into a decline, dying of neglect and inanition, through the growing coldness of its members, who had caught the spirit of the age and of the Revolution, and become sceptical, and apathetic, and self-willed. Radicalism in politics, and atheism regarding religion, those were the winning forces of to-day; how were they to be encountered? for the old armoury of sacerdotal intimidation was either laughed to scorn, or used as an argument to justify persecution of the Church. Clearly this state of things must be put an end to somehow, or it would soon put an end to the ancient priesthood, not by the rack, and dungeon, and faggot, and all that ugly sort of romance, but by the modern prosaic and far more efficacious method of simply taking away the means of subsistence. In these days, the secular arm of the church is money; and if the laity are going to refuse to pay for the salvation of their souls, what is to be done? There is only one thing to be done—their devotion must be bought back at any price, any sacrifice, any conceivable compact with heaven, earth, or hell. But is there any price which will buy it? How if there be none? Then the days of Catholicism, of Christianity, of religion, are numbered.
Such were the prelate’s sage but not cheerful reflections, as he leant back in his favourite easy chair, and bent his gaze at that part of the room where our heroine and her uncle had sat in their memorable interview with him in days that were recent, yet separated from the present time by Queenstown, the Revolution, and the Italian persecution. At this moment the servant entered with two cards, aid the prelate, taking them off the salver to drop them carelessly into the card basket, read with surprise the names of Lady Friga Hawknorbuzzard, and Miss Newman.
‘Ask the ladies to come up, if you please, and bring tea at once. If anyone else calls, say I am engaged.’
‘I must apologise for this sudden intrusion on your
