 difficult for her to have looked at him with 
 rather less indignation than he seemed to
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 193 
 
 fancy he deserved; but any such experiment 
 as this was rendered impossible by the re- 
 appearance of Hardwood, who, with a tumbler 
 of water in one hand, and a phial of sal volatile 
 in the other, bustled into the room, just as 
 Father Eustace, having concluded his self-con- 
 demning orisons, had risen from the steps of 
 the altar, yet still remained standing before it, 
 with his arms folded across his breast, and his 
 eyes steadfastly fixed upon the ground. 
 
 " Thank God ! you are come about, my dar- 
 ling young lady!" cried Hardwood, on per- 
 ceiving that Juliana, though still looking agi- 
 tated, had nothing in her aspect which at all 
 resembled death. " But please to take a little 
 of this sal volatile, notwithstandins;, for I 
 am quite positive it will do you good. You 
 look overcome altogether, mv dear Miss de 
 Morley! And Avho can wonder, sir?" she 
 added, turning to the young priest, " seeing 
 that this is the first time in all her young life, 
 that she ever enjoyed the blessed happiness of 
 kneeling at the same altar at which her father 
 knelt — and his father before him, and so on, 
 upwards, to the very earliest Christian of the 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 194 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 noble line ! Oh ! think of what the sight of it 
 has been to me, Miss de Morley! — I, that 
 rather than part from the roof of your blessed 
 father, have submitted to play the part of a 
 heretic before all the eyes that looked upon 
 me ! But tell me, my sweet child ! — cheer my 
 old heart by telling me that the blessed truth 
 has reached your heart at last ; and whatever 
 you may still think it right to do before the 
 eyes of others, will you not let me see you 
 kneel again where I have seen your sainted 
 father kneel so often?" 
 
 While the old woman uttered these words, 
 which she did with a touching vehemence that 
 it was impossible to witness unmoved, the 
 Jesuit continued standing, as motionless as a 
 statue, on precisely the same spot where he 
 had stationed himself, when he had risen from 
 his prostration before the altar. 
 
 Mrs. Hardwood looked at him earnestly for 
 a moment, and then whispered in the ear of 
 Juliana, "He is in meditation, my dear young 
 lady. He must not be disturbed. Come with 
 me, Miss de Morley ; let me take you to your 
 own quiet room, my dearest child ! It is there
 
 FATHER EPSTACE. 195 
 
 that you must think, and think, and think of 
 all that has happened to vou this blessed day, 
 and late, and early, will I pray that it may 
 come to good ! But we must leave the Holy — 
 I mean that we must leave Mr. Stormont now, 
 my dear. His kind will, as well as his bounden 
 duty, will be sure to bring him back again ere 
 lonsf : and it would not be ridit to make him 
 speak to any one now, for he is in meditation !" 
 
 Juliana listened to her, but answered not a 
 word. It was plain enough that she too was 
 in meditation; yet still, poor girl, notwith- 
 standing all this very evident abstraction, she 
 was too present to the scene to feel at all dis- 
 posed to leave it, at least, not till she had had 
 one word of communication with Mr. Stormont. 
 
 She felt bewildered, and would have siven 
 much to understand aright all that had been 
 passing round her. But never was a wish 
 more vainly formed. 
 
 She knew, indeed, that she had undergone 
 a tremendous degree of emotion when, yielding 
 to the influence of the sounds, both in harmony 
 and words, produced by Mr. Stormont, she 
 
 2
 
 196 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 had breathed a prayer for her dead father, in 
 direct opposition to the faith of her living 
 mother. She knew that at that thrilling mo- 
 ment she had lost all sensation, from having 
 endured too much. And though she stHl 
 trembled as she thought of what she had done, 
 she scarcely could blame herself for yielding to 
 a feeling which at the moment seemed so like 
 the work of inspiration. 
 
 It would have been more difficult to bring 
 her thoughts into rational order had she 
 attempted to investigate minutely the conduct 
 of Mr. Stormont. 
 
 To say the truth, however, she was less 
 astonished, or, to speak more correctly, less 
 perplexed by the consciousness that he had 
 dared to kneel beside her witli more of ten- 
 derness than reverence, than at the state of 
 mind into which the recollection of this, ap- 
 peared to have thrown him afterwards. 
 
 The words of the old hoMsekeeper, well cal- 
 culated as they were, for many reasons, to 
 affect her strongly, were neither replied to, 
 nor even remembered, as she continued to gaze
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 197 
 
 upon the motionless figure of the young man, 
 and to look with unspeakable, but most in- 
 tense anxiety on his features. 
 
 They expressed a degree of suffering that 
 almost tempted her to approach him, and tell 
 him that he was forgiven. 
 
 Yet so conscious was Juliana at that moment, 
 that she had given him her heart, in return 
 for the heart which she was equally conscious 
 he had given her, that, though agitated, embar- 
 rassed, and almost overpoAvered by the variety 
 of unwonted feelings that pressed upon her, 
 she was in truth almost as happy as he was 
 wretched; and could she, without too much 
 compromising her maiden delicacy, have uttered 
 one word of gentle kindness to him, she thought 
 that they should then part with no feeling less 
 delightful on either side than that produced 
 by the blessed consciousness that they should 
 soon meet again. 
 
 But how was that one word to be spoken? 
 
 Mrs. Hardwood, while Juliana yet stood in 
 blushing uncertainty whether she should make 
 the attempt or no, laid her hand upon her arm, 
 and endeavoured to lead her out of the chapel.
 
 198 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 The puzzled heiress was in despair. 
 
 How would Mr. Stormont ever venture to 
 present himself again at the castle, if she 
 suffered him now to leave her with the im- 
 pression that she was mortally offended? Yet 
 how was it possible for her to find words to 
 tell him that she was not? 
 
 The more overpowered he appeared to be 
 by what had passed, the more terrible the idea 
 of assuring him that it did not signify be- 
 came. 
 
 It cannot often happen that between two 
 hearts so mutually and equally enamoured, 
 there should be, nevertheless, so utter an im- 
 possibility of their being mutually understood. 
 That the heart of the unhappy Father Eustace 
 should be a sealed book to Juliana, notwith- 
 standing the moment of madness in which he 
 had betrayed its weakness, needs no explana- 
 tion. Nor, witli all the Jesuit study of the 
 human heart in which he had been so care- 
 fully reared, had he a much clearer insight 
 into hers. 
 
 That she should love him was (to his honour 
 be it spoken) the misfortune which, amongst
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 199 
 
 the many that threatened him, he dreaded the 
 most; and so genuine was this feeling, that it 
 blinded him to the truth. He felt as if he 
 had within him the power to endure any 
 suffering but that; and the steadfastness of 
 will, with which his iron purpose of obeying 
 the orders he had received was bound, as it 
 were, around his heart, enabled him to per- 
 suade himself that the only obstacle to obedi- 
 ence which he greatly dreaded, did not exist. 
 That he loved her, he already knew, alas ! too 
 well for the most wilful blindness ever to de- 
 lude him on that subject more. But this was 
 only a part of the martyrdom which he was 
 called upon to endure. 
 
 Had he guessed her love, he would not have 
 been at a loss to know why it was she lingered, 
 with that innocent look of pretty uncertainty, 
 as to whether she should go or stay ; but even 
 then he would have been far from suspecting 
 how perfectly she had arranged in her own 
 mind the removal of all the difficulties arising 
 from his probably not being rich enough to be 
 considered as a suitable match for the wealthy 
 heiress of Cuthbert Castle.
 
 200 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 He little guessed that even while she stood 
 there, looking at him, tliough his eyes were 
 resolutely fixed upon the floor — he little 
 guessed that even then, she was composing 
 the form of words in which she meant to in- 
 form her motlier, that if her wealth were to 
 be considered as an obstacle to her union with 
 the man she loved, she was ready to resign it 
 to the next of kin. 
 
 Of all this, he guessed nothing. What he 
 did guess, and thankfully believed, was, that 
 the religious emotion produced upon her by 
 the music, and the act of almost involuntary 
 devotion which had followed it, were well cal- 
 culated to lead to her complete conversion to 
 her fixther's faith, and to all the results which 
 it was his bounden duty to take care should 
 follow it. 
 
 With all these fallacious visions in his head, 
 he greatly desired to find strength and courage 
 to raise his eyes, and speak to her. He 
 greatly desired to impress upon her the sacred 
 obligation of again beseeching Heaven, from 
 that holy spot, to remit the sufferings of the 
 father, whose worst sin was the having left
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 201 
 
 her a heretic ; and, at last, the desperate 
 courage came. 
 
 He did look up ; he did again fix his eyes 
 upon her lovely face, and did find power to 
 say, " Miss de Morley! let me not believe 
 that my prayers, that the light of truth should 
 visit your soul, have been in vain ! Promise 
 me that you will again kneel in prayer before 
 your father's altar." 
 
 Luckily for the miserable Father Eustace, 
 his courage made hers fail. Had she per- 
 mitted her tearful eyes to meet his as she 
 listened to him, he could scarcely have left her 
 with the comfortable persuasion, that in the 
 performance of his perilous task he alone 
 should be the victim, and that to her, at least, 
 its success must bring final salvation, and 
 eternal bliss. 
 
 Though she did not look at him, however, 
 she replied, but very succinctly. She only 
 said, " I will." 
 
 Yet there was something in the manner and 
 the accent with w^iich this short reply was 
 spoken, that carried an emotion of most true 
 and holy thankfulness to the heart of the
 
 202 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 young Jesuit, and proved him, considering the 
 circumstances, to be more deserving of canon- 
 ization than many of the successful pretenders 
 to that honour who have gone before him. 
 
 " Thank God ! " was his rejoinder ; and then, 
 with his head bent forward, his eyes again 
 fixed upon the ground, and his hands crossed 
 upon his breast, he glided past her into the 
 library, and long before she had made up her 
 mind whether she ought to follow him, or not, 
 she heard the farther door of that room open, 
 and then close again. 
 
 She knew that he was gone, and at that 
 moment she was glad of it; though in the 
 next slie would have given much, only to have 
 looked at him again, if but for a single mo- 
 ment. 
 
 One long-drawn heavy sigh followed the 
 conviction that this was impossible; and then 
 she tui'ned to her old servant, who had been 
 watching her with most tender and anxious 
 interest, and said, " Now leave me to myself, 
 dear Hardwood; I should like to remain here 
 for a few moments alone." 
 
 " I will, my dearest child, I will go di-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 203 
 
 rectly," replied the old woman ; " only let me 
 have the blessing of lii'st hearing you say that 
 you have not offered your last prayer in this 
 dear, precious chapel." 
 
 "Now, God forbid!" replied Juliana, 
 eagerly; and then, almost frightened at the 
 strength of her own words, she added — " you 
 must, however, make me promise nothing yet, 
 dear Hardwood; my spirits have been shaken, 
 and my mind feels confused. But you have 
 heard me promise him that I would pray here, 
 and do you think I would break my word to 
 
 him?" 
 
 " No, Miss de Morley — No !" ejaculated 
 the old Avoman, with a degree of respectful so- 
 lemnity, that gave Juliana a more exalted idea 
 of her good sense, and very excellent judg- 
 ment, than she had ever conceived before. 
 
 " I will go to my mother presently," said 
 the young lady; " but I should like to remain 
 here for a few moments. Hardwood." The well- 
 pleased housekeeper required no farther hint, 
 but fervently uttering the words, " God bless 
 you !" retreated through the library, and the 
 heiress of Cuthbert Castle was left alone. 
 
 VOL. II. 06
 
 204 FATHER EUSTACr. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 It was with very deep and true devotion 
 that Juliana now knelt once more upon 
 the steps of that Roman-catholic altar, and 
 breathed a fervent prayer to the universal 
 Father of all, to Him who alone can read 
 the hearts of all, and see, through all the 
 various fashions in which they have dight 
 themselves, which has the healthiest pulse 
 — to HIM she prayed for judgment to decide 
 to what form it was her duty to attach 
 herself; and then, having touched the last 
 step of the altar with her forehead, she felt as 
 if she heard again the delicious strains to 
 which she had so lately listened; and then
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 205 
 
 spontaneously, and as if, indeed, she were under 
 the influence of inspiration, she chaunted aloud 
 those striking words of the requiem, which 
 implores rest for the departed spirit. 
 
 In the excited state in which her mind then 
 was, this power of recalling both the notes, 
 and the words to which she had so newly 
 listened, seemed little short of miraculous. 
 And her heart beat as she remembered that it 
 was her duty to state this J'em ark able circum- 
 stance to the friend who seemed sent by 
 Heaven itself to restore her to the faith of her 
 ancestors. 
 
 Having remained for a few moments longer, 
 kneeling, as if awaiting some farther proof of 
 supernatural interference, she arose and left 
 the chapel, while tears, produced both by de- 
 votion and love, were still wet upon her 
 cheek, and entered the library, with the in- 
 tention of passing through it for the purpose 
 of going to her mother, who might, she feared, 
 upon remembering her sudden exit, have suf- 
 fered from the chilling freshness of that large 
 room. 
 
 But ere she had walked one-third of the
 
 206 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 length of the library, there was something in 
 its remote stillness, and assured tranquillity, 
 which made her long to remain there for a 
 few moments, before she went back to the 
 ordinary sights and sounds of her former 
 life. 
 
 Miss de Morley was very decidedly in love 
 with Mr, Stormont when she entered that 
 room ; and she certainly was very decidedly in 
 love with him now. Yet there was a prodi- 
 giously wide difference between her condition 
 now, and what it had been then. In the 
 first place, she had never, even for an instant, 
 confessed to herself that she suspected he was 
 born to be the master of Cuthbert Castle ; and 
 now, without troubling herself with any pros, 
 and cons, upon the subject, she acknowledged 
 to her heart, with the greatest possible frank- 
 ness, that she never did, and certainly never 
 should, see any man to whom she should chose 
 to make over the charge of herself, and her do- 
 mains, save to him. 
 
 Neither had she before at all made up her 
 mind to believe that he was in love with her. 
 But, somehow or other, she had now come to the
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 207 
 
 conviction that it would be little better than 
 folly and aflfectation, did she pretend to per- 
 suade herself that she felt any doubt of the 
 fact. 
 
 But, having gone thus far, having very sin- 
 cerely avowed to herself that she was quite 
 aware that a strong natural attachment existed 
 between then, she very deliberately determined 
 to avail herself of the delicious stillness of that 
 dear library, while she challenged her common 
 sense to show what the obstacles to their union 
 might be, which so evidently affected the spirits 
 of her lover, and gave him so greatly, as she 
 thought, the air of a man who felt that he 
 loved, but feared he loved in vain. 
 
 " The fii'st," cried Juliana, aloud, and aban- 
 doning herself to the delightful consciousness 
 of being really alone — " the first is the differ- 
 ence of religion !" And then she paused, and 
 meditated. 
 
 " But what is the difference in our religion? 
 — a mere form ! And if I love thee not well 
 enough," she muiinured, with a sigh — "if I 
 love thee not well enough to change my form 
 for thine, it certainly were best that we should
 
 208 TATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 xemain asunder. Experience, most sad expe- 
 rience, has taught me that ! But I do, Stor- 
 mont — I do love thee well enough, and my 
 poor melancholy father too ! My dear, charm- 
 ing, animated, happy mother, needs me not, 
 ■as ye need me ! No, Stormont, no ! It is not 
 this will part us." 
 
 And then she ceased to speak, and long re- 
 mained deep sunk in silent meditation. 
 
 She recalled every circumstance which had 
 passed during their recent interview. She 
 remembered his paleness, his deep melancholy, 
 the profound discouragement of his look and 
 attitude, as he stood near, yet, as it seemed, 
 without daring to look at her. She remem- 
 bered it all, and, as she thought, she under- 
 stood it all. 
 
 "Oh, Stormont!" she exclaimed, again 
 -aloud, " how little, how very little, with all 
 your love, do you understand the character of 
 Juliana de Morley ! Surely I understand you 
 "better. It would be desperately difficult now 
 to make me believe that any rank or station, any 
 hoarded treasures, or any wide-spread lands, 
 Tvould suffice to make yon refuse to accept the
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. . 209 
 
 hand of Juliana ! But, oil ! foolish man ! How 
 difficult may be the task of making you compre- 
 hend my heart ! I cannot ' wear it upon my 
 sleeve,' dear Edward, ' for doves to peck at,' 
 or even for you to read. And then, again, 
 you dread perhaps my mother, and her influ- 
 ence. Weill — 'time and the hour,' a little 
 patience, and a good deal of love, may do 
 
 much for us !" 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 A short half hour thus spent, did indeed 
 do much towards restoring her not only to 
 happiness, but to composure. In short, she 
 felt that she might trust to her own steadiness 
 of purpose, and strength of character, in order 
 to avoid all the miseries so frequently seen to 
 arise from a young female's being possessed of 
 the doubtful blessings of an elevated position, 
 and a lar2;e estate. 
 
 " I am not very likely," thought she, as at 
 length she forced herself to abandon her always 
 dear, but now ten times more dear seclusion — 
 " I am not very likely to be converted into a 
 heroine by means of my sweet mother's perse- 
 cution. But even should I deceive myself in 
 
 VOL. II. p
 
 210 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 this — should the opinions of Wardour, which 
 certainly haye great influence with her — 
 should either his opinions, or her own, lead her 
 to oppose the choice I have made, my judg- 
 ment and my heart both tell me that not for 
 this should it be abandoned : nor shall it. 
 Poor mother ! She did not manage her own 
 fate, in the matter of marriage, well. Heaven 
 grant that I may manage mine better ! One 
 thing at least I am determined upon : I will 
 never risk my domestic happiness by marrying 
 a man whose religious faith my conscience 
 forbids me to adopt." 
 
 The temper of Juliana was constitutionally 
 gentle, but it was the gentleness rather of 
 strength than of weakness. She would at all 
 times greatly have preferred yielding any point 
 involving only the gratification of the day, or 
 hour, to a struggle, however successful, for the 
 obtaining it. A contest of any kind was most 
 repugnant to her, and she always held herself, 
 as it were, deliberately prepared to sacrifice 
 her own taste, and her own inclination, rather 
 than endure it. It was but another symptom 
 of this same peaceful temperament which led
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 211 
 
 her, upon any point whicli she felt it impor- 
 tant to maintain, to declare her purpose dis- 
 tinctly, and to abide by it firmly. And even 
 now, upon a subject the most likely, nay, the 
 most certain, of bringing upon her the most 
 stedfast opposition to her will, she determined, 
 as resolutely as the most tyrannical autocrat 
 could have done, that all opposition should be 
 vain ; but she determined also that the struggle, 
 if strugde there must be, should be as short, 
 as unavailing. 
 
 This sort of resolute purpose would have 
 sent some people from the scene of their 
 solitary musing, in a frame of mind as 
 harsh, as it was determined ; but it was not so 
 with Juliana. The steadfastness of her resolu- 
 tion, while it composed her spirits, composed 
 her temper also ; and she never entered the 
 presence of her mother with more genuine 
 feelings of fond, and gentle affection, than she 
 did upon this occasion. 
 
 And her conscience was at rest as well as 
 her temper. 
 
 She had taken a resolution which she be- 
 lieved to be generous, high minded, and vir- 
 
 p2
 
 212 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 tuous, in every possible sense of the word ; and 
 a resolution so taken, especially when it hap- 
 pens to be in very close conformity to inclina- 
 tion, may well produce all the delicious calmness 
 of content in the bosom where it is lodged. 
 
 But notwithstanding that her " bosom's 
 lord" sat more than lightly on its throne, she 
 was as much grieved as surprised upon finding 
 her mother really unwell. It is probable that 
 even before she entered the library, Lady Sarah 
 had taken cold, and that though the room itself 
 had been carefully warmed, the long passages 
 which led to it, had produced a chill, which 
 now showed itself by very decided symptoms 
 of incipient fever. 
 
 The influence of the place, too, which she 
 had not visited for many years, had doubtless 
 been anything but favourable to her nerves, 
 and, in short, she had felt altogether so ill, as 
 to make her think it prudent to dismiss Mr. 
 Wardour, and retire to bed ; and it was in bed, 
 accordingly, that her daughter found her. 
 
 " My dearest mother!" exclaimed Juliana, 
 as she approached, and knelt down beside her,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 213 
 
 " have I indeed made you ill by inducing you 
 to revisit the library ?" 
 
 " No, Juliana — no, dearest love," replied 
 Lady Sarah, kindly, " do not torment yourself 
 by any such fancy. You did very wisely in 
 asking me to go, and I did very wisely in 
 going ; but I think I caught cold yesterday, 
 by remaining too late on the terrace. I cer- 
 tainly, however, feel far from well now ; and I 
 suppose, as a measure of precaution, it may 
 be as well to send to Stockington for our good 
 little doctor." 
 
 Juliana flew to the bell, and her summons 
 was immediately answered by Lady Sarah's 
 maid ; the order for sending for the apothecary 
 was then given, together with directions for 
 preparing barley-water, and so forth, and then 
 Juliana seated herself in an arm-chair beside 
 the bed, and told her patient that she must not 
 talk, but remain as quiet as possible till the 
 medical man should arrive, and give orders as 
 to what sort of discipline it would be necessary 
 for her to undergo. 
 
 " I believe you are quite right, Julia, and
 
 214 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 I will obey you as dutifully as I intend to obey 
 him; that is, as soon as I have said three 
 words to you," replied Lady Sarah. 
 
 " And what are the three words, dear mo- 
 ther? Is it absolutely necessary to say them 
 now?" demanded Juliana. 
 
 ^' Indeed it is," replied the patient. " You 
 know what I have promised about your friend 
 Fanny Clarence. Do not fancy that I have 
 changed my mind about it ; on the contrary, 
 my head runs incessantly upon this most strange 
 romance, which I please myself by thinking 
 we shall bring to a happy conclusion. But I 
 confess that I feel perfectly incapable of setting 
 about it now." 
 
 "Do notthink of it, Mamma !" cried Juliana, 
 eagerly interrupting her; " a few days, sooner 
 or later, can make no great difference." 
 
 " Then you will promise me to say nothing 
 about it to her when you meet to-morrow 
 morning? The idea of the dreadful anxiety 
 into which such a project must throw her, 
 poor girl, while the result of it remains un- 
 certain, would worry me into a fever, if I had 
 no predisposition for it."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 215 
 
 " You may depend upon it, Mamma, she shall 
 hear no syllable of all the blessed hopes that 
 are in store for her, till you are well enough 
 to set about giving them form and substance. 
 And now, not a word more." 
 
 " Only one, Julia. I am quite sure that I 
 shall not be able to join Lady Setterton's pic- 
 nic party the day after to-morrow. Will you 
 write a line to tell her so? — But I see no rea- 
 son why you should not go yourself, if the 
 weather continues as fine as it is at present. 
 The Cuthbert Castle hamper and the Cuthbert 
 Castle heiress will be quite sufficient to con- 
 sole her ladyship for my absence." 
 
 " She shall have the Cuthbert Castle hamper, 
 if Mrs. Hardwood will give consent," replied 
 Juliana, " which, entre nous, I suspect is the 
 better part of ourselves in her ladyship's opi- 
 nion. But, depend upon it, the heiress means 
 to stay at home, to take care of the heiress's 
 mother." 
 
 Lady Sarah did not contest the point, but 
 thanked her by an aifectionate smile. 
 
 " Now, then, go, dear love," she said, " and 
 write your note to her. I shall be much more
 
 216 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 likely to fall asleep if I am alone, and dozing 
 is all I feel fit for just now. — Perhaps I shall 
 dream of Fanny Clarence coming to pay us a 
 visit as Mrs. William Curtis."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The delicious calm that had taken possession 
 of the mind of Juliana, from the moment she 
 became convinced that Mr. Stormont loved 
 her, offered as complete, and as melancholy a 
 contrast, as it is well possible to imagine, to 
 the condition of the unhappy Father Eustace. 
 His first impulse upon leaving the castle, and 
 plunging into the sheltering woods, through 
 which a footpath led, by a short cut, to Langley 
 Knoll, was to throw himself upon the earth in 
 an agony of spirit, which was about equally 
 made up of remorse and love. 
 
 That the bigoted faith of this miserable 
 young man, and his blind belief in the all- 
 saving righteousness of slavish obedience to 
 his superiors, were features of character more 
 calculated to generate contempt, than esteem, it
 
 218 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 impossible to deny; nevertheless, before he 
 can be fairly judged, all those who would un- 
 dertake to pronounce sentence on him must 
 carefully inform themselves of the nature of 
 the education he had received, and endeavour 
 fully to comprehend the process by which his 
 mind had been brought to the state in which 
 they find it. 
 
 The time has been, and that at no very dis- 
 tant date, when such an inquiry would have 
 been almost as impossible to the world in ge- 
 neral, as an examination into the primal laws 
 of creating nature. But this is the case no 
 longer; and in my estimation, there is as 
 much bigotry in turning from the inquiry, and 
 pronouncing an off-hand and wholesale sen- 
 tence of condemnation upon all within the pale 
 of Jesuitism, as in dooming to everlasting per- 
 dition all who are without it. 
 
 I know nothinif more sublime, and therefore 
 more admirable, in its way, than that mastery 
 of self, by which all human passion, and all 
 human weakness, are trampled in the dust, in 
 obedience to a command believed to come 
 from God.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 219 
 
 We all acknowledge this, when the command 
 is such as to our enlightened faculties appears 
 worthy of the origin assigned it; but we 
 have little pity for those unhappy pupils of 
 false teachers who, having listened (faithfully) 
 to lies, instead of truth, become the martyrs of 
 blind obedience, instead of willing servants to 
 intelligible reason. 
 
 And yet, there must be a much more perfect 
 abnegation of self, of its will, its wishes, its 
 natural aspirations, and propensities, in the 
 obedient slave, than in the enlightened dis- 
 ciple ; and till we have had the patience to 
 make ourselves acquainted with the (now well 
 known) system, by which the most pure and 
 upright spirits are led, inch by inch, or, rather, 
 line by line, to the belief that the only merit, 
 in the sight of God, is the perfect subjuga- 
 tion of the entire being to the commands of 
 those among our fellow men, who are placed in 
 authority over us — till we have learned to un- 
 derstand the appalling power of this tremendous 
 system, we are in no condition to judge of the 
 merit or the no-merit of the faithful young 
 disciples of the Company of Jesus.
 
 220 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 "With very few exceptions, however, and 
 those most probably of so weak an intellect as 
 to make them exceptional human beings, as 
 well as exceptional Jesuits, it is for the young 
 only, that I would ask indulgence. 
 
 Nobody that has watched the beautiful per- 
 fection of confidence with which a child hangs 
 on the lips of its parent, and receives as truth, 
 unweakened by the possibility of doubt, what- 
 ever that parent pronounces to be either law 
 or gospel — whoever has Avatched this, with a 
 little 7'easoning attention, is capable of forming 
 some idea of the importance of education for 
 the creation and support of a power, the sinews 
 of which are opinion and belief. Whatever 
 we may think of the demoniacal ambition of the 
 bad teachers, it is surely harsh to refuse pity 
 to the badly taught; and till the beautiful, 
 but dangerous age of unquestioning belief is 
 past, I conceive a truly believing Jesuit to be 
 one of the most pitiable, as well as the most 
 admirably self-devoted, of created beings. 
 
 And such an one was the unhappy Father 
 Eustace. 
 
 Had the last few years of his still young
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 221 
 
 life been passed freely among liis fellov/ men, 
 this freshness of believing confidence must 
 have already been worn off sufiiciently to have 
 given him a more accurate knowledge of good 
 and evil than he now possessed, and in that 
 case he would not have lain prone, and grovel- 
 ling in all the tortures of a self-accusing 
 remorse, because he had been unable entirely 
 to stifle human feeling. 
 
 There was one cause which rendered the 
 continuance of this normal state of mind more 
 enduring in Father Eustace than in pjost 
 others, and this was his passionate, and freely 
 permitted devotion, to the study of music. 
 This study occupied so large a proportion of 
 his time, that, together with the ordinary 
 duties required of him, it left little for that 
 spontaneous exercise of the intellect which is 
 so apt to lead to speculation, and to the under- 
 mining of many nursery and conventual 
 notions, which, without it, might only go to 
 sleep with us in the grave. 
 
 All hours so occupied by others, were by 
 Father Eustace devoted to the study and 
 practice of the art he loved.
 
 222 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 If any one supposes that they perceive an 
 inconsistency in this, and that such indulgence 
 is in no keeping with the Jesuit discipline, 
 they deceive themselves. Power is their 
 object. Power is their earthly deity. Let 
 us charitably hope that they worship another, 
 in another sphere. But power on earth they 
 seek by many means too subtle to attract the 
 eye of the ordinary observer. There is no 
 talent, no single gift of Heaven unmutilated 
 by the agency of man, that brings not poAver 
 with it. Is not beauty, power? And grace, 
 and cheerfulness, and wit, and wisdom, and 
 the ear that teaches us to study and analyze 
 harmony, and the voice that gives us power 
 to produce it, and the eye that leads the hand 
 to imitate the beauty that it sees — all this 
 gives power, and the Jesuit knows it; and 
 neyer do they find among their ranks an in- 
 dividual gifted beyond his fellows with any 
 source of power, but they mark it, and cherish 
 it, and turn it to account. 
 
 And so it was with our poor Edward Stor- 
 mont. His admirable talents were all culti-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 223 
 
 vated, all fostered into the greatest possible 
 perfection ; all, save the power of reasoning. 
 
 On this tliey laid a terrible embargo, heavy 
 enough to prove a preventive duty. For no 
 sooner was a youth suspected of thinking, than 
 he was marked out as the lame one amidst the 
 herd, and doomed to destruction, of some sort 
 or other, at the very earliest opportunity. 
 
 But Father Eustace, when he was summoned 
 from his convent to undertake this arduous 
 mission, had never thought; or, at least, never 
 in such a view as might shake the confidence 
 of his superiors in his obedience. But they 
 knew his many talents, they knew well his 
 many fine and attaching qualities. In a word, 
 they knew that he was exactly the man they 
 wanted; and that if ever the property of 
 Cuthbert was to be recovered from the gi'asp 
 of the young heretic heiress, it must be through 
 the agency of such a man as Father Eustace. 
 
 Unhappy Stormont ! Pure as a child from 
 sin, he lay upon the ground, literally writhing 
 under the agonies of a troubled conscience; 
 when once again \q remembered, as he had 
 done in the chapel at Cuthbert, that even his
 
 224 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 grievous sin was not without all hope, for even 
 that had been foreseen, and provided for, by 
 the godlike prescience of his superiors. 
 
 Amidst the very last instructions he had 
 received from Scaviatoli, was one from which 
 his verv soul revolted, and to which he almost 
 vowed in secret that he never would obey ; or 
 rather, that he never would so conduct himself 
 as to come within reach of the necessity of 
 applying to it. 
 
 This singular injunction was conditional, 
 and referred to a possibility which, at the time 
 he listened to it, he hoped was much too im- 
 probable to be feared ; but this possible peril 
 to himself and his mission had now fallen upon 
 him, and the remedy which, at the time it was 
 suggested, had appeared too painful to be 
 endured, was now about to be resorted to, as 
 the only resource left him against himself. 
 At the very last moment, of the very last in- 
 terview, with which Scaviatoli had honoured 
 him, he had pronounced these words — 
 
 " In all you have spoken. Brother Eustace I 
 have perceived most excellent dispositions, and 
 that laudable and all-saving sense of duty
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 225 
 
 which alone can render any man deserving the 
 high honour of belonging to the Company of 
 Jesus. I anticipate an excellent result from 
 this mission, and intrust it to your care with 
 a confidence which leaves me little to fear from 
 disaster of any kind. But no man can have 
 reached the place that I hold, Brother Eustace, 
 without having much, and deeply studied the 
 minds of his fellow creatures. It is this study 
 which has enabled me to see in you, the quali- 
 ties which have induced me to employ you on 
 this important errand ; but it enables me also 
 to perceive that you have, and probably will 
 have for some years to come, a point of weak- 
 ness in your character against which it is my 
 duty to protect both yourself and the cause in 
 which you are about to embark. Nay, look 
 not so terrified, my son. I have nothing to 
 lay to your charge, but what we may confi- 
 dently hope, by the aid of your oAvn excellent 
 principles, and by the strength of mind which • 
 every faithful Jesuit gains by the practice of 
 his duties — I see nothing, I say, but what I 
 confidently hope may be both guarded 
 against, and remedied, in such a manner as to 
 VOL. II. Q
 
 226 FATHER EUSTACE, 
 
 prevent any serious ill consequence. The 
 weakness to which I allude is what the worldly- 
 minded call conscientiousness, but which those 
 who live only for the glory of God know how 
 to explain more accurately, by calling it a 
 proud propensity to set personal feelings and 
 individual judgment above the meek and holy 
 obedience which is the Jesuit's law." 
 
 Father Eustace had here made a movement, 
 as if he would have spoken; but Scaviatoli 
 raised his finger to prevent it, and went on. 
 
 " I mean not to say," he continued, " that 
 I see cause to suspect you of any meditated, 
 or even voluntary contempt of authority ; if I 
 did, my son, we should not thus be sitting in 
 holy consultation together. But what I do 
 fear is, that if left wholly to yourself, you may 
 feel troubled — troubled from halting between 
 two opinions, and not well knowing on which 
 side the preponderating weight of duty lies. 
 At your age, and with the susceptibility which 
 gives you precisely those powers of pleas- 
 ing upon which we reckon for success in this 
 important business — with this susceptibility, 
 and at your age, I cannot but feel there is a
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 227 
 
 possibility, that while endeavouring to save 
 this unhappy heretic girl, by converting her to 
 our blessed faith, you may yourself be liable to 
 •that influence from her beauty, and the at- 
 taching qualities attributed to her, which is 
 generally found to be the probable result of 
 such an intercourse with her, as you are com- 
 manded to cultivate. As to such a result, as 
 far as it concerns z/oi^r^e/findividually, I should 
 certainly not deem it of sufficient importance 
 to comment upon. You have made a vow of 
 chastity, and if you break it, either in thought 
 or deed, you must reconcile yourself to the 
 offended church, by propitiating her forgive- 
 ness and absolution, according to the rules she 
 has laid down; happy, in common with all 
 your brethren of the most holy Company of 
 Jesus, that light faults are atoned for, by light 
 penance. It is of no such chance as this that 
 I would speak, but it is of the danger that, 
 being what you are, you may not only love, 
 but be loved, in such a sort as may render the 
 task you have to perform, if not more difficult, 
 at least more painful. In order to guard 
 against this possible danger, I now command 
 
 q2
 
 228 FATHER EUSTACE. . 
 
 you, as you v»'ould avoid tlie everlasting con- 
 demnation consequent upon disobedience, to 
 transmit this letter" — and here the General of 
 the Jesuits drew forth from a drawer in the 
 desk before him, a sealed packet — " to its 
 address, whenever you shall be conscious of 
 such feelings towards the late Richard de 
 Morley's daughter as may in any way threaten 
 to endanger the success of your mission." 
 
 A deep and painful blush dyed the brow, and 
 cheeks, of the young Jesuit ; but he received 
 the packet without attempting to pronounce a 
 syllable. 
 
 " Think not that there is anything deroga- 
 tory to your holy character in this precaution, 
 my good brother," resumed Scaviatoli. " It 
 is but adhering to the system by which our 
 sainted founder has taught us to become the 
 unconquerable band we are. Even your 
 General, Brother Eustace, even I, notwith- 
 standing the appalling powers that are vested 
 in me, even I am not left without an eye to 
 watch and guard me. Tliat document will 
 call to your side a friend. Summon him 
 according to the command I now lay upon you,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 229 
 
 and this obedience, which, although you are 
 wisely silent, I perceive is of a nature to cost 
 your pride a pang — this obedience, I hereby 
 pronounce, shall be an all-sufficient penance 
 and atonement, for whatever weakness may 
 have laid you under the necessity of en- 
 during it." 
 
 And to the end Eustace had said nothing, 
 wisely had said nothing ; but this command it 
 was, this degrading command, which pre-sup- 
 posed both sin and cowardice, that in his soul 
 he almost swore should never be obeyed. Yet 
 now he remembered it as a drowning wretch 
 may remember that there is still a spar within 
 reach of his arm, if he will but make a despe- 
 rate effort to grasp it. 
 
 Father Eustace sprung eagerly to his feet, 
 as he again remembered the packet he had 
 received from Scaviatoli, and hastening to his 
 melancholy home, opened the receptacle to 
 which he had consigned it, and examined the 
 address. It bore these words — William Mills, 
 Esq., Hartley Lodge, near Morringworth. 
 
 Who or what William ]Mills, Esq., might 
 be, poor Stormont knew no more than the
 
 230 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 nleek-looking cat which lay on the rug beside 
 him. Yet to this William Mills he was now 
 aboat to confide, not his own destiny only, Imt 
 that of Juliana, the lovely, innocent, confiding 
 Juliana. 
 
 Oh I what a sharp and bitter pang was that 
 which shot through his heart, as for one short 
 moment of clear and undeluded common sense 
 he contemplated the part he had to play ! 
 
 That the moment was short, as such 
 moments always must be, to minds so drilled 
 and schooled as that of Stormont, was pro- 
 bably what saved him from madness. Had his 
 thoughts long rested on the image his fancy 
 then drew, it is scarcely possible that his brain 
 could have endured the agony, and preserved 
 its functions unimpaired. 
 
 But his Jesuit conscience drove him on, so 
 far beyond the moral region in which there 
 exists a boundary between right, and wrong, 
 that he paused not a moment more, but having 
 summoned a servant, put the important packet 
 into his hand, and with an aspect of iron com- 
 posure commanded him to carry it with his 
 own hand to the neighbouring post-office.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 231 
 
 This done, he passed into his little chapel, and 
 surely no miserable wretch that seeks to cure 
 his mental sufferings by laudanum and brandy, 
 submits his faculties to a more fatally poison- 
 ous influence than he did then, as he prayed, 
 in his besotted humiliation — not to do right, 
 not to be guided by the holy voice of con- 
 science, to eschew evil and do good — but that 
 he might speedily be sustained by the impe- 
 rious voice of command, uttered by one on 
 whom the Company of Jesus had conferred 
 power to utter it !
 
 232 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The letter thus eagerly dispatched, failed not 
 to reach its destination safely. The person who 
 received it was a man of sixty years of age, 
 who, at the moment it was given to him, was 
 sitting beside a solitary breakfast table, with 
 a tiny pot of coffee, and a plate of dry toast, 
 on one corner of it, while all the rest of its 
 rather wide surface was covered with MS. 
 papers, among which there were many folios 
 of accounts. 
 
 This William Mills, Esq., had the look 
 of a gentleman, or, at least, he had not the 
 ordinary look of persons belonging to any 
 of the laborious classes of society. Yet he 
 appeared thin and toil-worn. There was a look 
 of intellect upon his brow, and yet the head 
 was in many respects what a phrenologist
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 233 
 
 would be apt to call a mean one. Tlie fore- 
 head, though very high, was narrow, and 
 owed its redemption from the look of weakness 
 which this formation generally gives, by its 
 being straight, and not inclining backward. 
 The eyes were peculiarly small, and their ex- 
 pression, Avhen the often half- closed lids per- 
 mitted it to be caught, Avas that of cunning, 
 sharp, keen, watchful cunning. Yet this, too, 
 was in some sort redeemed by the peculiarly 
 placid gentle smile that rested, almost for ever 
 rested, on his lips. What mattered it if a man 
 of such peculiar gentleness did look sharply 
 watchful? It could only be, that he might 
 the better seek and find how most to please 
 and succour those about him. 
 
 Of his moral propensities we will just now 
 say nothing. Perhaps their indications are 
 placed at the back of the head, expressly to 
 avoid the blundering and premature judgments 
 which may be passed upon the purely intellec* 
 tual part of the skull, without equal im- 
 portance as to the opinions conceived in 
 consequence. 
 
 His hands and feet were large, and greatly
 
 234 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 out of proportion to the slender limbs to which 
 they were appended. As he sat, he appeared 
 to be about the common height, but on stand- 
 ing up, he showed himself to be very consider- 
 ably above it, as he certainly did not measure 
 less than six feet two, the disproportionate 
 length of his legs giving him a very marked 
 resemblance to a pair of tongs. 
 
 When the letter was put into his hands, 
 which was done by a servant in a respectable- 
 looking livery of green and gold, he laid it on 
 one side of him, as if disposed to give his first 
 attention to another letter which he was in the 
 act of perusing when the servant entered. But 
 as his eye followed the hand with which he was 
 about to lay it aside, he started as he caught 
 the well-known characters in which the address 
 was written, and immediately pushing away 
 coffee-cup, letters, accounts, and everything 
 else that might produce any division of atten- 
 tion, he instantly broke the seal. 
 
 As it chances that our spirit is behind his 
 shoulder, we will venture to give the reader 
 a copy of the contents. And thus they ran : —
 
 father eustace. 235 
 
 " Esteemed Brother, 
 
 "If this letter ever reaches you at all, it 
 will be for an object demanding your instant 
 and very earnest attention. The matter is 
 this: The Roman-catholic chnrch, and what 
 is greatly more important, the Holy Company 
 of Jesus, have lost, about ten months ago, a 
 very faithful servant, and a very wealthy pe- 
 nitent, by the death of Richard Randolphe de 
 Morlev, of Cuthbert Castle. It is more than 
 probable. Brother Edgar, that you have al- 
 ready heard of his demise, but it is equally 
 so that you are still ignorant of the important 
 interests which are placed at issue by this 
 event. He has left, as the sole inheritor of his 
 magnificent estates, a daughter, who has been 
 bred up as a heretic. 
 
 • " An excellent confessor was appointed by the 
 college to the place of domestic chaplain and 
 confessor to the defunct Richard Randolphe de 
 Morley; and this good man, Avho, of course, 
 left the castle on the demise of his patron, has 
 stated to me such particulars respecting the 
 heiress of Cuthbert, as has induced me to be- 
 lieve that her soul may be saved from ever-
 
 236 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 lasting destruction, if proper means be used to 
 convert her to the Catholic faith ; and, more- 
 over, that from certain indications of character 
 which this worthy man did not suifer to escape 
 him, it appears not unlikely that the jDroperty 
 which the late pious proprietor would wil- 
 lingly have bestowed upon our order, had the 
 laws of his heretical country permitted it, may 
 yet be restored to us, if proper means be taken 
 to influence this young girl aright. The god- 
 liness of which work, I need not point out to 
 you. Father Edgar, as you will not be slow to 
 see that it not only would ensure the eternal 
 salvation of the young lady in the life to come, 
 but bestow on us the possession of a property, 
 the urgent need for which no one knows 
 better than yourself, who have it in charge to 
 superintend the funds consecrated to the build- 
 ing of Catholic churches in the still benighted 
 land wherein you sojourn. It is almost unne- 
 cessary that I should point out to you the fact, 
 that the most obvious, if not the only way by 
 which this desirable object can be obtained, is 
 by inducing the heiress to take monastic vows. 
 " I have examined the excellent and highly-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 237 
 
 intelligent confessor, Father Ambrose, upon all 
 the peculiarities of temperament and character 
 discernible in this young person ; and I have 
 laid my plans accordingly. You and I, Father 
 Edgar, have reached an age at which we have- 
 little farther to learn respecting the ordinary 
 feelings and idiosyncracy of women. The re- 
 port of Father Ambrose has made me well ac- 
 quainted with all that is in any way peculiar 
 in the heiress of Cuthbert, and between this 
 general, and this particular information, I feel 
 pretty secure of the correctness of the judg- 
 ment I have formed. 
 
 " I have, in conformity w^ith this judgment^ 
 fixed upon a young man, of whom I have long 
 known a good deal, as the agent to be em- 
 ployed in the conversion of this young girl, 
 and subsequently as an adviser likely to have 
 influence in leading her to profession. The 
 youth, who has been very carefully educated 
 hy us, is admirably Aveil fitted for the task for 
 which I have selected him ; but it is scarcely 
 necessary that I should point out to you the 
 probability that one well suited to succeed on 
 such a mission, is likely also, to be one notun-
 
 238 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 likely to shrink and fail when contemplating 
 the consequences of it. 
 
 " The young woman, as described by Father 
 Ambrose, is more than commonly beautiful, and 
 attractive; and a man of the age and gentle 
 character of Father Eustace can hardly be 
 considered, notwithstanding his excellent prin- 
 ciples, as being beyond all danger of the weak- 
 ness which young girls, thus gifted, are apt to 
 produce. I have therefore thought it fitting, 
 Brother Edgar, to prepare this statement for 
 your perusal, and I shall give it to our excel- 
 lent Brother Eustace at the moment of parting 
 with him — making him understand, that it is 
 only in case of his feeling conscious that he is 
 in danger of compromising his high principles, 
 and excellent intentions, from the consequence 
 of such weakness as all men of his age are 
 liable to, that he is to trouble you by trans- 
 mitting this communication. I still feel it to 
 be very possible that your assistance may not 
 be required, for Eustace is truly a devoted 
 member of our most Holy Company; and, 
 moreover, I think it would be painful to him 
 to allow, even to himself, that he required any
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 239 
 
 strength besides liis own. But exactly for 
 these reasons I deem it necessary, that in case 
 of any difficulty, or struggle, this excellent 
 young man should know where to look for help. 
 Be very sure, however, that whenever this 
 reaches you, a time of real difficulty and a 
 state of real struggle has arrived. Therefore, 
 Father Edgar, delay not, I charge you, but, for 
 the time abandoning all other business, and 
 leaving all things in the hands of agents as best 
 you may, repair to the residence of Father 
 Eustace, without loss of time, and then and 
 there exert the acute and fearless capacity for 
 the which you are so highly esteemed by us, 
 in such a manner as to set all things right. 
 Annexed, you have herewith a document, very 
 carefully arranged, containing the entire and 
 complete result of all Father Ambrose's long 
 and attentive observations on the neighbour- 
 hood to which the mission of Father Eustace 
 has taken him. By studying this, as I feel 
 well assured you will study it, my good bro- 
 ther, you will at once become acquainted with 
 all the personages upon whom it will probably 
 become your duty to act. Beyond this I can
 
 240 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 say nothing. Nor do I wish to say anything 
 more. When I place in any man the entire 
 contidence which I do in you, I seldom trouble 
 him with many instructions. All that I de- 
 sire to impress upon you is, that I consider the 
 object we have in yiew to be of great import- 
 ance, and as one of those affairs in the manage- 
 ment of which we are not only permitted, but 
 enjoined, to let the wisdom of the serpent pre- 
 ponderate over the gentleness of the dove. 
 "I remain your faithful friend, 
 
 SCAVIATOLI." 
 
 Having read this epistle twice, Mr. Mills 
 laid it on one side, and proceeded to examine 
 the much larger and mucli more closely 
 written folio which accompanied it. Through 
 this it is needless that we should follow him, 
 for it only contained such particulars of the 
 individuals composing the Cuthbert neighbour- 
 hood as are known already to the reader, or 
 which will become sufficiently evident in the 
 course of the narrative. 
 
 Having finished its perusal, he poured out a 
 large cup of coffee, and having cut his dry 
 toast into strips, he took them very leisurely,
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 241 
 
 one after the other, and having dipped them 
 in the fragrant liquid, consigned them to his 
 mouth, not appearing, however, from the ex- 
 pression of his countenance, to be at all con- 
 scious of what he was about. It mattered not 
 — a sufficient breakfast was imbibed, notwith- 
 standing this abstraction of mind ; and his cup 
 being exhausted, and his toast vanished, he 
 pushed his chair from the table at which he 
 had been sitting, to a smaller one close beside 
 it, on which stood all necessary implements for 
 writing, and taking a sheet of paper and a 
 pen, rapidly indited the following epistle : — 
 
 " My dear Sir, 
 
 " I have this morning received a packet 
 from a good friend of ours at Eome, which 
 urges upon me his very earnest wish that you 
 and I should become personally acquainted. As 
 far as I am concerned, I feel quite sure that, 
 by acting upon this wish, I shall procure for 
 myself one of the very greatest pleasures of 
 which I am susceptible — namely, the making 
 acquaintance with a gentleman who, from 
 my Roman friend's description of him, must 
 
 VOL. II. r
 
 242 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 be one of the most amiable, as well as one of 
 the most estimable men in existence. 
 
 " My near relationship to you, as the bro- 
 ther of your mother^ emboldens me, although 
 personally a stranger, to take the liberty of 
 announcing to you, that when I make you the 
 friendly and, probably, long visit, to which 
 our common friend urges me, I shall be ac- 
 companied by Mrs. Vavasor, a most excellent 
 and truly venerable lady, who, being not only 
 my cousin-german, but the cousin-german of 
 your good mother also, cannot, I feel well as- 
 sured, fail of receiving a kind and cordial 
 welcome from you. As I am aware, being a 
 bachelor myself, that no bachelor can receive a 
 lady, however nearly related, without wishing 
 for a few days' notice, in order to prepare 
 everything suitable for her accommodation, I 
 will fix this dav week as that of our arrival, 
 when I trust, my dear sir, we shall find you 
 as much pleased to receive us as we shall be 
 to wait upon you. Witli Mrs. Vavasor's kind 
 regards, I remain, my highly valued, though, 
 as yet, unseen nephew, 
 
 " Your very affectionate uncle, 
 
 " William Mills."
 
 FATHEE EUSTACE. 243 
 
 " P.S. — I understand that you have pitched 
 your tent in a very pleasant and sociable 
 neighbourhood ; and as both my good cousin 
 and myself love society, and enjoy witnessing 
 the amusements of the young, although we 
 can no longer join in them, I hope you will 
 mention our intended arrival to your kind 
 neighbours, which will prevent your introduc- 
 tion of us from coming upon them by surprise. 
 Your mother, my dear nephew, was one of the 
 most hospitable women that ever lived-, and if 
 you inherit this temper, I should think that 
 the most agreeable thing you could do, would 
 be to invite all your most intimate Cuthbert 
 neighbours to meet us at dinner the day fol- 
 lowing that of our arrival. You must forgive 
 your old uncle, dear Stormont, if he uses the 
 privileges of relationship too freely ; but de- 
 pend upon it we shall be excellent friends when 
 
 we meet." 
 
 ***** * 
 
 Having carefully copied this document in a 
 large volume that was drawn from a safe re- 
 ceptacle near at hand, and then sealed and dis- 
 patched it to the post, the old gentleman 
 
 r2
 
 244 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 returned to the occupation which had before 
 engrossed him ; but his movements had become 
 brisker, and the manner in which he proceeded 
 with his employment considerably more alert, 
 than before he was interrupted; the conse- 
 quence of which was, that the confused, or 
 seemingly confused mass of papers before him, 
 speedily took the form of neatly tied and 
 neatly docketed packets, so that in about an 
 hour (in the course of which he had rung his 
 bell and ordered his horse) the whole contents 
 of the table, with the exception of the break- 
 fast equipage, were deposited in different 
 drawers of an old-fashioned, but handsome bu- 
 reau that stood in the room. 
 
 This business completed, the old gentleman 
 proceeded to his sleeping apartment, and hav- 
 ing carefully washed his hands, brushed his 
 iron-grey hair, put on a snow-white cravat, in 
 exchange for the black one which he dismissed, 
 and an extremely good black coat and waist- 
 coat, in the place of similar articles of less 
 value, he descended the back stair of his 
 small, but very comfortable house, and walked 
 out into his neat little stable-yard.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 245 
 
 He had found that his commands had been 
 ah-eady obeyed, and that his horse, as sleek 
 and as plump as that of a Spanish friar of the 
 good old times, stood saddled and bridled, and 
 gently pawing the pavement in expectation of 
 his coming. 
 
 Mr. Mills mounted as an old gentleman is 
 wont to do, who, though no longer very active, 
 is too well used to the operation to make any 
 difiiculty about it ; and the little horse, in like 
 manner accustomed to the duty he was to per- 
 form, steadily endured both the strong pull 
 upon his mane, and the heavy descent of his 
 long-legged rider upon the saddle, and then 
 they set off upon the best possible terms, 
 the beast and his rider equally well knowing 
 what was to be done, and equally well dis- 
 posed to do it. 
 
 The county in which Mr. Mills resided was 
 one of those, never very difficult to find, but 
 which are becoming gradually less so, where 
 there might be seen a quiet, unpretending, but 
 rather large mansion, occupied by a Roman- 
 catholic establishment of nuns. Whether a 
 nunnery rears a proud front in Spain and
 
 246 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Italy, or humbly presents a very simple one in 
 England, there is one feature belonging to both 
 that never varies. The entrance into the in- 
 terior of the building is more than usually 
 difficult for strangers, and more than usually 
 easy to their familiar guests. 
 
 Mr. Mills had every right to consider him- 
 self as among the latter class at Langdon 
 Down; and accordingly, on dismounting from 
 his horse, who seemed, by-the-by, almost as 
 much at home as his master, he knocked at no 
 knocker, and rang at no bell, but walked with 
 a firm and unfaltering step through the hall, 
 and up the principal stairs of the building, 
 and then, with an equal absence of ceremony, 
 opened a door, and entered a handsome par- 
 lour. 
 
 It was unoccupied, but this appeared not in 
 any way to disappoint, or disconcert the visitor, 
 for walking up to a rich silk curtain, which 
 hung down to within two feet of the floor, 
 beside the fire-place, he rang a bell, by means 
 of a cord which was beside it, and then drew 
 forward a chair, and placed himself imme- 
 diately in front of the curtain.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 247 
 
 Scarcely had lie done so, when suddenly, as 
 if a spring had been touched, the curtain flew 
 aside, and behind an aperture of about four 
 feet square, covered by a handsome brass net- 
 work, stood an elderly female, clothed in the 
 garments of a nun. 
 
 " Benedicite, good mother," said Mr. Mills, 
 at the same time stretching out his extended 
 palm towards her, as those do who are privi- 
 leged to pronounce a blessing; " how fares it 
 with your holy community, and with you? — 
 Are your autumn coughs beginning yet?" 
 
 " Scarcely, holy father, scarcely," replied the 
 solemn-looking Abbess, for the tall lady held 
 no lesser rank. " Sister Margaret, indeed, 
 has been sneezing, more than once or twice 
 either, since the vesper hour last evening ; and 
 sister Mary asked for preserved fruit this 
 morning, instead of butter, because of a slight 
 affection of the throat that seemed to trouble 
 her; and this has set me about ordering the 
 usual gallon of black dose to be made for 
 autumn use, which work will be followed by 
 the large decoction of our own poppy-heads, 
 and this done, holy father, I shall not mind a
 
 248 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 sneeze, nor a cough either, when I hear it. 
 But so far, we have got on with little or no 
 maladies at all, since that business of the in- 
 fluenza in the hot weather." 
 
 It was evident that this sort of medical 
 report was not only a matter of routine, but of 
 such very deep interest to the rather grim- 
 looking lady who pronounced it, that it would 
 have been, considering her rank, almost impos- 
 sible for any one to interrupt her, or to have 
 listened to her without marked attention, much 
 less would the ever kindly- smiling Mr. Mills 
 have so conducted himself. On the contrary, 
 however high his station, and authority might 
 be — and there was something in the demeanour 
 of the Abbess which there would not have been, 
 had not both been considerably beyond respec- 
 table — but, however high in station or autho- 
 rity Mr. Mills might be, he evidently thought 
 proper to listen to the old lady with an air of 
 very deep reverence, as well as of lively interest 
 in the subject of her discourse. 
 
 Having come to the conclusion of it, she 
 stopped, and drew forth from some receptacle 
 concealed amidst the ample folds of her black
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 249 
 
 garment, a nice newly-opened pocket-handker- 
 chief, with which she daintily touched the tip 
 of her long handsome nose. 
 
 At sight of this, the countenance of Mr. 
 Mills underwent a sudden change. The smile 
 was banished from his lip, and with an air of 
 deep anxiety he said — 
 
 " And that handkerchief, dear mother ! what 
 does it mean? Better were it, for all our 
 sakes, that every individual of the community, 
 dear and precious as they are — better were it 
 that one and all of them should be suffering 
 from the very last extremity of colds, than 
 that the very slightest symptom of such a 
 malady should attack you !" 
 
 " Thanks, holy father, thanks for your pa- 
 ternal care of us all. For I will not deny, 
 Father Edgar, that if / fail, all fails with me. 
 When the head of such an establishment as 
 this gives sign and symptom of weakness, 
 whether in mind or body, it is over with the 
 well-being of the house." 
 
 " Most true! most awfully true!" returned 
 Mr. Mills, solemnly shaking his head. " I may, 
 then, hope that you yourself are well?"
 
 250 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " Yes, holy father, you may give thanks for 
 that, whenever you shall find it convenient. 
 And now tell me, Father Edgar, to what do 
 we owe the honour of this unexpected visit ? 
 As visitor, your duties are finished for this 
 month. Has something special caused me the 
 honour of this interview ?" 
 
 " Yes, holy mother, my business here to-day 
 is indeed special, being no less than a com- 
 mission from the General himself." 
 
 " A commission from the General himself! — 
 and to me?" returned the Abbess, with a very 
 visible degree of emotion ; and no wonder, as 
 at that moment she well remembered that there 
 was a vacant abbesship at one of the richest 
 Irish convents in all Italy, to the which, for 
 any reason, earthly or heavenly, that she knew 
 to the contrary, she might herself be appointed, 
 provided the all-powerful General of the Jesuits 
 were to deem it good that so it should be. 
 
 " A special commission from the General of 
 the Jesuits ! — and to me ?" she repeated. 
 
 " Why, certainly, I may say it is to you, 
 most holy mother,'' replied the visitor, respect- 
 fully ; " for as it concerns one of your commu-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 251 
 
 nity, the commission must assuredly address 
 itself to you." 
 
 " To one of my community !" replied the 
 disappointed Abbess. " And to which ?" 
 
 " To our good Sister Agatha," replied Father 
 Edirar. 
 
 " The Sister Agatha !" returned the Abbess, 
 again reiterating the words of the visitor — 
 ^' the Sister Agatha ! Why, she is only the 
 daughter of a baronet, and my father was a 
 peer !" 
 
 Father Edgar immediately remembered the 
 vacant abbesship, and concealing, what was 
 this time a genuine smile, by taking a pinch 
 of snuff, he replied — 
 
 " The business upon which our General 
 requires the services of Sister Agatha are not 
 of a nature which have any relation either 
 to worldly, or conventual rank. You know 
 how perfect his acquaintance is with the 
 talents and character of every individual, 
 whether male or female, over whom his situa- 
 tion gives him authority ; and it should seem 
 that he has heard or known, from some quarter
 
 252 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 or other, that Sister Agatha is a person likely 
 to be useful to him on the present occasion." 
 
 " And what may the present occasion be, I 
 wonder?" returned the Abbess, tartly. "I 
 know of no talents, or character either, pos- 
 sessed by Sister Agatha, in the very least 
 degree calculated to make her distinguished 
 beyond all the other holy ladies of the estab- 
 lishment ; and I am at a loss to guess who it 
 can possibly be who can have so misrepre- 
 sented her to the General." 
 
 " These things are always too well managed, 
 holy mother, for any one to guess how they are 
 brought about," replied Father Edgar, very 
 demurely. 
 
 " And what is there to be confided to the 
 charge of this very opiniated nun to do ?" de- 
 manded the Abbess, in a tone which very 
 plainly indicated lier displeasure. " And I 
 tell you what, Father Edgar," she continued, 
 before her question could be answered, " I 
 shall have no sort of objection, after the busi- 
 ness is over, let it be what it may, that she 
 should enter into some other establishment. I 
 know perfectly what sort of a temper Sister
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 253 
 
 Agatha has, and I can guess, without much 
 difficulty, what it will be like, after she has 
 been picked out for some business by the 
 General. It will be something rather too 
 much to bear, you may take my word for it." 
 
 " Well, then, reverend mother," replied 
 Father Edgar, in the very gentlest possible 
 accents, " I will return home, and immediately 
 send off a letter to Rome, to inform the General 
 that you, holy mother, cannot approve his 
 reverence's choice in this matter, and that you 
 object to Sister Agatha's leaving your con- 
 vent." 
 
 And as he spoke, he rose from his chair, 
 once more stretched forth his hand, and pro- 
 nounced his benedicite, and then turned to 
 leave the parlour. 
 
 But the Abbess, who had only permitted 
 him to proceed thus far from utter inability to 
 speak, so great was the agitation which had 
 seized upon her, now almost screamed as she 
 pronounced the word, " Stay !" 
 
 The visitor did but half turn his head 
 round, as an indication that he heard her, and 
 then turning it back again, he walked on.
 
 254 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 The unhappy Abbess, whose fancy now ran 
 as vehemently upon destitution and disgrace, 
 as it had done a few moments before upon 
 honour and promotion, now uttered such a cry 
 as, in conjunction with the visitor's pre-deter- 
 mination not to leave the convent till he had 
 arranged everything for the speedy departure 
 of Sister Agatha, induced him to turn back 
 again in good earnest, and to say, but still 
 with the imperturbable quietness of the most 
 perfect indifference, — 
 
 " I have no wish to go, good mother, if it 
 be your wish that I should stay ; only, as you 
 well know, it is fitting now, and always, that 
 we should both of us keep in remembrance the 
 necessity of obedience. I, for instance, have 
 received this morning, in the hand-writing of 
 the General, a command, the most distinct and 
 positive, which has caused me to announce to 
 you the necessity I have mentioned — namely, 
 that Sister Agatha should prepare to leave 
 your convent for a time, and that immediately. 
 To me, holy mother, this command comes with 
 as much authority as if sent direct from Heaven, 
 for to this I am bound by my vows. Never-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 255 
 
 theless, I have no authority to enforce that 
 part of the commission which it rests with you 
 to fulfil, by force. And finding that you resist, 
 my next duty is to dispatch with all speed a 
 reply to Eome, stating what has passed between 
 us." 
 
 " In the name of Heaven, Father Edgar, 
 speak not such dreadful words to me ! I did 
 but intend to discuss the matter Avith you in 
 the same friendly and confidential spirit as 
 heretofore, and guessed not that you meant to 
 be so sudden with me." 
 
 " Nor would I, holy mother, were choice left 
 me ; but my orders are, that I shall lose no 
 time. I therefore leave it to you to decide 
 whether I am not, even now, transgressing, by 
 permitting this useless discussion to proceed." 
 
 " Then may the Holy Virgin aid me to 
 move with a quick step, and to speak with 
 brief words,'' returned the half-angry and half- 
 frightened Abbess, suddenly drawing the cur- 
 tain ; and then, as if fearing that her excellent 
 spiritual friend and visitor might affect to 
 misunderstand the purpose for which she left 
 him, she raised it with her hand, and said, in
 
 256 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 a voice more shrill than civil, " The General's 
 elected, Sister Agatha, shall come to you as 
 quickly as her feet can bring her." 
 
 The curtain then dropped again, and Wil- 
 liam Mills, Esq., being left for a few minutes 
 alone, indulged not only in a gentle pinch of 
 snuff, but also in a gentle chuckle, both at the 
 hopes and the fears of the holy lady who had 
 left him. 
 
 She kept her word with him, however, so 
 well, as to make it apparent that she considered   
 him to be in earnest, for about as quickly as 
 possible, the curtain once more sprang aside, 
 and another sable figure stood behind the 
 grating. In dress, and perhaps in age, she 
 was very nearly the same as the one which had 
 preceded her, but in all else extremely different. 
 Her features were finely formed, and still ex- 
 tremely handsome ; but in their very beauty 
 there was something that might have alarmed 
 a physiognomist. There was an expression of 
 fixed determination about the mouth and chin, 
 and a look of keen intelligence in the eye, that 
 would have suggested to such an one a long 
 list of latent possibilities, amidst which, both
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 257 
 
 power and will would have seemed greatly to 
 predominate over all softer qualities. 
 
 But there was at least one charm to which 
 all who looked at her must be susceptible, for 
 not even the all-levelling attire which she wore, 
 could conceal the fact that she had the air and 
 mien of a gentlewoman. 
 
 Father Edgar repeated, as a matter of 
 course, his " benedicite ;" but it was uttered 
 now much in the accent in which we say 
 " How d'ye do ?" having greatly more of friendly 
 familiarity than of priestly solemnity in it, 
 and the ceremony of the extended palm was 
 altogether omitted. 
 
 " Good day, good father," was the salutation 
 on the lady's side. " But what, in the name 
 of all the saints," she continued, with some- 
 thing between a gay smile and a bitter sneer, 
 " what have you been saying to our most* 
 reverend and holy mother? Rarely have I 
 seen a lady, to say nothing about her being a 
 nun and an abbess, who looked at once so 
 scared, and so angry." 
 
 "At better leisure, Sister Agatha, I may 
 make you smile, by recounting at full length 
 
 VOL. II. s
 
 258 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 all that has passed between us; but at this 
 moment the rare occurrence of a little real 
 business, in which you must take an active 
 part, must oblige me to postpone the gratifi- 
 cation." 
 
 ^^ " Indeed !" returned the nun, the expression 
 of her features instantly changing from a look 
 of rather saucy indifference, to one of intelli- 
 gent activity. " And how, my very good 
 Squire Mills, have you contrived to bring to 
 this, our barren desert, so rich and rare a 
 treasure ?" 
 
 " The how, Amelia, shall be at your com- 
 mand hereafter; but, now, the most pressing 
 part of my errand is to tell you that you must 
 prepare yourself immediately for a visit of a 
 few weeks, nay, it may be months, into the 
 world. The matter presses, and I therefore 
 can allow you little time for preparation ; but, 
 if I mistake not, you are not ill provided with 
 garments that may serve you for the nonce; 
 if more are needed, the means to get them will 
 not be found wanting." 
 
 " No, cousin William, I have the suits that 
 served me thrice before, and which have been
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 259 
 
 preserved by command, as you may well re- 
 member, in case I should again be called out 
 upon service. The last time I was sent on 
 duty was in France — where is the holy cam- 
 paign to be fought now?" 
 
 " In England, my good cousin, but in a 
 distant county. However, as we are to take 
 the journey together, the distance need not 
 daunt you." 
 
 " Nor would it, cousin William, were it ten 
 times as much as England could give scope for, 
 and were I as much alone as it is possible for 
 a traveller to be. Nevertheless, you need not 
 doubt but that I shall be better pleased to have 
 your company. But tell me, am I to travel 
 as an humble friend, taken upon some chari- 
 table mission to the sick or sinful? — or as be- 
 comes the acknowledged cousin of the well-born 
 Squire Mill's, of Hartley Lodge? As Amelia 
 Mills, unless you have the Pope's permission 
 for it, I cannot travel." 
 
 " The Pope's permission would scarcely be 
 
 refused, if asked for by the man who sets us 
 
 ^ on this work, my good lady ; however, though 
 
 you are to travel as my cousin, you are not to- 
 
 s2
 
 260 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 travel as one that is, or ever has been a nun," 
 replied Father Edgar. " You know that I have 
 many cousins on the other side of the house, 
 and you shall be one of them ; but you must 
 be a widow, also, and your name Vavasor. 
 Have you any objection to this?" 
 
 " None — none whatever. But now for the 
 work! In what is it to consist?" 
 
 Her cousin, the Squire, looked at her and 
 smiled. 
 
 " If the question were to be answered to any 
 one but yourself, Amelia, I should like to have 
 a little time afforded me, so to arrange it as 
 neither to deceive nor to alarm. To deceive 
 you could by no means answer, as you must, 
 on entering on your mission, at once perceive 
 the nature of it ; for if you did not, you might 
 be likely to do more harm than good. And as 
 to any possible alarm, whatever the aifair 
 might appear to others, I think not that you 
 are very likely to be terrified. I doubt if it 
 be half as bad (taking a worldling's view of it) 
 as the last business ; and I suspect that it is 
 ten times more important. But as to parti- 
 culars, you must wait, my good cousin, for I
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 261 
 
 assure you I have enough, and rather more, to 
 get through, in the way of secular business, 
 before we are to set off, which, by your good 
 pleasure, must be on Monday next. I shall, 
 of course, be here the day before, and will 
 convey you with me, dressed in worldly gar- 
 ments, if you please, as soon as the vesper 
 service is over. You know that my bachelor 
 abode can give you a night's lodging, and that 
 night, before permitting you to retire to rest, 
 I must make you acquainted with all that I 
 know myself about the matter. The General's 
 letter will make you perceive at once that he 
 attaches great importance to the affair; and 
 although it is entirely deficient in every sort 
 of detail, as to what I am to do in order to 
 obtain the object desired, I feel no fears as to 
 the entering upon this terra incognita^ pro- 
 vided you will help me." 
 
 " On that point, my good friend, I shall 
 make no professions, being quite certain they 
 are needless," replied the nun; "and, as to 
 FEAR," she added, significantly nodding her 
 head, "it is either too late, or too early, for
 
 262 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 anything to create that sort of falling sickness 
 within me." 
 
 Father Edgar smiled, and nodded in return. 
 *"In my opinion," said he, but almost in a 
 ■whisper, " the immortal Loyola made one 
 blunder. He ought to have given us a woman 
 for a General. His only excuse is, that he did 
 not know Amelia Mills." 
 
 Having said this, he waved his hand in 
 token of adieu, but not at all in the manner of 
 giving a blessing, and withdrew. 
 
 I
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The illness of Lady Sarah de Morley was 
 not of many days' duration, but while it lasted, 
 it was sufficiently severe to prevent her feeling 
 able to enter upon the subject of Fanny Cla- 
 rence with Mrs. Curtis ; and till this was done, 
 both her ladyship and Juliana agreed in 
 thinking that it would be wisest not to begin 
 the negotiation respecting the removal of 
 Fanny, and her mother, to the castle, for the 
 obvious reason, that if they found their hopes 
 of obtaining the consent of William's parents 
 to this most unworldly-wise connexion falla- 
 cious, their wisest plan would be not to hazard, 
 in any way, the security of the shelter, which 
 the unfortunate widow and orphan now en- 
 joyed. 
 
 Having taken this resolution, they adhered
 
 264 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 to it, thougli it was painful in the extreme to 
 Juliana to witness the daily increasing melan- 
 choly of her poor friend, without daring to 
 communicate the hope which, as she fancied, 
 hung upon the future. 
 
 Miss de Morley was not naturally inclined 
 to be over sanguine, and her character was 
 much more in contrast than in affinity to those 
 who live in a fool's paradise, formed of their 
 own bright fancies; nevertheless, she was at 
 this time ten thousand times happier than she 
 had ever been in the whole course of her life 
 before, solely from imaginings which, as far as 
 she was herself concerned, had as little founda- 
 tion in truth as it is well possible to conceive. 
 
 The perfect independence as to her own des- 
 tiny which her mother had, from the period of 
 her father's death, taken great pains to im- 
 press upon her mind, used to appear to her as 
 rather a source of danger, than of happiness ; 
 but now she dwelt iipon it incessantly, and 
 becoming more clearly convinced, the oftener 
 she studied the subject, that her mother was 
 right, she became convinced also that her 
 peculiarly independent position rendered it
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 265 
 
 her duty so to use the intellect that Heaven 
 had bestowed upon her, as not only to secure 
 her own happiness, but with it that of the 
 most admirable being that she had ever known. 
 
 She was quite aware that her mother would 
 deeply lament her uniting herself in marriage 
 to a Roman-catholic ; but she was aware, also, 
 that in order to be consistent, that lamentation 
 ought to cease, the moment that she made 
 known also the fact of her having restored 
 herself (as she called it) to the religion of her 
 father. For whatever might be Lady Sarah 
 de Morley's private notions concerning the 
 respective merits of the Roman-catholic, and 
 the Protestant faiths, it was not upon this 
 part of the subject that she ever dilated. All 
 she ever said upon the subject only went to 
 prove, that nothing was so likely to be utterly 
 subversive of domestic happiness, as a marriage 
 between persons of different religious faiths. 
 
 In this opinion Juliana had always agreed, 
 and she did so still. 
 
 The only shadow of a cloud that seemed, in 
 her own opinion, to rest upon her destiny, 
 arose from the idea that Mr. Wardour would
 
 266 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 be very sternly steady, botli in liis opposition 
 to her change of faith, and to the marriage 
 she intended to contract in consequence of it. 
 Had her mother not been in existence, this 
 anticipated opposition on the part of the 
 Rector of the parish woukl have occasioned 
 her little uneasiness. For, somehow or other, 
 Juliana did not very cordially like Mr. War- 
 dour. She was herself quite aware of the fact, 
 and yet she would have been puzzled had she 
 been called upon to assign a reason for it. 
 
 It might have been, although she knew it 
 not, that she was a little jealous of his influ- 
 ence with her mother. That he had influence 
 with Lady Sarah is quite certain; but it is 
 equally so, that it had never been used in any 
 way that could, by possibility, afiect her 
 daughter unpleasantly. 
 
 But it not uufrequently happens, I believe, 
 that a grown-up daughter eyes, with feelings 
 very nearly akin to jealousy, any great inti- 
 macy on the part of her mother, whether the 
 object of it be male or female. Certain it is, 
 however, that at the time of which I am 
 speaking, Juliana had never conceived the idea
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 267 
 
 that anything of lover-like pretension was 
 mixed with Mr. Wardour's devotion to the 
 Lady Sarah. That Lady Sarah, at the age of 
 thirty-seven, was still a very lovely woman, 
 had nothing very extraordinary in it, nor 
 would Juliana have failed to declare, with 
 equal eagerness and sincerity, had her opinion 
 been asked on the subject, that she considered 
 her as by far the most beautiful woman she 
 had ever seen. IS^either could she have denied 
 a meed of nearly equal praise to the good looks 
 of Mr. Wardour, who, at the age of forty, was 
 little, if at all, less remarkable for his personal 
 advantages, than he had been some fifteen years 
 before. Yet, nevertheless, the idea that any 
 feeling resembling love could arise between 
 them, never crossed her imagination for a 
 moment. 
 
 On the whole, however, Juliana was inclined 
 to consider herself as one of the very happiest 
 creatures in existence, and did not attempt to 
 battle the point with her common sense, as to 
 whether the opposition which she certainly 
 anticipated, when her resolution in favour of
 
 268 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Mr. Stormont should be made known, would 
 be reasonable, or the reverse. 
 
 Nor was her happy confidence in the future 
 at all shaken by the following adventure, 
 which occurred to her on the third night after 
 the important organ- playing, the particulars 
 of which have been fully given in a former 
 chapter. 
 
 It happened that, in consequence of Lady 
 Sarah's feeling sufficiently better to talk a 
 little, and to be read to a great deal, Juliana 
 had not left her room during the whole of the 
 day, excepting for the purpose of taking her 
 meals. At about ten o'clock, however, her 
 mother dismissed her with a grateful and 
 affectionate farewell, and the comfortable as- 
 surance that she felt well inclined to sleep, 
 and hoped to pass a good night. 
 
 Soothed in spirit by this assurance, but a 
 good deal fatigued by the confinement and 
 exertion of the day, Juliana went to her room, 
 greatly disposed to compose herself for the 
 night also. 
 
 But the window of her room was open, and
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 269 
 
 the delicious night odour of autumn honey- 
 suckles and climatis caused her, instead of 
 closing it, to stand hanging over the sweet 
 parasites, that seemed stretching out their 
 flowers to meet her. This sort of enjoyment, 
 indulged in for a few minutes, completely dis- 
 sipated every sensation of languor, and made 
 the idea of going to bed quite intolerable. 
 Having discovered that she was not sleepy at 
 all, she began to consider how she should 
 employ herself till the " good dulness" seized 
 her; and at first she thought that nothing 
 would be so pleasant as going out into the 
 garden that had breathed so sweet an invi- 
 tation to her, and she determined upon taking 
 a walk, though there was no light, save that of 
 the stars, to guide her steps. 
 
 This fancy, however, was soon abandoned 
 for another. Juliana's thoughts happened to 
 turn themselves towards her beloved organ, 
 and joyfully remembering its remoteness, she 
 put on a shawl, caught up her candle, and 
 gliding with a cautious step along the pas- 
 sages, took her way towards a small staircase 
 that terminated close to the door of the library.
 
 270 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 But before she reached this staircase, she 
 changed her mind again. 
 
 " If I once begin playing," thought she, " I 
 shall very likely go on till midnight, and a 
 dull two hours it will prove for my poor sleepy 
 Mary." 
 
 So she returned to her room, took off her 
 shawl, rang her bell, sat down, and waited for 
 the arrival of her maid. The young woman 
 came with no loitering step, for she had no 
 lover in the house, except one old footman, 
 whom she could not abide, and had positively 
 no amusement of any kind within her reach, 
 excepting going to bed and to sleep. 
 
 It was therefore with no very pleasant feel- 
 ings that she listened to her young lady, as she 
 said, " I do not feel sleepy enough to go to bed, 
 Mary." 
 
 "When shall I come again, Ma'am?" re- 
 turned the girl, yawning. 
 
 " I only rang to tell you that you need not 
 come at all," replied Miss de Morley, smiling. 
 " Good night, Mary. Do not be late to-mor- 
 row morning ; and when you come, bring me 
 word how my mother has passed the night."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 271 
 
 And in the next moment Juliana was again 
 alone, and feeling the enjoyment of a girl-like 
 fit of romance, as she thought of the beautiful 
 and the holy strains she should draw from her 
 loved, nay, almost venerated instrument, with 
 no auditor but the faithful, though somewhat 
 mysterious old woman, who was to assist her 
 in making it speak. 
 
 There was, close beside the organ, the handle 
 of a bell that was hung in Mrs. Hardwood's 
 sitting room; and though its size was very 
 small, and its sound anything but very loud, 
 it could not fail to summons her, for it was 
 so placed that her eye could scarcely fail to see 
 its movement, if its silvery tinkle escaped her 
 ear. Neither was there any danger that the 
 old woman should not hear it now. She was 
 habitually a late watcher, and had confessed 
 to her young mistress, during a few short in- 
 tervals of confidential chat which they had 
 recently held together, that this little bell had 
 often summoned her, at dead of night, to per- 
 form the same office for the old Italian servant 
 who used to act as her master's organist, as 
 she now performed for her.
 
 272 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 So Juliana felt quite sure of not being dis- 
 appointed, and felt sure, too, of enjoying a 
 little more of those marvellously interesting 
 details respecting the last years of her father's 
 life, of which, while they lasted, she knew no 
 more than if, instead of inhabiting the same 
 house, they had been separated by half the 
 surface of the globe. 
 
 Again, therefore, she wrapped a shawl 
 around her, and again set off upon her progress 
 to the distant library. The room looked dark, 
 large, cold, and comfortless ; and the one wax 
 taper she carried by no means enabled her to 
 see to the end of it. For a moment she 
 stopped, raised the light high above her head, 
 and looked onward. 
 
 But as far as she could discern, everything 
 looked as it ought to do ; no symptoms, either 
 of thieves or ghosts, appeared to startle her, 
 and with renovated courage she walked on 
 towards the organ, not sorry to remember, 
 perhaps, that the bell-pull which hung beside 
 it would speedily convert her solitude into a 
 tete-d-tete. 
 
 But having reached the instrument, the
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 27S 
 
 recollection of all that had so lately passed 
 near it, rushed upon her heart. She trembled, 
 but it was now neither from fear nor from cold. 
 An almost overpowering consciousness of the 
 great change which had taken place in all her 
 opinions, all her feelings, and all her prospects, 
 came upon her as if for the first time. She 
 now, for the first time, seemed awakened to 
 the solemnity of the pledge she had given, that 
 henceforth she would kneel at the altar where 
 her father had knelt, and pray there, in the 
 same spirit that he had prayed. And there 
 w^as something like wonder and surprise in her 
 mind, as she remembered it. 
 
 She sat down, without ringing the bell, on 
 the chair that had been placed for her mother, 
 and rather sought than avoided the train of 
 thought which had taken possession of her. 
 There was, doubtless, something startling in the 
 great and sudden change that had befallen her, 
 but when she told herself this, when she 
 pressed her hand upon her heart, and felt it 
 throb, as she had never felt it throb before, it 
 was with a consciousness of new-born happi- 
 ness, that made her smile, all alone as she was, 
 
 VOL. II. T
 
 274 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 at the sense of new existence that seemed 
 awakened within her. 
 
 But ahnost in the very next moment her 
 mood altered, and she asked herself, with a 
 severe sincerity, that brought a blush to her 
 cheek, whether the sudden conversion to her 
 father's faith, in which she pleased herself, by 
 fancying that there was something almost 
 miraculous in it — she now asked herself, 
 whether the passionate love she had conceived 
 for Stormont might not have had more to do 
 with her conversion, than any intervention of 
 Providence. This thought was inexpressibly 
 painful to her. 
 
 Long before any idea of positive conversion 
 had suggested itself, she had often, very often, 
 dwelt in secret, and with poignant regret, on 
 the prejudice which she could not but think 
 rested upon the mind of her mother, against 
 the long-descended faith of the De Morley 
 race. She knew, perfectly well, that it was 
 in consequence of a specific contract entered 
 into between the families, at the marriage of 
 her mother, that she herself had been bred a 
 Protestant; and against this contract she had
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 275 
 
 never, till she became acquainted with the fact 
 that Stormont was a Papist, conceived it pos- 
 sible, or, rather, in any way reasonable, to 
 protest. 
 
 Nevertheless, she had often, particularly in 
 the months which immediately succeeded her 
 father's death, felt great sorrow, from observing 
 the sort of intolerant contempt, not to say 
 hatred, which Lady Sarah perpetually betrayed 
 against the faith of her husband. 
 
 Juliana had received very few endearing 
 words from her father, but she had never 
 received an unkind one; and there was some 
 filial tenderness blended with the much larger 
 proportion of mysterious reverence, and mys- 
 terious fear, which, while it most effectually 
 kept her from any familiar approach to him, 
 made ^^him an object of anything rather than 
 dislike, or contempt. 
 
 Then came the tremendous moment, when 
 that grey-haired old man, whom, from her 
 earliest infancy, she had been used to invest 
 with a halo of mysterious holiness, declared to 
 her, in the most specific terms, that she had 
 the power either to loose or bind the soul of 
 
 T 2
 
 276 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 lier father upon its passage from earth to 
 heaven. 
 
 It can scarcely be doubted that Juliana in- 
 herited somewhat of her father's temperament^ 
 ■which clung, as with a sort of natural affinity, 
 to everything that was mystically religious; 
 for it seemed infinitely more easy for her to 
 agree in spirit with the feelings of the solemn- 
 visaged, grey-headed old Father Ambrose, 
 than with the sort of sceptical scorn that 
 she occasionally read, with sufficient clearness, 
 both in her mother and Mr. Wardour; and 
 most certainly there was at that time more 
 sympathy between her spirit and that of the 
 old man, who pleaded so pathetically for 
 masses for the help of her father's soul, than 
 any observations uttered by Mr. Wardour on 
 the subject could suffice to check. 
 
 But when the point at issue was gained, 
 when the rich casket was given, and that 
 the venerable-looking Father Ambrose had 
 departed with it, for the purpose of applying 
 its contents as he and all the bishops and 
 cardinals of Eome knew how — for this was 
 the notion she had conceived from the oft-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 277 
 
 repeated plu-ase, " the Church of Rome''' — 
 when this was past, and over, Juliana pursued 
 her usual routine of Protestant worship, with- 
 out ever appearing to have conceived it 
 possible that she could change it. But, 
 nevertheless, the change had come, and with- 
 out suggesting any doubt or fear that she 
 could possibly be wrong in listening to the dic- 
 tates of conviction which led to it. But when 
 the idea arose within her, while she recalled 
 that solemn moment of conversion, that it might 
 have been love and not conviction which had 
 led to it, she trembled ; tears started to her 
 eyes, and inwardly imploring the aid of the 
 Holy Spirit to enlighten her benighted soul, 
 she hastily rose from the chair in which she 
 had placed herself, and purposing to throw 
 herself on her knees before the altar, and there 
 implore the merciful support of Heaven to calm 
 the wavering tumult of her thoughts, she took 
 the candle from the table where she had 
 placed it, and with a faltering and hurried step 
 entered the chapel. 
 
 Though the chapel was small, her one light 
 scarcely sufficed to show her every part of it.
 
 278 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 There was more than one deep recess in its 
 walls, and her candle had just sufficient power 
 to show that each of these looked like the 
 favourite retreat of palpable darkness. But 
 she saw the altar ; it was of white marble, and 
 not only did its whole mass, as well as the 
 many silver ornaments it bore, reflect the light 
 of her taper, but the faint starlight which 
 entered by the large windows would have suf- 
 ficed to make its whiteness visible, had there 
 been no light besides. 
 
 But what is that dark object which lies 
 before it? It is too opaque to be a shadow, 
 and yet its outline is so indistinct, that it can 
 scarcely be taken for anything else. 
 
 Juliana gazed upon it with a sort of super- 
 stitious terror that made her knees shake 
 beneath her ; but while she still kept her eyes 
 fixed upon it, in the very extremity of un- 
 certain fear, it moved, and then, unable any 
 longer to command herself, she uttered a shrill 
 cry, and attempted to rush out of the chapel. 
 
 Before she had passed the door, however, her 
 tottering steps were supported by a power- 
 ful arm, which seized upon hers, when she
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 279 
 
 was almost in the very act of falling, while the 
 voice, which she already seemed to know better 
 than any other in the world, exclaimed, " Alas ! 
 I have frightened you severely by my thought- 
 less folly. I knew not, guessed not, that you 
 ever visited tliese apartments at so late an 
 hour. Can you forgive me?" 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Stormont, I think it is you 
 that must forgive me, for being so childishly 
 prone to take alarm. But, certainly, I am very 
 glad to find a friend in the object of my 
 terror. You are quite right in supposing that 
 I do not often come here so late. But I took 
 it into my head that I should like to hear the 
 notes of the organ again. I was going to 
 ring for our old housekeeper. It is she who 
 always fills the pipes for me. Shall I ring for 
 her now? Perhaps you would let me hear you 
 perform that same chant again ?" 
 
 " I fear not. I think that it would not be 
 possible," replied Mr. Stormont, in agitation 
 so evident, that Juliana had scarcely power 
 enough over herself to retain the appearance 
 of composure ; but she strove hard for it, and 
 contrived to say —
 
 280 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 "Is it too late to oiFer you tea, Mr. Stor- 
 mont? Shall I show you the way to the 
 drawing-room?" 
 
 Had Scaviatoli stood at that moment beside 
 the young Jesuit in person, he could scarcely 
 have been inspired with a more resolute spirit 
 of self-discipline than Avas suddeidy awakened 
 within him. 
 
 Now OR NEVER, is a species of argument 
 which has given a resolute will to many a 
 wavering spirit ; and it did so now to Edward 
 Stormont. 
 
 He had that morning received tlie epistle 
 from William Mills, Esq., which has already 
 been communicated to the reader; and though 
 the submitting to send for him had been one 
 of the most painful struggles of his life, he 
 now felt that his presence might save him from 
 what was Avorse, infinitely worse than death. 
 But how should he profit by his coming, if he 
 permitted himself to be lost before he arrived ? 
 "Now OR NEVER," inwardly ejaculated the 
 agitated young man; and powerful indeed 
 was the effort by which the now carried it 
 against the never.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 281 
 
 And yet, as be himself well knew, it was no 
 single, no Unal effort that he was called upon 
 to make, and to which, when the trial was 
 once successfully over, a peaceful consciousness 
 of victory and security was sure to succeed; 
 on the contrary, every onward step only led to 
 another, as difficult to take, and as decidedly 
 leading on to new perils, when taken. 
 
 The task assigned him Avas — first, to con- 
 vert Juliana de Morley to the Eoman-catholic 
 faith, and then to obtain such influence over 
 her, as might induce her to become a nun, and 
 bestow her large possessions upon the most 
 holy Company of Jesus. 
 
 More easily, far more easily than he could 
 have hoped, had he found the task of conver- 
 sion. Juliana de Morley had declared herself 
 a convert to the creed of her father; and 
 Edward Stormont had never been taught to 
 consider it as very important to any young 
 converts, especially to female ones, whether 
 they fully understood the creed they adopted 
 or not. 
 
 On that point his conscience did not trouble 
 him. Juliana de Morley was a Roman-
 
 282 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 catholic — so far all was right. But the 
 influence — the poAverful influence he was 
 commanded to obtain over her afterwards ! 
 Should he give up the attempt, and commis- 
 sion the deeply-detested William Mills, Esq., 
 to undertake it in his stead? 
 
 Earely has any proposition been more 
 strongly and passionately negatived by a 
 human mind, than was this, by the struggling 
 spirit of the unhappy Stormont. His duty, 
 as an actively obedient Jesuit, had doubtless 
 a very respectable share in this, but not quite 
 so much, perhaps, as he himself believed. He 
 was, however, not altogether unconscious that 
 the idea of yielding an oflice, so certain of 
 obtaining, if successful, the grateful plaudits 
 of Scaviatoli, (to say nothing of the assured 
 approbation of Heaven,) had some share in the 
 vehement averseness which he felt to the 
 doing so; but, to do him justice, poor young 
 man, he was not aware of the terrible fact 
 that neither the influence of William Mills, Esq., 
 nor that of the General Scaviatoli, could, 
 separately or together, produce a vibration of 
 the balance, for a single instant, when weighed
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 283 
 
 against the ecstacy of having a duty to per- 
 form which must of necessity bring him into 
 constant intercourse with Juliana. 
 
 He was, to do him justice, no more aware 
 of this, than the moth which whirled, flutter- 
 ing, round the candle. 
 
 I do not mean to assert, however, that Mr. 
 Stormont was unconscious of the passionate 
 paroxysm of admiration and love with which 
 Miss de Morley had inspired him. Such an 
 assertion would be very far from true. 
 
 Mr. Stormont had not forgotten, and did not 
 perhaps very sincerely wish to forget, the mo- 
 ment of delirium in which he had dared to 
 impress a kiss upon the not quite unconscious 
 cheek of the heiress ; but he must have utterly 
 forgotten the fundamental principles of the 
 education of a Jesuit, had he considered such 
 a venial error as this, or anything at all like 
 it, as of sufficient importance to be put in 
 competition with his steady purpose of obe- 
 dience, in executing the commands he had re- 
 ceived. His own tranquillity might be com- 
 promised by the repetition of such imprudence, 
 but not his duty.
 
 284 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 All these considerations rushed through the 
 young Jesuit's brain with much greater raj^i- 
 dity than I have been able to record them 
 here ; and the consequence was, that he com- 
 pletely recovered his self-possession, and all 
 that followed afterwards, during the continu- 
 ance of the interview, was as completely the 
 result of predetermination and judgment, as 
 it could have been, had Edward Stormont 
 been suddenly converted into Saint Francis de 
 Sales, and Juliana into Madame de Chantel. 
 
 In reply to Juliana's civil question, as to 
 whether it was too late to oiFer him tea, he 
 discreetly replied, but with a very grateful 
 smile, " I am afraid it is, Miss de Morley; 
 but I think you must reward me for my dis- 
 •cretion in saying so, by permitting me to come 
 again, some other evening, at a less unreason- 
 able hour. How is Lady Sarah? The day 
 that I had first the pleasure of seeing you 
 here, she appeared to be unwell, and to suffer 
 from a sensation of chilliness." 
 ' " And I fear she really suffered from her 
 visit to this distant part of the castle," replied 
 Juliana, inexpressibly relieved, and at once
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 285 
 
 recovering her composure; " for slie has been 
 very seriously unwell since, and though much 
 better to-day, has not yet left her bed." 
 
 " I grieve to hear it," replied Mr. Stor- 
 mont, " for her sake, for your sake, and for 
 my own ; my own particular share in the busi- 
 ness arises from the fear that an invitation, 
 which would, but for this news, have reached 
 you to-morrow morning, must be delayed. 
 Since I had last the pleasure of seeing you, I 
 have received a letter from my uncle, Mr, Mills, 
 giving me the pleasant news that he is coming 
 to pay me a long visit in my new abode, and 
 that he shall bring with him a Mrs. Vavasor, 
 who is also a near relation both of his and 
 mine. I had hoped, therefore, that I should 
 have been able to induce all the kind neio'h- 
 hours with whom I have been so fortunate as 
 to make acquaintance here, to come and meet 
 them at a little dinner party at my house. 
 But of course I shall now postpone the scheme 
 till Lady Sarah de Morley is recovered." 
 
 "You are very kind to say so, Mr. Stormont," 
 said Juliana, colouring with pleasure at the pros- 
 pect thus held out of more frequent intercourse,
 
 286 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 and consequently greater intimacy, with one 
 who was, and whom she intended ever should 
 be, the constant loadstar of her own existence. 
 "And I flatter myself," she added, " that this 
 obstacle to your friendly hospitality towards us 
 all, will be soon removed. I expect that my 
 mother will get up to-morrow, take an airing 
 perhaps the next day, and so on, by rapid 
 stages, till she shall be equal to dining with 
 you at Langley Knoll. But, of course, you 
 know we can neither of us be of Lady Setter- 
 ton's pic-nic party to-morrow. I hope you 
 have not forgotten it," she added, smiling, 
 upon seeing him shake his head very much, as 
 if he knew nothing about it; "indeed, you 
 must not forget it, for I believe it was arranged 
 expressly for you." 
 
 " I had not forgotten it. Miss de Morley," 
 he replied, returning her smile; "but I think 
 it is very possible I may forget it now." 
 
 "No — no, you must not," she returned, 
 rising from the chair in which she had seated 
 herself a few minutes before, because she 
 doubted whether she had the power to stand ; 
 " neither must I detain you any longer here
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 287 
 
 sitting in darkness visible. When next we meet, 
 I hope that I shall enjoy the double pleasure 
 of telling you that my mother is well, and of 
 hearing from you all sorts of amusing details 
 respecting the pic-nic." 
 
 Mr. Stormont immediately rose too, and 
 taking the candle from her hand, in order the 
 more conveniently to light her steps, he re- 
 plied, in a manner, if possible, still more light 
 and lively than her own, " But if I do go, Miss 
 de Morley, do you not think that they will ex- 
 pect me to sing a waltz for them? If in our 
 rambling we should come by chance upon 
 twelve feet square of level ground, can we be- 
 lieve it possible that the party should not in- 
 sist upon dancing?" 
 
 Juliana actually laughed — laughed heartily ; 
 and not only without embarrassment, but with 
 a heart as light, and as gay, as her words, she 
 replied, " I think it exceedingly likely that 
 they will, Mr. Stormont ; and all I can say to 
 comfort you is, that I think if you tell them 
 that your life depends upon your singing only 
 for one hour, instead of two, it is very possible 
 that they may only exact the lesser quantity."
 
 288 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 To this he replied exactly in the same spirit ; 
 and having reached a vestibule, in which there 
 was a door that opened upon a path leading 
 directly to the park, they shook hands and 
 parted, both of them more in love than evei , 
 but both fancying, that having battled with 
 and overcome the embarrassment, produced 
 by the agitating scene in the chapel, no 
 other disagreeable results were likely to arise 
 from it. 
 
 Edward Stormont, as he passed with long 
 and rapid strides across the park, reasoned 
 himself into the conviction that if he was in 
 love, it mattered not, for that it would only 
 convert the business upon which he was em- 
 ployed into an act of martyrdom; while Ju- 
 liana, as she slowly disrobed herself, and lan- 
 guidly supplied the absence of her maid by 
 endeavouring to pass over with a brush, the 
 long and heavy tresses of her beautiful hair, 
 came to a very diiferent conclusion — namely, 
 that if, as she, too, most strongly suspected, 
 she was in love, it mattered very much ; for 
 it would enable her, whenever Stormont should 
 avow the love she as strongly suspected that
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 289 
 
 he felt for her, to save him at once from all 
 anxiety about her station and her wealth, by 
 avowing that she never would bestow it on 
 any man but him. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 290 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It will not be doubted that the arrival of 
 Mr. Mills and Mrs. Vavasor at Langley Knoll, 
 was an event, the anticipation of which caused 
 its tenant a considerable degree of emotion. 
 He certainly became red and pale, half a dozen 
 times in an hour, as he thought of it; but, 
 nevertheless, he prepared himself for doing all 
 the duties of a host, like one who had been 
 sufficiently permitted to peep out upon the 
 world to prevent him from failing, overpowered, 
 upon any occasion where some knowledge of 
 its ways, and manners, were required of him. 
 A very comfortable and suitable apartment, 
 therefore, was prepared for each of his guests, 
 an additional female servant was provided, 
 both larder and cellar were carefully attended 
 to, and then the Jesuit missionary walked out 
 upon his sunny terrace, and as he looked down
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 291 
 
 upon the turrets of Cuthbert Castle, drew some 
 comfort from the conviction, that having put 
 himself to the torture, in order both to prac- 
 tise and to prove the only duty required of 
 Jesuits, either by God or man, he might with 
 a safe conscience adore Juliana de Morley, and 
 execrate William Mills, Esq., without stint, or 
 limit. 
 
 From this pleasant walk, however, he was 
 soon recalled by information that the lady 
 and gentleman were come, and waiting to see 
 him, in the drawing-room; so to the drawing- 
 room he went, and there he found them. 
 
 The personal appearance of Father Edgar, 
 or, as he was called in worldly English, 
 Mr. Mills, has been already described. The 
 only diiference it presented now, was in the 
 greatly improved style of his toilet, which was, 
 upon the present occasion, in every respect 
 that of a well-dressed English gentleman ; and 
 moreover, there was also a considerable im- 
 provement in the expression of his large fea- 
 tures, for not only did the gentle smile, which 
 has been before noticed, still rest upon his lips, 
 but every featui'e seemed now to partake of it. 
 
 u 2
 
 292 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 There was something, too, in the manner 
 in which his great height was made to bend 
 itself, that gave the idea of habitual kindness 
 and humility ; and, in short, it was certainly 
 not the fault of William Mills, Esq., if his 
 newly-found nephew did not think him one of 
 the most fascinating individuals he had ever 
 seen. 
 
 As to Mr. Stormont's new female relative, 
 her claims to approval, upon the score of per- 
 sonal appearance, were much less equivocal, 
 for she was probably as handsome, and as 
 graceful, as it is possible for any woman past 
 fifty to be; in addition to which, every move- 
 ment, and every word, appeared to be, be- 
 yond all question, the legitimate offspring of 
 good taste, and good sense, so that the refusing 
 to be pleased witli her would be little else than 
 avowing yourself to be defective in both. 
 
 The young Jesuit, with little less perfection 
 of dissimulation than the elder ones, advanced 
 towards them Avith an extended palm for each, 
 and with a friendly, though not quite a gay 
 expression of countenance. 
 
 Everything that it was most proper to say
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 293 
 
 on all sides, was immediately said, and then 
 the respective luggage was lodged in the re- 
 spective chambers, the post-horses were paid 
 for and dismissed, Mr. Mills's old but re- 
 spectable-looking travelling chariot consigned 
 to the coach-house, and Mr. Mills and Mrs. 
 Yavasor courteously pressed to take some slight 
 refreshment before they retired to prepare for 
 dinner. 
 
 Fortunately for the bachelor tranquillity of 
 Mr. Stormont's little establishment, his visitors 
 had brought no servants ; it being pretty gene- 
 rally received as a rule, that when " temjmral 
 coadjutors,^' of any race or nation, are making 
 journeys, or paying visits, for religious pur- 
 poses, or when, as in the present case, jjrofessed 
 Jesuits are doing the same thing, they shall 
 never, either in the one case or in the other, 
 be attended by hireling servants ; a very strong 
 feeling existing, from the General downwards, 
 that however useful a spy may be, on particular 
 occasions, there is more danger than advantage 
 to be looked for from an attendant, who may 
 be in the habit of relating all he knows, and 
 all he suspects.
 
 294 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 Mrs. Vavasor changed her travelling dress 
 for one that was precisely what a lady of her 
 age ou2;ht to wear at a dinner table ; Mr. Mills 
 also changed his morning costume for an 
 evening one ; and in both cases there was no 
 more trace of monastic peculiarity left than if 
 the gentleman and lady had been the son and 
 daughter of Puritans. 
 
 That they were both regular and not secular 
 Jesuits, and both thorough-bred, Father Eu- 
 stace had no doubt ; but, nevertheless, he deter- 
 mined to use such ingenuity as his careful 
 schooling had cost him, in order to discover a 
 few farther particulars about them ; and he had 
 no reason either to hope or fear that their visit 
 would be too short for the purpose, for their 
 packages were both large and numerous ; and, 
 moreover, there was something in the tone of 
 voice with which Mr. Mills inquired, as he 
 watched his carriage rolled into the coach-house, 
 whether the building was quite proof against 
 bad weather, which suggested the idea of 
 anxiety about winter quarters. 
 
 The dinner was very sufficiently good, and 
 so perfectly well served, as to convince both
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 295 
 
 the stranger lady and the stranger gentleman, 
 that let their young host's want of confidence 
 in himself proceed from what folly it would, 
 he did not seem likely to fall into the still 
 greater one of neglecting their comfort. 
 
 So, on the whole, the dinner passed off ex- 
 ceedingly well. Mrs. Vavasor, seeming deter- 
 mined, and very wisely, to take no more 
 trouble, and to make no greater exertion than 
 was required of her, eat well, but said little. 
 All ladies accustomed to reside in convents are 
 said to be particularly fond of preserved fruits, 
 and indeed of sweet dishes of every kind ; and 
 it appeared probable that, at some period or 
 other of his life. Father Eustace had been led 
 to understand that such was the case, for tlie 
 table, including its dessert, was rather parti- 
 cularly well furnished in this respect. 
 
 This circumstance, perhaps, caused rather a 
 longer period to elapse before the two reverend 
 gentlemen found themselves alone, than might 
 have been the case had Father Eustace chanced 
 to forget this conventual peculiarity. 
 
 However, Mrs. Vavasor was much too lady- 
 like, in all respects, to suifer her predilection
 
 296 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 for the sugared consolations of life to interfere, 
 at least for any great length of time, with 
 her departure from the dining-room ; and when 
 she rose to leave it, Mr. Mills said, while Mr. 
 Storm ont hastened to the door, to open it, "I 
 think, my dear Stormont, that it will be better 
 for us all if our good cousin's coffee be ordered 
 into the drawing-room at once. Of course, my 
 dear fellow, we must naturally have a great deal 
 to say to each other, and it will not be fair to 
 keep Mrs. Vavasor waiting for us. We, you 
 know, as bachelors, may be excused if we re- 
 main to take our coffee here." 
 
 This civilly-expressed command was imme- 
 diately acted upon by the observant host. 
 Mrs. Vavasor was ushered to the drawing-room, 
 with the promise of being immediately waited 
 upon, and the two gentlemen at length sat 
 doAvn tete-d-tete in the dining-parlour. 
 
 " Well, Stormont !" began the visitor, in the 
 most secular tone possible. " By the way, my 
 good fellow," he continued, " it may be quite 
 as well, at first setting off, to make you under- 
 stand that in my opinion, and in that of Mrs. 
 Vavasor also, nothing but danger can arise
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 297 
 
 from our ever addressing each other, however 
 privately, by any other appellations than those 
 which, for the present, we have agreed either 
 to return to, or assume. Let no such sounds 
 as Father Edgar, Father Eustace, or Sister 
 Agatha, ever be heard among us. Remember 
 this, my good nephew, if you please." 
 
 It was nearly, if not altogether impossible, 
 that the human voice could be modulated to a 
 tone of greater amenity than that in which 
 Father Edgar spoke these words. How did it 
 happen, then, that Father Eustace felt every 
 syllable he uttered, like a stab? How and 
 why was it, that in every word thus familiarly 
 addressed to him, he heard and felt a com- 
 mand? — and that, too, of a quality that, did 
 he dare to disobey, would have power to plunge 
 him in the very lowest abyss of punishment 
 and degradation? 
 
 In reply, he only bowed, but it was such a 
 bow as William Mills, Esq., perfectly well 
 understood, and, giving a well-contented nod of 
 the head in return, he proceeded, " What I 
 was going to say to you, my dear fellow, was 
 this — although I have no doubt that all the
 
 298 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 particulars which I have received from our 
 good friend at Rome, may be most implicitly re- 
 lied upon for the strictness and accuracy of the 
 truth with which they are related, I still feel 
 that I must come to you for the living tints of 
 the picture ; for without these, dear Stormont, 
 nothing can appear to us precisely as it is." 
 
 "Any particulars in addition to those which 
 you have already received, that it may be in my 
 power to give," replied Father Eustace, em- 
 ploying his eyes, as he spoke, in carefully di- 
 vesting a filbert of its inner coat, " are com- 
 pletely at your service." 
 
 " I cannot doubt it," returned Mr. Mills. 
 " But come, come, beloved nephew," he added, 
 gaily stretching out his hand, and removing 
 the plate of his host, without showing any 
 respect to his lilberts, either skinned or un- 
 skinned, " when you and I, in good earnest, 
 set about talking of affairs in Avliich the most 
 important interests of the holy Company of 
 Jesus are concerned, we wont skin filberts, if 
 you please." 
 
 The mind of man is a puzzling machine. 
 That of Edward Stormont felt a sharper twitch
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 299 
 
 from this little trivial bit of insolence in his 
 superior, than when conscious of a movement 
 of disobedience which he very decidedly thought 
 might endanger the eternal safety of his soul. 
 It was his fate, however, to endure both; and 
 he did so. 
 
 "Now, then," resumed his ever-smiling guest, 
 " let us talk a little about this girl. Cuthbert 
 is a magnificent place. I got a good view of 
 it as we came along. But I wanted not the 
 assistance of my eyes to make me aware of the 
 vast importance of losing, or of gaining, in- 
 fluence over such a property. Scaviatoli is a 
 wonderful man. Nothing is too great for his 
 courage, or too little for his attention. Don't 
 you think, Stormont, that he is the finest fellow 
 you ever knew ?" 
 
 Startled, and disgusted, by the familiar and 
 unseemly phrase, the young Jesuit raised his 
 fine large thinking eyes to the little twinkling 
 sunken ones of the old one, and, perhaps un- 
 consciously, for half a moment looked earnestly 
 into them, as if to discover the real meaning 
 of the words. But it was to no purpose ; he 
 only saw, not a laughing, but a sneering devil
 
 300 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 there, who spoke a language that he could not 
 understand. 
 
 " He shall not blast, nor baffle me, bj the 
 glitter of his reptile eye," thought Stormont, 
 as he replied, Avith mingled dignity and gentle- 
 ness, " The venerated Father Scaviatoli has 
 ever appeared to me to be as worthy of his 
 exalted station, as that exalted station is of 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Mills's answer to this was a merry laugh ; 
 but, when it was over, he said, " Are you 
 aware, my dear boy, that you, a Jesuit priest, 
 having taken the four vows, and being, more- 
 over, a most highly-esteemed monk of the 
 blessed establishment of the Sacred Heart — are 
 you aware that being all this, you are sent upon 
 a highly-important mission, which mission is 
 to be performed by means of your assuming 
 the manners and bearing of a handsome, gay, 
 young Catholic gentleman ?" 
 
 " I am quite aware, Mr. Mills, that while 
 the present business is in hand, I am com- 
 manded by our General to appear under the 
 habit, appellation, and demeanour of a layman," 
 replied Father Eustace, gravely, adding, after
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 301 
 
 the pause of a moment, " I have received no 
 command from his Reverence to assume any- 
 unseemly lightness of character." 
 
 " Really !" returned his insolent companion, 
 exchanging his ordinary smile for a sneer of 
 unmitigated contempt. " And perhaps, my 
 reverend sir, you did not receive from him any- 
 specific instructions relative to the manner in 
 ■which those fascinating curls of yours should 
 be arranged ? By the way, permit me to feli- 
 citate you on the manner in which all symp- 
 toms of the tonsure are already obliterated, 
 or else so ably hidden, by the aid of your 
 skilful comb, as to be most effectually con- 
 cealed." And as he said this, he stretched 
 his long neck to the right, and to the left, 
 as if to increase his scope of observation, ex- 
 claiming, when the examination was finished, 
 " Bravo !" And then resuming his former more 
 than easy attitude, and stretching his preter- 
 naturally long legs to their greatest extent, he 
 resumed. — " But to return to what I was about 
 to say to you, Mr. Stormont. Is it necessary 
 that I should proceed any farther in the playful 
 illustration I have begun, in order to make it
 
 302 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 obvious to you tliat notliing in the world can 
 be more absurd than the tone of solemn priestly 
 dignity that you just now seemed disposed to 
 assume? If the work that we have to do 
 could be best perfected by the visible inter- 
 ference of the Roman church in general, or the 
 most holy Company of Jesus in particular, be 
 very sure, my good sir, that Father Scaviatoii 
 would have taken care to let us very clearly 
 understand that such was his purpose. But the 
 case being very particularly otherwise, you 
 must permit me to request, that as long as our 
 reverend General shall see good to join my 
 efforts to yours in the performance of this truly 
 pious, but in no Avay ecclesiastical affair, you 
 will not deem it necessary to check all my little 
 playful efforts at assuming a worldly manner, 
 in order to perform a worldly part, by affecting 
 a demeanour so very alarmingly and oppres- 
 sively arch-episcopal." 
 
 Although Father Eustace was still a young 
 man, he was not so young a Jesuit as to be ig- 
 norant of the notorious fact, that the most ob- 
 vious, and apparently the most natural manner 
 of attaining a given object, is not always con-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 303 
 
 sidered as that which is " discreetest, best," 
 by the wise followers of Loyola. Perhaps it 
 is by the early impressing of this truth upon 
 the infant Jesuit mind, that the heads of the 
 Order are enabled to obtain so extraordinary 
 an amount of blind and unquestioning obedi- 
 ence from their followers. 
 
 The early-taught consciousness and convic- 
 tion, instilled into the minds of youthful 
 Jesuits, that it is not good for man to know 
 what he is about, may enable many, not 
 otherwise deficient either in common sense or 
 in honesty, to endure that strange submission 
 of their own minds, to those above them in 
 authority, which constitutes both the great mys- 
 tery and the great power of the Jesuit league. 
 
 Had it not been for this, it is impossible that 
 such a man as Edward Stormont could have 
 patiently endured such severe schooling, for 
 ha'vfng shown a distaste for what was so every 
 way repugnant to his judgment and his feel- 
 ings. But he did endure it, and endured it 
 patiently ; for not a single word, or glance of 
 farther rebellion escaped him ; and when Wil- 
 
 • 
 
 liam Mills, Esq., started up, and gaily said.
 
 304 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 in his seemingly favourite phraseology, " Now, 
 then, my dear fellow, let us join our respected 
 cousin, Mrs. Vavasor, she can play either crib- 
 bage, piquet, or dummy-whist," he received a 
 g-entle, nay, even a smiling answer from Father 
 Eustace, who very dutifully said — 
 
 "I am ready to do whatever you please, sir. 
 I will either play cards with you, or amuse 
 myself by looking on, while you and Mrs. Va- 
 va.sor play." 
 
 " Very well, sir. That is all as it should 
 be," returned Mr. Mills, avec intention, as 
 the French call it; which means, that he so 
 spake as to give Mr. Stormont to understand 
 that he by no means intended to quarrel with 
 him, but only to make him understand that he 
 was his superior, and intended to be treated 
 accordingly. Both the guests pleaded for per- 
 mission to retire early. The gentleman 
 stating that he was under the necessity of 
 writing letters, and the lady, that she was in 
 need of repose.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The trio met at the breakfast table on the 
 following morning, with every appearance of 
 being on the pleasantest terms imaginable. 
 Ml-. Mills had given a hint, which he had no 
 doubt would be attended to. 
 
 Mrs. Vavasor had found an excellent bed, an 
 attentive waiting-maid, and a little tray, with 
 freshly- baked biscuits, preserved cherries, and 
 a case-bottle of rich sweet wine ; which proved 
 to her, very satisfactorily, that the young 
 Jesuit was neither ignorant of the better part 
 of conventual discipline, nor forgetful of that 
 niost truly Christian virtue — hospitality. 
 1 And as for Father Eustace himself, he had 
 knelt both early, and late, before his little altar, 
 and had endeavoured so fervently to subdue 
 his rebellious spirit to the point of submission 
 
 VOL. II. X
 
 306 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 which becomes a Jesuit, that the desperate 
 struggle seemed over, and he met his guests, 
 not only with the gentle aspect of a modest, 
 though honoured host, who deems all he can 
 do too little to express the welcome he wished 
 to give, but with the nearest possible approach 
 to the same feeling in his heart also. 
 
 Nothing could be better imagined than the 
 contrivance by which Mr. Mills, as soon as the 
 breakfast was over, managed to lead, his host 
 into conversation concerning all his neighbours, 
 without having, in the least degree, the appear- 
 ance of performing the business upon which he 
 was sent. 
 
 " What a beautiful terrace you have there, 
 Stormont," said he, approaching a window, 
 that opened, with glass doors, upon the turf 
 walk which had been the scene of Juliana's 
 first holiday excursion, after the death of her 
 father. " May 1 take the liberty of passing- 
 through this window ?" 
 
 Father Eustace was by his side in a moment, 
 and the glass doors were thrown open. 
 
 " What a lovely view !" exclaimed Mr. Mills, 
 pacing with his long legs a few steps, fii'st in
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 307 
 
 one direction, and then in the other ; " and 
 what a thickly-planted neighbourhood you 
 seem to have. The whole of that well-wooded 
 valley at our feet seems divided into pretty 
 residences. And there, to the right, stretching 
 its woods and pastures farther than the eye 
 can follow, stands Cuthbert Castle. There is 
 no mistaking that. But who are the people 
 that live in all these gay-looking villas ? Ai-e 
 you acquainted with them all ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Mills," replied Father Eustace, 
 " I believe that I know them all." 
 
 " "Who lives in that great big place, that 
 looks as if it intended to be a castle as fine as 
 Cuthbert, but could not succeed?" iuquiv^d 
 the visitor. 
 
 "The question, as you have worded it," re- 
 plied Father Eustace, smiling, " might suit the 
 owners, as well as the mansion. It belongs to 
 a rich widow of the name of Eowley, who in- 
 habits it with her four sons. And, like her 
 house, she wishes to be as fine as Cuthbert, 
 but she cannot succeed. However, she is ex- 
 tremely hospitable, and will assist much in 
 making you, sir, and Mrs. Vavasor acquainted 
 
 X 2
 
 308 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 with the neighbourhood; for it is not to be 
 doubted that you will both be frequently in- 
 vited to her mansion, and she always includes 
 the whole circle in her parties — probably be- 
 cause her rooms are so large, that less than 
 all would not make them look inhabited." 
 
 " Thank you, Stonnont," replied Mr. Mills, 
 laughing. " If you will but proceed in the 
 same graphic style, we shall both of us have 
 the great advantage of knowing the people we 
 have to mix with, without wasting any pre- 
 cious time in the study ; shall we not, Mrs. 
 Vavasor?" 
 
 " I think so," replied the lady. " I cer- 
 tainly feel quite sufficiently acquainted with 
 Mrs. Eowley and her four sons already." 
 
 " Not so, my good sister — my dear cousin, I 
 mean," returned Mr. Mills. " Be pleased to 
 remember, that the hospitalities my nephew 
 mentions are by no means to be treated slight- 
 ingly." 
 
 The lady bowed, as if receiving a rebuke 
 respectfully. 
 
 " And that pretty little white house that 
 seems nestling itself under the shelter of the
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 309 
 
 woods of Cuthbert?" resumed Mr. Mills. 
 " Though it looks small, compared with its 
 gigantic neighbour, it has quite the air of 
 being the residence of a gentleman, with its 
 large windows, and its well-shorn lawn." 
 
 A dark cloud seemed to pass across the 
 expressive countenance of Mr. Stormont, which 
 instantly attracted the observation of Mr. 
 Mills, who seemed to wait eagerly for the 
 reply. " That," replied the young Jesuit, " is 
 the residence of a man called Wardour, who is 
 the officiating Protestant minister of the parish 
 of Cuthbert." 
 
 " And what sort of a person is the man 
 called Wardour?" demanded Mr. Mills, not 
 with a sneer, but a smile. "Is he hand- 
 some or ugly? — young, or old? — pleasing, or 
 the reverse?" 
 
 " To me," replied Father Eustace, gravely, 
 "he is very particularly the reverse. But I 
 have reason to suppose that I am pretty nearly 
 the only person of his acquaintance who thinks 
 
 so." 
 
 "Pretty nearly? Then you suspect that
 
 310 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 there is at least one other individual of the 
 same opinion?" said Mr. Mills. 
 
 Father Eustace coloured. 
 
 "I hardly know; it is very likely that I 
 may be mistaken," he replied. 
 
 " We must have no mistakes, if we can help 
 it, my dear nephew," returned Mills, laying 
 his large hand upon the young man's shoulder ; 
 " and still less must we have any half confi- 
 dences. You have given so excellent a 
 proof both of obedience and sincerity in send- 
 ing for me, that every word you utter carries 
 weight with it, and it is for that reason that I 
 cannot pass over your phrase of ''pretty nearly^ 
 without explanation. Who is the person with 
 whom you suspect that the Protestant clergy- 
 man is less a favourite than with the rest of 
 his parishioners ?" 
 
 " I have already said that I have no right 
 to be certain of it," returned Father Eustace; 
 " but the person I alluded to was Miss de Mor- 
 ley." 
 
 " I hope you are right, Stormont," returned 
 Mr. Mills ; " such a feeling would be a good
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 311 
 
 omen for us. But tell me, do you think the 
 lady mother shares in it?" 
 
 " By no means," replied Father Eustace. 
 
 He said not a word more in reply, but his 
 handsome lip showed that it could curl into a 
 sneer, as well as that of his visitor ; and so ex- 
 pressive was that sneer, that Mr. Mills did not 
 appear to think it necessary to make any far- 
 ther inquiries on the subject ; but having ex- 
 changed a slight glance with JMrs. Yavasor, as 
 if to bespeak her attention, and at the same 
 time to assure himself that what had already 
 been addressed to him, had not been lost upon 
 her, he moved on a little, and once again 
 casting his eyes over the landscape, he con- 
 tinued his inquisitorial questionings. 
 
 " The parish of Ciithbert ought to be a very 
 sociable one," said he, " for its gay dAvellings 
 appear to be placed exactly as near together 
 as is consistent with allowing a pretty little 
 domain to each. Now tell me, Stormont, which 
 of your new friends it is who has the pleasure 
 of living in that green and white birdcage 
 down yonder? That appears to be about the 
 smallest residence of them all."
 
 312 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 " I believe it is so," replied Father Eustace ; 
 " yet, nevertheless, it is the dwelling of the 
 lady of the highest rank amongst them. That 
 cottage is the residence of the Dowager 
 Countess of Setterton and her two daughters, 
 the Lady Margaret and the Lady Louisa 
 Letchmeer." 
 
 " And what are they besides being ladies of 
 title?" demanded the inquirer. 
 
 " The young ones are pretty — the old one is 
 proud — and I believe they are all poor,'' was 
 the reply. 
 
 " Have they no other characteristics ?" de- 
 manded the persevering Mr. Mills. " Have 
 they any opinions — any intellect?" 
 
 "I should think not," quietly returned 
 Father Eustace. 
 
 Again Mr. Mills smiled, and again threw a 
 glance at Mrs. Vavasor, which seemed to inti- 
 mate that he thought there was something 
 rather piquant and agreeable in their new ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " And there, farther off, in the same direc- 
 tion — whose house is that ?" resumed Mi\ 
 Mills.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 313 
 
 " That is a very handsome place, though the 
 trees prevent your seeing much of it," replied 
 Father Eustace. " It belongs to a gentleman 
 of large fortune of the name of Curtis. His 
 family consists of his wife, and one only son ; 
 and as far as I have been able to judge, they 
 are people of influence in the neighbourhood." 
 
 This information was uttered briefly and 
 distinctly, as if to obviate the necessity of 
 farther questioning. But Mr. Mills, as it 
 seemed, was not yet contented. " A large 
 place, is it?" said he. " People of influence? 
 ^as being wealthy, do you mean? Or as 
 having the power arising from intellect ?" 
 
 " Both, if I mistake not," replied the 
 younger Jesuit. " The father is a hard-headed, 
 stern old man, but doting upon his son, and 
 appearing, notwithstanding the very obvious 
 harshness of his temper, to be greatly looked- 
 up to, and respected by all the neighbourhood. 
 I should say that he was the most influential 
 person I have met with." 
 
 " And his opinions ?" said the questioner. 
 
 " Liberal, as they are called," replied the 
 witness questioned.
 
 314 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 "As to politics, I suppose you mean?" re- 
 turned Mr. Mills. 
 
 "Yes," replied Father Eustace; "I used 
 the word as applied to politics. In matters of 
 religious faith it can scarcely be applied to 
 him ; for of all the persons whom I have ever 
 chanced to hear speak freely on the subject, 
 he is the most bigoted, as a Huguenot." 
 
 Mrs. Vavasor knit her brows, and the covert 
 Father Edgar bit his nether lip, as the accursed 
 word met their ears. 
 
 " We will talk more of him at another op- 
 portunity," said Mills. "But there are more 
 well-looking houses still. That is a dwelling- 
 house, is it not? — that one away to the left, 
 with all those old fir-trees round it." 
 
 " Yes," said Father Eustace, " that is the 
 dwelling of an old humourist called Raymond. 
 He and his daughter are chiefly celebrated for 
 their feats of fearless horsemanship. In other 
 respects, there is nothing very remarkable 
 about them. They will meet you wherever 
 you go." 
 
 " And now, then, tell me who lives in that 
 good-looking house on the other side of Cuth-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 315 
 
 bert Castle, and almost as near to it, as that of 
 the heretical parson ? That, too, of course, is 
 another little nest of heretics ?" 
 
 " Yes, they are heretics," returned Father 
 Eustace, " but not of the class, I suspect, to 
 whom religion is the most important object in 
 life. Howeyer, there is one among them, and 
 a beautiful creature she is, who might be any- 
 thing that her passions were led to make her. 
 The name is Stanberry. The mother is an- 
 other of the Cuthbert widows, and she seems 
 as quiet and insignificant, as her daughter is 
 the reverse. It is evident to me that the 
 young lady is vehemently jealous of Miss de 
 Morley, on account of the notice which young 
 Curtis takes of her." 
 
 And here the young Jesuit pointed with his 
 finger to the Curtis mansion, in order to make 
 his very attentive auditor comprehend him. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know. Do not imagine, my 
 good nephew, that I have forgotten the name," 
 rejoined Mr. Mills, with somewhat of a re- 
 proachful accent. '"'' I never forget. That is 
 a faculty which no good Jesuit ever permits 
 himself to acquire. But and a few words
 
 316 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 more respecting this remarkable young lady 
 and her jealousy. She is enamoured, then, as 
 I presume, of the young Huguenot?" 
 
 "Madly, if I mistake not," said Father 
 Eustace. 
 
 " And has she any good cause for her 
 jealousy of our young heiress?" demanded 
 Mr. Mills. 
 
 " I think not," was the reply. But Father 
 Eustace looked not in the face of his guest, as 
 he made it, occupying himself the while in 
 arranging some of the gadding branches of the 
 climatis which grew over the porch near which 
 they were standing. 
 
 " This is a capital terrace of yours, my dear 
 Stormont," said Mr. Mills, giving an intelli- 
 gent glance and a slight smile to Mrs. 
 Vavasor. " One may really stand here, and 
 by the help of so intelligent a showman as 
 yourself, become acquainted, not only with the 
 various dwellings, and the rank and calling of 
 their masters, but with the closest secrets of 
 their hearts. And those whom it concerns 
 shall find that the rent paid for this pretty 
 platform has not been lost. I wonder how 
 many more centuries will be permitted to
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 317 
 
 elapse before men iind out that the Jesuit 
 scheme of instituting a regular course of study 
 of the human heart, and all the most hidden 
 secrets thereof, for the improvement of their 
 young disciples, is not only the best, but the 
 only mode of obtaining real power over the 
 universe?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Vavasor, musingly, "not 
 only the best, but the only mode. You say 
 trulv, Mr. Mills. I do not believe that there 
 is any natural spirit of gossip in our young 
 cousin Stormont here ; yet see how the effects 
 of the education you speak of peep forth. 
 And see, too," she continued, looking with a 
 scrutinising glance at the young man, and 
 apparently thinking highly of the various good 
 gifts bestowed by nature on his exterior — " see, 
 too, with what admirable skill and sagacity 
 the incomparable Scaviatoli has chosen his 
 agent in reference to his effect on others." 
 
 Mr. Mills screwed up his eyes, and fixed 
 them on her in a way that produced as 
 coquettish a smile upon the lady's lips as ever 
 enlivened the visage of a middle-aged nun; 
 and, taking advantage of their host's with- 
 drawing himself for a moment, in order to
 
 318 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 speak to a servant who was crossing the terrace 
 at a little distance, he said, " You seem 
 determined upon making me jealous, Amelia, 
 either by your spoken praise of the intellec- 
 tual superiority of our absent General, or by 
 your looked admiration of his visible agent." 
 
 " As to my looked admiration of his visible 
 agent," returned the nun, " I acknowledge it 
 as freely as I would my approval of a bright 
 sword, or a well-flavoured goblet of poison, 
 good and precious at the hour of need. And 
 as to Scaviatoli, there is no man of genius, 
 who, if he has common sense, must not receive 
 all expressions of admiration for genius, as a 
 covert offering to himself. This carte du pays, 
 cousin William, and the sort of gentle keenness 
 with which our young, but seemingly well-dis- 
 posed brother, stands prepared to turn all his 
 neighbours to good account, so whets my con- 
 stitutional appetite for professional usefulness, 
 that I quite long to set to work upon them. 
 What work one might make with the proud, 
 poor beauties, the bigoted old Huguenot, the 
 widowed chatelaine, and her clerical favourite ! 
 and, better than all, if we can but find some
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 319 
 
 point on which to turn her vehemence to profit, 
 as the citizens of the new world serve their 
 mountain torrents, what wonders might be 
 wrought by the aid of the enamoured beauty 
 who has set her affections on the old bigot's 
 son ! Truly, my good cousin, there is much 
 of amusement mingled with the utility which 
 our professional duty calls upon us to perform. 
 I never make one of the commanded pilgrim- 
 ages which, like the present, leads me from my 
 convent into the world, without thinking of a 
 phrase used by a worldling, who was rather 
 valued by me in my days of sin. Do you 
 remember that honest exclamation of the 
 Jesuitical Puck ? ' Good Lord 1 what fools 
 these mortals be .'' Does it never come into 
 your head, when you are amongst them?" 
 
 "Hush!" said Mr. Mills, holding up his 
 finger, warningly, and then added, as Father 
 Eustace advanced, but inaudibly, save to his 
 cousin nun, " take care always to be profes- 
 sional." 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the remainder 
 of this day was permitted to pass without a 
 good deal more of cross-examination, on the
 
 320 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 part of Mr. Mills respecting all persons, of 
 whatever class, avIio were in any way con- 
 nected, or associated, with the heiress of Cuth- 
 bert, and an equal proportion of judicious 
 and acute reply on that of his host. 
 
 The greatest harmony appeared to exist 
 between them ; and when the subject of Miss 
 de Morley's happy conversion to the faith of 
 her ancestors was discussed between them, 
 either tete-d-tete, or in the presence of Mrs. 
 Vavasor, there was no perceptible shrinking 
 on the part of Stormont, from the idea, that 
 the ultimate object of their mission from the 
 Genera], was her taking the veil. 
 
 In the course of their conversation, Mr. Mills 
 inquired, with considerable interest, whether 
 the dinner party which he had recommended 
 Avas to take place. 
 
 " Indeed, I hope so, and at no very distant 
 period," was Father Eustace's reply; "though 
 it cannot,'' he added, " take place on the day 
 you named." 
 
 " Why not?" demanded Mr. Mills, with a 
 slight but quite perceptible contraction of the 
 brow. And this was the only moment during
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 321 
 
 the day in which Stormont felt himself re- 
 minded (and not accidentally) of the fact that 
 he was, in little things as well as great, acting 
 under strict command. However, he answered, 
 with the most unruffled suavity, that the delay 
 arose from the illness of Lady Sarah de Morley, 
 who appeared to have caught cold by coming 
 into the large and almost forsaken library of 
 the castle, on the very day that he had first 
 had the gratification of seeing her daughter 
 perform an overt act of Catholic worship before 
 the altar of her father's chapel. 
 
 "And is this illness likely to endure, 
 brother?" demanded Mr. Mills, in an accent 
 that betokened disappointment. 
 
 " I hope not," replied Father Eustace. 
 
 " And I hope not also," replied his guest ; 
 " for though fully, most fully aware of the 
 great importance of this affair, I shall be 
 greatly inconvenienced if we cannot manage 
 to complete it speedily." 
 
 " It will be better, perhaps, that I should 
 make a visit of inquiry at the castle some time 
 to-day," said Father Eustace; but, notwith- 
 standing his well-taught and truly wonderful 
 
 VOL. II. T
 
 322 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 command over liimself, he could not say this 
 without a slight augmentation of colour. 
 
 Mr. Mills, however, did not appear to notice 
 it, but replied to the proposal in an accent of 
 very cordial approbation. 
 
 "Indeed, I think so," he said; "and if the 
 lady is able to accept the invitation, lose no 
 time by naming a distant day. Of course we 
 can do nothing in the way of advancing our 
 drama, till we have made up our minds as to 
 the parts to be performed by our dramatis 
 personce. And we cannot decide this till we 
 know them." 
 
 As soon, therefore, as the reverend guests 
 had been refreshed by as good a luncheon as a 
 bachelor establishment could be expected to 
 furnish, Father Eustace set off upon a walk to 
 the castle, having first courteously pointed out 
 in what direction his guests might take a 
 pleasant ramble, and in what corner such 
 books as he possessed might be found.
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 323 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Yv^'hile Father Eustace took liis solitary- 
 walk, in a state of agitation, from many causes, 
 wbicli would kave been almost intolerable, bad 
 be not faitbfully believed it to be a part of 
 tbe martyrdom by wbicb be was to win bis 
 v/ay to heaven, the Jesuit lady and gentle- 
 man whom be bad left behind, neither applied 
 themselves to the pleasant ramble, nor yet to 
 the book corner which he had pointed out to 
 them; but, having first examined both the 
 doors of the apartment in which they sat, for 
 the purpose of assuring themselves that they 
 were not in any great danger of listeners, they 
 held the following conversation, not, however, 
 in the ordinary key in which ordinary ladies 
 and gentlemen are wont to converse, but in 
 that little subdued tone, which, though not 
 
 y 2
 
 324 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 quite a whisper, is scarcely more audible at a 
 distance, than if it were. 
 
 " And well, cousin, what think you of 
 our young coadjutor?" were the words by 
 which Mrs. Vavasor opened the consultation. 
 
 " I think," replied Mr. Mills, " that, as 
 you said this morning, Scaviatoli has shown 
 his accustomed sagacity in the choice of him. 
 That is to say, that I think him admirably 
 well calculated to be a tool in able hands. He 
 has been, as all our young men are, exceed- 
 ingly well educated, admirably well educated. 
 At nearly thirty years of age, and with very 
 considerable capacity, he is still as deeply 
 imbued with the doctrine of passive obedience 
 — that divine doctrine for the many, which 
 makes something like gods of the few — he is 
 still as deeply steeped in this Heaven-taught 
 somnolency, as if he were yet in the seminary. 
 It is perfectly delightful to watch him. Touch 
 but that chord, and the fine intelligence of his 
 handsome face seems to wither, and fade away 
 into that charming look of beatified non- 
 entity, which old Scaviatoli so loves to look 
 upon."
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 325 
 
 " Quite true," replied the ladylike-looking 
 Sister Agatha. " He is very handsome, does 
 not look as if he were born to be a fool, and 
 yet, from time to time, has most delectably 
 the air of one. If this be the work of Jesuit 
 education, it is, considering the object ever 
 kept in view, enough to make one suspect that 
 there are more creating powers than one in 
 existence." 
 
 " Do not be blasphemous, most perennially 
 handsome Amelia, or I shall, as a matter of 
 conscience, feel myself obliged to denounce you 
 to my charming friend, the Abbess of the 
 Sacred Heart; but, leaving the dangerous 
 ground of general speculation, and all theories, 
 if you please, upon the nature of creative 
 power, I wish you would tell me — for you 
 have the eye of a lynx in such matters — 
 whether you think this Edward Stormont is 
 too much in love with the heroine of our ro- 
 mance, to go with us, heart and hand, through 
 the whole scheme? In plain English, cousin 
 Amelia, do you think he will assist us in 
 makino; a nun of her?" 
 
 " I must beg leave to postpone giving any
 
 326 TATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 definitive opinion on tliat point, till I have 
 seen tliem together," replied tlie lady. 
 
 " That is both just and discreet," returned 
 Mr. Mills; "and now let me hear vrhat your 
 opinion may he concerning the vehement and 
 impassioned young lady of whom our host 
 made mention? I need not remind you, my 
 most esteemed and admired counsellor, that 
 •when we have an object in pursuit, which is 
 of consequence to the interests of our Holy 
 Company, the discovery of a vein of vehement 
 passion is as valuable to us, as the coming 
 upon a rich vein of ore, to a miner. Human 
 passions are, indeed, like the precious iron, 
 both tool and material, to those who know how 
 to employ them. In what way, think }'ou,. 
 may it be possible to avail ourselves, upon this 
 occasion, of such a character as he describes?" 
 
 " You will scold me presently, cousin Wil- 
 liam, for being grown too cautious to give a 
 direct answer to any question that you put to 
 me," replied Sister Agatha; " but if you do, I 
 will scold back again, for you will be unjust. 
 Not a Avord uttered by our rather weak, but 
 very well-intentioned young brother, has es- 
 caped me ; and the very prominent figure which
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 327 
 
 this beautiful, find impassioned girl makes in 
 liis sketcli of the neighbourhood, Avas exactly 
 ■what struck me most. That we shall be able 
 to turn her to account, I have little doubt; 
 but as to the 1ioil\ would it not be rather in- 
 judicious, Father Edgar, were I, who pique 
 myself upon my sagacity, to hazard my repu- 
 tation in that line, by prematurely tracing a 
 plan of operations, when a few days, or even 
 hours of such observation, as I am capable of 
 giving to the field of battle, may enable me to 
 do so in the light of day, instead of the dark- 
 ness of night ?" 
 
 " Unanswerable — quite unanswerable !" re- 
 turned Mr. Mills, with a low bow; "and in 
 like manner you may reply to every query 
 which the observations of our host suggest, by 
 clearly proving that I am a goose for asking 
 any. Is it not so?" 
 
 " Why, truly, at this stage of the business, 
 I think so," replied the reverend lady ; " I can, 
 however, give you the satisfaction of knowing," 
 she continued, with a charming smile, " that 
 what I have already heard, is quite sufficient 
 to whet my appetite for what is to follow. 
 A middle-aged lady of rank and fortune, ena-
 
 328 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 mourecl of a Huguenot priest who is neither, 
 is an admirable mother for a young heiress, 
 already in her heart a Catholic, and already 
 in her heart disliking this priest. A despe- 
 rate old heretic, like the owner of the great 
 white house, is precisely the sort of animal 
 that may be driven, and goaded, in all direc- 
 tions, with a perfectly safe conscience, and his 
 having influence in the neighbourhood pro- 
 mises utility. In short, I feel certain that 
 we shall be at no loss for materials to work 
 with, and wherever this is the case, you know 
 of old, my beloved cousin and confessor, that 
 I am by no means likely to let them fall un- 
 profitably to the ground." 
 
 "Do I not?" returned her admiring rela- 
 tive, with energy. " Trust me, that nothing 
 belonging to the past, either is, or ever can 
 be, forgotten by me. And ere very long, per- 
 haps, I may be able to give you solid proof, 
 that I boast not of a more tenacious memory 
 than I possess. Your venerable and vene- 
 rated Abbess, the other day, attacked me 
 pretty sharply on the proper connexion between 
 noble blood and conventual preferment. She 
 has a considerably strong inclination, I per-
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 329 
 
 ceive, to turn her nobility to account, by 
 changing her present situation for one which 
 will give her the command of larger revenues. 
 But there is one consideration, which, in the 
 present state of our affairs, (which state, by 
 the way, is about equally hopeful, and threat- 
 ening,) that is likely to supersede every, or 
 almost every, claim that rank can make, to 
 places of influence, and authority. I need not 
 tell you., that this paramount consideration 
 relates to talent, and I could not very con- 
 veniently hint it to her. But if this present 
 business goes well. Sister Agatha, I am greatly 
 disposed to believe, that, at no very distant 
 period, I shall have the honour of counting a 
 very high placed abbess among my blood rela- 
 tives." 
 
 Mrs. Vavasor, alias Sister Agatha, of the 
 convent of the Sacred Heart, was a woman 
 possessing great strength of mind, and great 
 firmness of character, so that on ordinary 
 occasions, particularly on matters which per- 
 sonally concerned herself, she possessed the 
 most perfect command of countenance, and 
 rarely gave the most keenly observant spec- 
 tator any opportunity of guessing what might
 
 330 FATHER EUSTACE. 
 
 be passing in the secret recesses of her thoughts. 
 Xo mind could be more justly illustrated by 
 tlie simile of a lake, whose surface was smooth, 
 but its depth dangerous, than hers. But this 
 allusion to the possible possession of station, 
 and of power, both for long years the idols of 
 her secret worship, was more tlian the calm 
 -surface of her spirit could endure, without 
 some slight agitation becoming visible upon it. 
 
 She struggled desperately, however, to re- 
 <:over her accustomed tranquillity of aspect; 
 and with firm-set lips, and eyes riveted on 
 the ground, she sat more like a figure turned 
 to stone by the Avords she had listened to, than 
 a woman whose heart was throbbing with 
 living passion. 
 
 Lady ilacbeth was not a more ambitious 
 v.-oman than this proud nun ; and her obser- 
 vant friend and relative, who kuev/ this v;ell, 
 smiled as he watched the steadfast stillness of 
 her marble features, after the first slight move- 
 ment had passed over them. Having tor- 
 mented her for a few moments by the steadfast 
 gaze of his small keen eye, he got up, and 
 walking softly towards her, took her hand. 
 
 "Amelia!" he said, rather tenderly, "you
 
 FATHER EUSTACE. 331 
 
 need not so scrupulously endeavour to conceal 
 ull your feelings, and your tliouglits from me. 
 Do we not know each other? Never mind, 
 Sister Agatha, how much I may be able to 
 guess at all that is passing within. Turn all 
 your admirable efforts to the keeping others in 
 the dark. Never mind me, excepting to re- 
 member, that if this work goes well by your 
 aid, you shall be well rewarded by mine. Let 
 no scruples on your side arrest your efforts, 
 and trust me, that none will arise with me, as 
 to the statement of your pre-eminent claims to 
 the first distinguished preferment." 
 
 When he ceased speaking, Mrs. Vavasor 
 looked up, and placing her left hand, on that 
 which held her right, she said, " My scruples, 
 William, shall be as faint as my trust in you 
 IS m'm. 
 
 And Z\Irs. Vavasor kept her word. 
 
 E^'D OF VOL. II. 
 
 a". C. SaviU, Printer, 4, Chanclos- street, Covent-garden.
 
 Pi 
 
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 The Eastern & Western 
 Hemispheres (Double 
 Map.) 
 
 Europe. 
 
 England and Wales. 
 
 Scotland. 
 
 Ireland. 
 
 France, in Provinces. 
 
 Belgiuni. 
 
 Holland. 
 
 Prussia, Westphalia, &c 
 
 Turkey (in Europe), 
 Moldavia, Albania &c. 
 
 Turkey (in Asia,) Syria, 
 Palestine, tlie Euphra- 
 tes Country, &c. 
 
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 Greece and the Ionian 
 Islands 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Switzerland, and the 
 Passes of the Alps. 
 
 Spain and Portugal. 
 
 Germany (North,) Sax- 
 ony, Hanover, &c. 
 
 Ditto (South.) Bavaria, 
 Wirtemberg, &c. 
 
 Austria and Bohemia, 
 Hungary, Transylva- 
 nia, &c. 
 
 Italy (North,) Sardinian 
 States, Corsica, &c. 
 
 Italy (South,) Isles of 
 Sardinia, Naples, and 
 Sicily, <SfC. 
 
 Africa, Arabia, Mada- 
 gascar, Egypt, Cape of 
 Good Hope, ^c. 
 
 Asia, Japan, Philippine 
 and Oriental Isles. 
 
 India .North,) Cabool, 
 Scinde, Punjaub, ^c. 
 
 India (South,) Ceylon, 
 
 China Proper. [^c. 
 
 North America, British 
 Possessions, Green- 
 land, Mexico, Canada, 
 West Indies, ^c. 
 
 United States, the Lake 
 Country, ^c. 
 
 South America, Brazil, 
 Peru, Guiana, La Plata 
 Patagonia, S;c. 
 
 Australia, Van Die- 
 men's Land, New 
 South Wales, ^c. 
 
 Index. 
 
 inuex. 
 RopalSvo., coloured, price only 5s. M., in patent binding, 
 
 GILBERT'S JTOlOll ATLAS^ SCHOOLS I 
 
 With a Consulting Index of 9000 Places. \ 
 
 CONTENTS: \ 
 
 1. Eastern and Western 
 
 2. Hemispheres. 
 
 3. Europe. 
 
 4. England and Wales. 
 
 .5. Scotland. 
 
 6. Ireland. 
 
 7. France. 
 
 8. Asia. 
 
 9. Africa. 
 
 10. North America. 
 
 11. South America. 
 
 12. The copious index. 
 
 \ Gilbert's Juvenile Modern Atlas: 
 
 ; The whole accompanied by Descriptive Letter-press, an Index of 2000 
 \ Places, ,^c.; forming an Instructive and Cheap Work. In small 4to., 
 \ coloured, price only 5s. bound. 
 
 ; " A very useful work." — Ithena'um. " The twenty steel-plate Maps are of a 
 \ superior kiud. The bu(jk is indeed well got up, and every way calculated to lay 
 
 ! betore the Pupil clear ideas of the ditterent countries on which it treats." '" 
 
 I t/ior't Institiiti- Circular. 
 
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 Just Published, in royal Sto., coloured, price tnlif 12*., in patent binding 
 
 GILBERT'S COLLEGE ATLAS 
 
 ipor jjamtlics anD ^cl)ools. 
 
 WITH A CONSULTING INDEX OF 25,000 PLACES, 
 
 THE BEST AND CHEAPEST EVER PUBLISHED; 
 
 Consisting of Thirty Large Maps, beautifully engraved and coloured, 
 •vi-i|it,comparative Scales (a novel and valuable feature), and an Alpha- 
 e).?.\ Gazetteer Index of the Latitudes and Longitudes of 25.000 Pidces. 
 Ttie public judgment of this work has decided, that it is the best and 
 cheapest Atlas of Modern Geography ever produced. The scale of the 
 Maps, the copiousness and accuracy of the geographical information, the 
 distinctness and beauty of tiie engraving, and the highly valuable Con- 
 sulting Index, all combine to make it especially calculated for educational 
 purposes in Colleges and Schools, as well as private families. 
 
 LONDON: JAMES GILBERT, 49, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 And by order of every Bookseller, &c., in the I'nited Kinfrdnm ami the Colonies. 
 
 I).: 
 
 .1 CAUFORKIi 
 
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 momnm atlas of the worldJ 
 
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   In f.o lMrKniAL4TO. Mats, each Map is ncconipaiiied liy two large paures of > 
 Geographii-al, Hisioriial. Commercial, und descriptive letter-press, the whole > 
 beiui; equal to ~H) ii-.isres of un 8vo. volume ; ami the Work is ren(ler^v^_j;ni- ! 
 
   plelc l>v the voluahle a.ul copious Coiisuliiii^ Alphahilical Gazetteer K of > 
 ; ncarly'sti 0(10 Names of Places figured in the Maps, with their Latitudes and | 
 ; Longitudes, and the number of the Map in which each place is to he found. ! 
 
 ' — ' '   > 
 
 Tre universal approbation hestowed upon tliis Atlas of the World, has j 
 ; in<!iiced the Proprietor to prepare a new and improved edition. The letter- i 
 
   press, hy I\ohert Mudie, Esq.. has been carefully examined, and the Map* ; 
 \ have undergone thorough revision. > 
 i Two new features have been added :-^The divisional Maps of the Conti- ) 
 -; nents, each have a scale to show the lineal dimensions of the respective ! 
 ^; counliies in contrast "ith England, exhibiting the ditrercnce in their respec- \ 
 \ live sixes. The Maps also have the Points of tlie Compass, within the circle ; 
 ! of which is introduced a miniature Map of the quarter of the globe in which ] 
 \ the country is situated, showing at a glance the position & area each particular j 
 
 empire or state occupies in comparison with the continent to which it belongs.   
 
 S 
 
 i 
 
 r 
 
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 An additional feature is, that all the Railways in operation ; 
 
 0£ in progress throughout the "World, are inserted. > 
 
 It is, without presumption, confidently anticipated that the present edition ; 
 of this luiique, elegant, and highly esteemed work will add to its reputation, ! 
 and command an extensive and permanently increasing sale. ' 
 
 In half-bound Turkey morocco, gilt edges, patent binding — con- i £• *• ^• 
 taining the whole of the letter-press, the Sixty Maps full /J 12 6 
 coloured, and Alphabetical Index of nearly .50,000 Places. J 
 
 For the conrenience of those xcho may prefer to tok» the whole in a perio- 
 dical form, it may be purchased in Monthly Parts at is. 6(1. 
 
 " Words following words in long' succession, however ably selected 
 those words may be, can never convey so distinct an idea of the visible , 
 firms of the earth as the first glance of a good Atlas. Of all contrivances | 
 hitherto devised for the benefit of geography, this is the most effective. 1 
 In the extent and variety of its resources, in rapidity of utterance, in the 
 copiousness and completeness of the information it communicates, in pre- 
 cision, conciseness, perspicuity, in the hold it has upon the memory, in 
 vividness of imagery and power ofexpression, in convenienceof reference, 
 in portability, in the happy combination of so many and such useful 
 qualities, this Atlas has no rival." 
 
 ' In the letter-press there is a comprehensive grasp of the subject, that 
 is very striking, especially in our literature, which is singularly barren in 
 this class of research. The physical features which mark the true face 
 of countries, are traced with a master hand ; and they are valuable con- 
 tributions to our geographical knowledge. Popular instruction is never 
 lost sight of, and the work is equally to be prized as a book of systematic 
 stady and ready reference." 
 
 " The Map» are very neatly executed, & of convenient size."".4/Ae»«Kwt.
 
 I \r c;ni iTHCBW Dcr.jnMfli i irdadv FACILITY 
 
 The Importance of an Atlas of the World. 
 
 i Of all the furnishinjs requisite for a fr.r.iilv, one of the most rahiable is an Atlas of the 
 S World, on a scale sutticiently large for displayingr the great distinguishing poinU of 
 ) every country. 
 
 > Such is the importance of studvin? correctly a good Atlas of the World, that, inde- 
 ] pendently of the cliaractors of the earth itself, no' one is properly qualified for acting 
 ; Ills part well in the common business of life, and no one is capable of duly appre- 
 ! ciating tlie value of history, enjoying a book of travels, or of talking like a rational 
 5 being about those countles's forcisrn substances which are now met with as the niate- 
 \ rials of articles of use or ornament in almost every house within these kingdoms, with- 
 
 > out consulting an Atlas with Geographical, Historical, Commercial, and Descriptive 
 ; Letter-press. 
 
 J If all persons co\ild once be led to this, it is incalculable to conceive how much 
 S more deliL'htful it would make the world we live in ; because it would enable us to 
 \ live nientallv. and in our mental life consists our real enjoyment of all the world at 
 S once. Thus, for instances, we should be enabled to drink our coffee in the groves of 
 ; Venien. witli turbaned Arabs and loaded camels around us; and, under that balmy 
 5 skv, wf could look across the Red Sea, where there is in one place an assemblage of 
 \ W()rm-built reefs, extending line upon line, and white with the foam produced by an 
 \ ansrrv wind; and in another place reeking with the steam of volcanic fires, while 
 ; the bottom is as gav as a i^arden witli the vegetation of the deep, and the waters are 
 ; literallv encumber, d witli living creatures. So misht we drink our tea in some fan- 
 \ tastic alcove of a Chinese mandarin, and enjoy the characters of that most singular 
 I country, which has remained changeless for hundreds of years. We should never 
 '; taste the stimulatinsr flavour of cinnamon without bein? borne in thouuht to Ceylon, 
 
 < with its Hell fields of rice : its beautiful copses, which furnish this exhilarating spice ; 
 ; its tanu^led and swampv woods, witli tlieir herds of gigantic elepluints : its more dry 
 
 < and inland forests, peopled with countless thousands of apes, which make the early 
 
 < morn hideous with tlieir cries. So also we should never taste a clove (U- a nutmeg, 
 ; without being wafted to the spicy islands of the Oriental Archipelago, where all is the 
   vigour oi giowth and beauty, and the richness of perfume. 
 
 I But we must stop, for there is no end to the catalogue, and It is an exhibition of 
 S which we must not see too much at a passin? gl.ance, lest it should w ile us from our 
 ; proper purpose. And we have mentioned these few particulars merely to let those 
 I who are yet in isrnorance of the subject know how well the world is w orth our study- 
 j ill? ; how' richlv the earth « hich we'inliabit has teen endowed by its bountilul .Maker ; 
 
 < how full the feast w iiich it affords to all ; and yet how varied, how free from surfeiting, 
 ( how healthful. 
 
 5 Now, as we have already said, not only misrht. but should, every commodity of every 
 I region transport us to th:it region, and nmkr it render up to our enjoyment all that 
 [ it "possesses ; but an Atlas of the World, which has been duly studied, biin?s the 
   whole before us the moment we s-lance at it ; for in jnoportion to the extent of our 
 } knowled'Tc w ill be the extent of the reminiscence which this most powerful talisman 
 I will conjure up. 'J"iuly, it is niajfic,— but it is masic of nature's exhibiting; the 
 \ effect of infinite w isdoi'u and ijoodiiess, without deception, without anything to mis- 
 \ lead, and with everytliinsr to inform tlie head and soften the heart. 
 ' As wo look intellectually ujion the .\tlas. the whole of tlie human race, from .\dara 
 
 < dowuw ards, rise in succession to fiur view ; and every event, pictured to itself, stands 
 :A)nt as fresh and as forcible in its colours as if it were before our mortal eyes. 
 
 I I.et the knowledee be once fairly acquired, whether it be liniiti il or extended, if it 
 ; be luoperly applied to the Atlas, the .\tlas will render it up more briefly and clearly 
 { than it would be rendered up by any other means. The extent and the readiness of 
 5 this meiiiorinl or suggestive power, in the Atlas, will astonish those who h^ve not 
 ; been in the habit of using it. 
 : It is the same w ith every art which mankind have practised, and every science which 
 
 > thev have studied. If we" are once in possession of tlie knowledge, and liave had the 
 i Atlas in juxtaposition w ith us in the study of it. the Atlas will not sutler us to forget 
 \ it, but w'ill faithfully bring to our recollection evei-ything that has transpired. 
 
 : On a great scale, there is no artificial memory half so sood for this purpose as an 
 
 < Atlas of the World. It must, how ever, be boriie in mind, that the Atlas is only the 
 5 casket, and not the jew els of knowledse; but then it is a casket so perfect, and so 
 ' permanent in its arransrcment, frsjirclally rchen ucrumpuiiied hy desiiipfiie leffer- 
 i press like " GUhert's Modern MUis" j tlia"t every jewel which can be put into it is 
 \ found the very instant that we ie(iuire it. Kvery family, therefore, should have an 
 \ Atlas of the World, as large and as srood as their circumstances will admit, and, 
 
 < besides the plenfiire of itx prissvssion, it nill insure them its ridue mntiifold in the in- 
 \ struc.'ion of both uhl a:id young. 
 
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 i In 200 full-sized pages, price :is. M., or nith the Maps colotired, only is., bound, ) 
 
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 ( Fox Families and Schools ; i 
 
 - II.I.USTnATBU Blf > 
 
 ! 13 VERY SUPERIOR STEEL-PLATE MAPS, AND 4 WOOD-CUTS, riz. :— I 
 i Map of th(> World in Hciiiisplic-res, with pictorial roprescntatioiis of the Mountains \ 
 
 < and Waterfalls, and Scales of the principal liivprs — the Solar System — Modelled < 
 $ Map of Geoa^rajihical Terms — A Delineation of the Sizes of the most noted Lakes — j 
 t The Seasons— The World as known at the Delude— Ditto in the time of our Saviour ' 
 
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 i The foUouing is a Selection of a few of the Criticisms of th is imjH>rtant Work. \ 
 
 \ " Elementary works are of the ^-reatest importance, and they require, in order to t 
 \ be well digested and really useful, much ability: a ^eat deal in 'the pursuit of science • 
 I depends upon the early impressions we receive in the study of its rudiments : when \ 
 ; these are confused and repulsive, they too frequently repress the desire for acquain- > 
 c tance with the subject ; but when on the contrary, they are char and rendered \ 
 ' attractive, they stimulate tlie wish for information, and thus pave the way for com- * 
 ^ pleteknowledg-e. Such an elementary book has lately been p\iblished by Mr. (iilbcrt, \ 
 
 < under the title of ' Geosfrapliy for Families and Schools,' wliieli I have mncli pleasure > 
 J in recommendino-."— 7'/ic liiiiht Hon. Lord Colchester in his .itimirersary Address, \ 
 \ at President, at the Royal Geoyraphiral Society, Mug i^t, 1846. \ 
 >' " .4. very neatly got up, and very excellently dis-est'ed, and usefully illustrated vo- ; 
 j lume, than which we cannot recommend our readers to a more serviceable and \ 
 ;. pleasant guide to one of the most necessary and aureeable of studies."— ZiVfraru ? 
 \ Gazette. ' ~ '' \ 
 
 \ " A most excellent Geography, and one that we can cordially recommend.' — \ 
 ^ Atlas. 't 
 
 i " This is really fit for the purpose it professes to serve, which is more than can '. 
 
 ^ be said of other aeoi-raphies. It is illustrated with neatly drawn maps, one of which,   
 
 i representing the surface of land and water in relief, is a beautiful specimen of art." i 
 
 S — Gardeners' Chronicle. •■ 
 
 < " It is admirably adapted to, and fully merits, tlie place which the proprietor intends < 
 
 < it for in 'families and schools;' the'more so, as it is remarkablychi-.ip. It is .also < 
 J quite sufficiently cojuous for general reference ; and to those who have too long neg- i 
 : lected this very useful and entertaining study. this is exactly the book to take tip, \ 
 J as it gives, in addition to the usual dry enumeration of rivers, towns, and inhabitants, > 
 J luimerous observations on the government, character, and general condition of the I 
 
 < different inhabitants of the globe."— t'oi/c/ Jntirnal. \ 
 
 > " This is a very great improvement upon the pnvexisting geographical guides > 
 ; far the use of schools and families. It is simple in its detinifions and descriptions, \ 
 ! and enters into minute details ivith considerable ))erspicnitv and <rre;it accuracy. { 
 ; The maps and diagrams are well drawn. We are well aware of the ditficnlty which l 
 
 > exists in disphicing old established class-books of .any kind ; but we feel convinced > 
 ) that when the one before us becomes known to preceptors and families generally, ) 
 { it will receive a most extensive patronage."— //'ecA/y Dispatch. \ 
 I I 
 
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 ; In Nine Steel-plate Foolscap 4to. Coloured Maps, with Diasrrani of Pro- > 
 jections, and an Index of the Latitudes and Longitudes of 2100 Places; I 
 well suited for Exercises in Mop Drawing, and for Educational purposes. | 
 Price Is. (id. sewed. > 
 
 " This, with the .Author's ' Geography.' forms the best system of "eoeraphical > 
 study we have gecn."— Methodist Magazine. ( 
 
 " These two works, of which the second is subsidiary to the first, are deserving of ; 
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 'Hie above Work is to he had handtomely boxiiid in eloth, price only IBs,, 
 
 vsdhu tub title of 
 
 GILBIET^S FAMILY ATLAS 
 
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 AND COPIOUS ALPHABETICAL GAZETTEER INDEX OF 
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 number of useful and valuable G' 
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 double Map. 
 
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 Europe. 
 
 England and W<»ie8. 
 
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 Irelar ' uid diasrrams 
 
 F- >.j it 
 
 .nat when the one before us bci\" 
 It will receive a most extensive patro 
 
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 Ditto, Cen tral , No. 1 , Tar- 
 tary, Bokhara, itc. 
 
 Ditto, Ditto, No. 2, Mon- 
 golia, Tibet, &c. 
 
 Ditto, Ditto, No. 3, conti- 
 China. [nued. 
 
 Assam, &c. 
 iVIalay Peninsula, &c. 
 Oriental Islands. 
 
 I " — •■ •- — — -y 
 
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 " The following up of these ' Outlines ' will prove aiue, 
 
 North America. 
 
 British and Russian Ame- 
 rica. 
 
 Canadas, New Brunswick 
 
 United States. [ice. 
 
 Mexico and Texas. 
 
 Guatemalia, & West India 
 Islands. 
 
 South America, General 
 Map. 
 
 Ditto, in four MapH, in- 
 cluding Columbia, Bra- 
 zil, Peru, Bolivia, La 
 Plata, Chili, Patagonia, 
 
 Australia. [&c. 
 
 Van Diemen'e Land. 
 
 Pictorial Comparative 
 View of the .Mountains 
 and Waterfalls of each 
 Hemisphere with Clouds 
 
 Comparative Chart of the 
 length of the Rivers of 
 eath Hemisphere. 
 
 Comparative View of the 
 size & toi'm of the Lakes 
 of each Hemisphere. 
 
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