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ij ^?1 ^jj ** WEEKLY EDITION. WINNSBORO, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 11, 1882. ESTABLISHED IN 1848. k 1 ? ? THE BLACK ROBE. i i ? BY WILKIE COLLINS. ?authos of? wk "the tfoilan is white," " the mooh sl_- stoxe," "after dark," "yo yaara," ? " hak axd wife," 4' the law and bsppp the lady," " the new ilagdalen," etc., eia 1 CHAPTER m. N. ^ fi&e tick-tick of the clock on the manH telpiece steadily registered the progress ' ; of time, ?;id "Winterfield's fantastic at-v ^ fea^ions vcre still lavished on his dog. ^w?ven Father, Bennett's patience vras sorely tried when the good country gentleman proceeded to mention not ?. j only the spaniel's name, but the occas? sion which had sucrcrested it. " We call him Traveler, and I "will tell you why. When he was only a puppy he strayed into the garden at Beaupark, so weary and footsore that we concluded that he had come to us from a distance. "We advertised him, J but he was never claimed?and here he | is! If you don't; object, we will give | Traveler a treat to-day. He shall have It ^ dinner with us." Perfectly understanding these words the dog jumped off his master's lap, and actually forwarded the views of Father Benwell in less than a minute more. Scampering round and round ^ the room, as an appropriate expression - ^ I-. ? ?Va aftt?a a aaIKmat^ UJL -LUfc^/jJlUCaO, XXC iuuv V/Vxaxoxi/XJ with the side-table, and directed "Winterfleld's attention to the letters bj scattering them on the floor. Father Benwell rose politely to assist in picking tip the prostrate correj! spondence. Bat'Traveler was beforehand with him. "Warning the priest, > with a low growl, not to interfere with another person's business, the dog picked up the letters in his mouth, and carried them by insteUme: c, to his master's feet. Even then the exasperating Winterfield went no further than pat. rp?A ??a1 T?.? A* bJXlg liiV) uc;. -l. abuui aywui! V** ^ w * durance reached its limits. "Pray don't stand on ceremony -with me," he said. "I will lock at the newspaper while yon read year letters." "Winterfield carelessly gathered the letters together tossed? them on the dining-table at his side, and took the ? uppermost one of the little heap. Fate was certainly against the priest or that evening. The first letter that "Wu afield opened led him off to anoth^ 'ubject of conversation before he had read it to the end. Father BenVa?n/1 aIwaa/Itp *r* aabt rva/*T?a^ WCi-L O xu iiJ-5 wvau yvwucUj i appeared again?empty. * "Here's a proposal to me to go into parliament," said the squire. "What _ do you think of representative institu-. tions, Father Beircrell? To my mind representative institutions are on their last legs. They vote away more of our money every year. They sit helpless, v while half a dozen impudent idiots stop tne progress 01 legisiauon irom motives | of the meanest kind. And they are noi ! even sensitive enough to the national | honor to pass a social law among themselves which makes it as disgraceful in a gentlemau to buy a seat by bribery as to cheat at cards. I declare I think the card-sharper the least degraded persoD of the two. He doesn't encourage his inferiors to be false to a public trust. In short, my dear sir, everything wears V out in this world?and why should the house of commons be an exception to the rule?" He picked up the next letc-er from the j l.nn'rw A a lio lnnlcA/1 ?f. t.ViA Viio ? face changed. The smile left his lips, the gayety died out of his eyes. Traveler, entreating for more notice with impatient forepaws applied to his master's knees, saw the alteration, and dropped into a respectfully-recumbent position. Father Ben well glanced sidelong off the cclumns of the newspaper, and waited for events with all the discretion and none of the good faith of the dog. "Forwarded from Beaupark?" WinterSeld said to himself. He opened the letter, read it carefully to the end, thought over it, and read it again. "Father Benwelli" he said, sud l denly. The priest put down the newspaper. For a few moments more nothing was audible but the steadv tick-tick of the clock. i, "We have not been very long acquainted," Winterfield resumed. "Bui our association has been a pleasant one; and I think I owe to von the duty of o friend." Father Ben-well bowed in silence. "Yon are mentioned," Winterfield proceeded, "in the letter whish I have just read." "Are yon at liberty to tell me the name of your correspondent?" Fathei Ben-well asked. " I am not at liberty to do that. But j I think it due to vou, and to myself, to tell you what the substance ot the letter is. The writer warns me to be careful in my intercourse with you. Youi object (I am told) is to make yourseli acquainted with events in my past life, and you have some motive which myoorrespcadent has thus far failed tc discover. I speak plainly, but I beg ^ you to understand that I also speak impartially. I condemn no man unheard, least of all a man whom I have had the honor of receiving under my own roof." * ' > He spoke with a c-rtain simple dig nity. With equal dignity Father BenTrell answered. It is needless to saj .'hat he kuew Winterfield's corresponded io bo Eomayne's wife. " Let rue sincerely thank you, Mr. "Winter-field, for a candor which does honor to us both," he said. "You can scarcely expect me?if I may use such ori nvTYTv>ccirir>?fn f?rvn<1p!Wnd to iustifv myself against an accusal ion wliicli is an anonymous accusation so far as I am concerned. I prefer to meet the letter ]>ya plain proof and I leave you to judge whether I am still worthy of the friendship to which you :iave so kindly alluded." With this preface he briefly rel??d the circumstances tinder which he had become possessed of the packet, and ; then handed it to Winterfield, with the seal uppermost. ' U- - "Decide for yourself," he concluded, | 'whether a man bent on prjing into jour private affairs, with that letter entirely at his mercj, would have been true to the trust reposed in him." He rose and took his hat, readj to leave the room if his honor was profaned by the slightest expression of distrust. Winterfield's genial and un- j suspicious nature instantly accepted ! the offered proof as conclusive. " Before I break the seal," he said, j j "let mo do jou justice. Sit down j j again. Fatber Benwell, and forgive me i j if mv sense of dutj has hurried me into j hurting tout feelings, jno man ought to know better than I do how often people misjudge and wrong each other." They shook hands cordially. No moral relief is more eagerly sought than relief from the pressure of a serious explanation. By common consent they no^ spoke as lightly as if nothing had happened. Father Ben well set the example. " You actually believe in a priest!" he said, gayly. " We shall make a good ' Catholic of you yet." "Don't be too sure of that," Winter- , field replied. " I respect the men who have given to humanity the inestimable blessing of quinine?to say nothing of Mrs. Eyrecourt (now convalescent) was 1 staying at Ten Acres and was then taking the air in her chair on wheels, j 1 The good lady's nimble and discursive | i tongue offered mo an opportunity of referring, in the most innocent manner possible, to Winterfield's favorable opinion of Romayne's pictures. I need scarcely say that I looked at Romayne's wife when I mentioned the name. She turned pale, probably fearing that I had some knowledge of her letter warning , Winterfield not to trust me. If she had already been informed that he was not to be blamed, but to be pitied, in the matter of marriage at Brussels, she ! would have turned rod. Such, at least, is my experience, drawn from recollec tions oi otner aays. " The ladies having served my pur- pose, I venttired into the house to pay my respects to Pomayne. "He was in the study, and his excellent friend and secretary was with him. ' After the first greetings, Penrose left : as. His manner told me plainly that there was something wrong. I asked no questions?waiting on the change ' that Bomayne might enlighten me. "' I hope you are in better spirits now that you have your old companion with ' you,' I said. , "'lam very g:ad to have Penrose j ^ with me,' he answered. And then he j j c J n i 1. _ .1 t i iruwueu ikLLU iUU^U UUO UJ. CXXU wiuuvw i . at the two ladies in the grounds. "It occurred to me that Mrs. Eyre- , court might be occupying the custo- , mary false position of a mother-in-law. I was mistaken. He was not thinking , of his wife's mother?he was thinking , of his wife. ] "'I suppose you know that Penrose . had an idea of converting me ? he said, , suddenly. ( "I was perfectly candid with him. I \ said I knew of it, and approved of it. j " * May I hope that Arthur has sue- { 3 ceeded in convincing you ?' I ventured j to add. j j "' He might have succeeded, Father ; ] Ben well, if he iiad chosen to go on.' "This reply, as yon. may easily im- j ] agine, took me by surprise. j ( "' Are yon really so obdnrate that j < Arthur despairs of your conversion ?' ! ( I asked. " 'Nothing of the sort! I h^-ve thonght j and thonght of it, and I can tell yon I i was more than ready to meet him half . way.' i "'Then where is the obstacle?' I ] exclaimed. I "He pointed throngh tha window to , his wife. J i " 'There is the obstacle!' lie said, in j ( a tone of ironclad resignation. j 3 "Snowing Arthur's character as 11 knew it, I at last understood what had ! ; happened. For a moment I felt really ! : angry. Under these circumstances the j ( vrise course was to say nothing until I j j could be sure of speaking with exem- j . plary moderation. It doesn't do for a j 1 man in my position to show anger. j j "Eomayne went on. L " 'We talked of my wife, Father Bee- j well, tbe last time yon were here, ion j only knew, then, that her reception of j Mr. Winterfield had determined him I never to enter my house again. By way of adding to your information on the subject of " petticoat government,' I may now tell you that Mrs. Komayne has forbidden Penrose to proceed with , he attempt to convert me. By common preserving learning and civilization? but I respect still more my own liberty : as a free Christian." They both laughed. Father Benweli went back to his newspaper. Winterfield broke the seal of the envelope and frj-uVIr rtnf +.Tia lrinlncnr/v;. The confession was the first of the papers at which he happened to look. At the opening lines he turned j>ale. He read more, and his eyes filled ith tears. In low, broken tones, he said to the priest: > " You have innocently brought m distressing news. I entreat your pardon if I ask to be left alone." Father Benweli said a few chosen words ol sympathy, and immediately withdrew. The dog licked his master's hand, hansrins: listlessly over tlit arm of the chairLater in the evening a note from i Winterfield was left by messenger at j i the priest's lodgings. The writer an- j j nonnced vith renewed expression ol i ! regret that he would be again absent i from London on the next day, but that j ! he hoped to return to the hotel ana , j receive his gnest on the evening of the j j day after. Father Benxrell rightly conjectured j that Winterlield's destination was tne j town in which his wife had died. Kis object in taking the journey was I not, as the priest supposed, to ad<1 --ess ! inquiries to the rector and the landlady, j J who had been present at the fatal ill' ness and the death, but to justify his ! | wife's last expression of belief in the ; j mercy and compassion of the man whom she had injured. On that " nameless grave," so sadly and so humbly referred to in the confession, he had resolved to place a simple stone cross, giving to her i 1 ?J ,-j. j memory mt5 uauiv \*ju?tu ouo uau sin oa.a > I from profaning in bar lifetime. When | he had written the brief inscription whi< recorded the death of "Emma, wife Bernard Winterfield." and when he hi knelt for a while by the low turf moun his errand had come to its end. I thanked the good rector; he left gif with the landlady and her children, 1 which he was gratefully remember< for many a year afterward, and th< witL a heart relieved he went back London. Other men might have roade the sad little pilgrimage alone. Winte field took his dog with him. " I run have something to love," he said to tl rector, " at snch a time as this." CHAPTER IV.?FATHER BEN WELL'S CORR SPONDEKCE. To the Secretary} S. J., .Rome. "When I wrote last I scarce thought I should trouble von again : soon. The necessity lias, howeve arisen. I must asl '.or instructions fro A 3 1 XI. - 1 our most reverend general uu uie su, ject of Arthur Penrose. "I believe I informed you that decided to defer my proposed visit 1 Ten Acres Lodge for two or three day in order that TVinterfield (if he i: tended to do so) might have time 1 communicate with Mrs. Romavne afti his return from the country. Natural.1 enough, perhaps, considering the de! cacy of the subject, he has not take me into his confidence. I can oh guess that he has maintained the san reserve with Mrs. Romavne " My visit to the Lodgo was duly pai this afternoon. " I asked first, of course, for the lad of the house, and hearing she was i the grounds, joined her there. SI Looked ill and anxious, and she receiv* mo with rigid politeness. Fortunate! consent the subject is never mentione between us.' The bitter irony of h tone thus far suddenly disappeared. B spoke eagerly and anxiously. ' I hoj vou are not angry with Arthur!' i said. "By this time my little fit of il temper was at an end. I answered and it was really in a certain sense true' I know Arthur Joo well to be angi with him.' " Romayne seemed to be relieved. ' Dnly troubled you with this last dc mestic incident-,' he resumed, 'to bs speak your indulgence for Penrose, im getting learned in the hiearchy c the church, Father Benwell! You ai the superior of my dear little frienc and you exercise authority over hin Oh, he is the kindest and best of men [t is not his fault. He submits to Mrs Romayne?against his own better convi< Lion?in the honest belief that he coi suits the interests of our married life ' - "?* - ? ^ 1 -T- 1_ i _ 3 J_"I_ "1 don't tnuiK l misinterpreted m state of Romayne's mind and mislea rou, when I express my belief that thi second indiscreet interference of lii wife between liis friend and hirase trill produce the very res alt which sb Ireads. Mark my words, written afte :he closest observation of him, this neirritation of Romajne's sensitive sell respect will hasten his conversion. " Yon will understand that the on uternative before me, after what hs aappcned, is to fill the place from whic Penrose has withdrawn. But nothing ca be done until the visit of Penrose lis :ome to an end. Romayne's secrc sense of irritation may be safely left t levelop itself, with time to help it. " So I changed the conversation f the subject of his literary labors. Th present state of his mind is not favoi ible to work of that exacting kind. Eve with the help of Penrose to encourag iiim, he does not get on to his satisfa< tion; and yet, as I could plainly pe: ;eive, the ambition to make a name i the world exercises a stronger influenc Dver him than ever. All in our favo: ,1 rtll iy? -Po TT/\Y* T D2j reyereuu me-iiu.??u . u> . "I took the liberty of asking to se Penrose alone for a moment, and, th: request granted, Romayne and I parte jordially. I can make most peopj like me when I choose to try. TL master of Yange Abby is no exceptic to the rule. Did I tell yon, by-the-byi that the property has a little decline of late in value ? It is now not moi than sis thousand a year. We will in prove it when it returns to the churc! " My interview with Penrose was ov< in two minutes. Dispensing with a ? **" *ovw 1/ar? 1 rr? 4 lUrjULUIlrV, X LUUIl lilO CVJ.JLU. CbUVA AWU Xiitu i the front garden. " ' I have lieard all about it,' I sai< 1 and I must not deny that you have di appointed me. But I know your dispi sition, and I make allowances. Yc have qualities, dear Arthur, which pe Laps put you a lit tie out of place amor us. I shall be obliged to report wh: you have done, but you may tract n to put it favorable. Shake hands, n son, and while wo are together, let i be as good friends as ever.' " You may think that I spoke in th a way WILLI a, view lu lllj inuui^cuu .u* guage beiug repeated to Romayne, as so improving the position which'I hai already gained in his estimation. I yon know I r^liy believe I meant it the time! The poor fellow grateful kissed my hand when I offered it him; he was really not able to spea I almost fan-y I am weak about Arthui Say a kind word for him when his cc duct coiaes under notice, out pray cio: mention this little frailty of mine, a: don't suppose I have any sympathy wi his \reak-mind6d submission to Mi liomajnes prejudice. If I ever felt t smallest consideration for her (and cannot call to mind any amiable eir lion of that sort), her lette' to \viut< field would have effcct-ally cxti guished it. There is- something qui revolting to me in a deceitful woman. "In closing this letter, I may qu: the minds of our reverend brethren i. assure them that my former objecti to associating myself directly with t TTiaT?c T / *"? ? "RnmnTT* A 1 An (Yflr AV1C' "Yes, even at my age and 'with, r habits, I am now resigned to hear! and confuting the trivial arguments o man who is young enough to be r son. I shall write a careiully grTO-^''1 letter to Romayne on the departure Penrose; and I shall send him a bo to read, from the influence oi whicl; expect gratifying results. It Li not controversial work (Arthur has be beforehand witii me there), it is Wis roan's ' Recollections of the Popes.' : - 7 ' look to that essentially readable booli oi to excite Romayne's imagination bj id vivid descriptions of tlie splendors oi <1 nhnrfOi ^nrl flip vast; inflnpricp arid le power of the higher priesthood. Does ts this sudden enthusiasm of mine surprise you ? And are you altogether at id | a loss to know what it means ! vc It means, my friends, that I see our tc position toward Iiomayne in an entirely new light. Forgive me if I say 'ii more for the present. I prefer to be i ir* silent until my audacity is justified bj s* events." le | CHAPTER v.?BERNARD WnvTEKFTELD'S CORRESPONDENCE. EI. From Mrs. Romayne to Mr. Winter field. I, " Has my letter failed to reach you: 3c I directed it (as I direct this) to Beaux' park, not knowing your London adm dress. i [j. " Yesterday Father Ben well called at Ten Acres Lodge. He first saw my I mother and myself, and he contrived tc to mention your name. It was done witb s, his usual adroitness, and I might pera haps have passed it over, if he had not tc looked at me. I hope and pray it maj be only my fancy, but I thought I saw [j in his eyes that he was conscious ol [i having me in his power, and that he ;n might betray me to my husband at anj ly moment. ve "I have no sort of claim on you. And heaven knows I have little reason ., to trust you. But I thought you meant fairly by me when ;re spoke together at this house. In that belief, I entreat ** you to tell me if Father Benwell has 'U intruded into your confidence, or eveD 16 ^ if you have hinted anything to him which gives him a hold over me." a n g From Mr. Winter field to Mrs. Rcmayne. ;e "Both your letters have reached me. I t i .1 "X iiavt) guuu xeasuu iut ue.uov.u15 e that yon are entirely mistaken in youi estimate of Father Benwell's character. But I know, by sad experience, how you hold your opinions when they are once formed, and I am eager to relieve you of all anxiety, so far as I am con "v " " cerned. I have not said one word?I j have not even Lfc slip the slightest hint ^ ?which could inform Father Benwell of that past event in our lives to wliioi j your letter alludes. Your secret is a ^ sacred secret to me, and it lias been and shall be sacredly kept. i "There is a sentence in your lettei ' which has given me great pain. You , reiterate the cruel language of by-gone . days. You say ' Heaven knows I have little reason to trust you.' " I have reasons on my own side foi > not justifying myself, except undei 6 certain conditions. If you are ever in ? a position of trouble or peril?and God ;s forbid it ever should be so?which yon [g might blamelessly confide to a devoted L? friend or brother, I undertake, in that e Cise, t >*prove even to you that it was a ,r cruel injustice ever to have doubted me, w and there is no man living whom you can more implicitly trust than myself. " My address, when I am in London, is at the head of thispage.1' ls j ni. Frcrm Dr. Wyl/row to Mr. Wi?iterfield. d "Dsab Sib?I Lave received vonr LS letter, mentioning that you want to accompany me at my n xt visit to the 0 asylum, to see the French boy, so strangely associated with the letter de ;o livered ta you by Father Ben well. " Your proposal reaches me too late. The poor creature's troubled life has n come to an end. He never rallied from e the exhausting effect of the fever. To the last ho was attended by his mother. r" I write with true sympathy for that n excellent lady, but I do not conceal :e from you or from myself that his death is not to be regretted. In a case of the .same extraordinary kind, recorded in :e print, the patient recovered from the is "ever, ami his insanity returned witi: | d Lis returning health. Le 4tFaithfi lly your?, ie "Joseph "Wibeow." m j chattee vi.? the saddest of ail words. :e On the tenth morning, dating from i. the dispatch of Father Eenwell's last 2< letter to Eome, Penrose was writing in >r the study at Ten Acres Lodge?'while Eomayne sat at the other end of the 0 room looking listlessly at a blank sheet of piper, with the pen ljing idle beside j it. Oa a sudden he rose, and snatching s- up paper and pen threw them irritably into the fire. )U "Don't trouble yourself to write any r_ longer," ho said to Penrose. "My 10P dream is over. Throw my manuscripts ^ into the waste-paper basket, and never ,e speak to me of literary work again." "Every man devoted to literature has JS tliese fits of despondency," Penrose "Dnn'r. think of vour work. :s Send for jour horse, and trust to fresh air and exercise to relieve your mind." l(j Romayne barely listened. He turned ,e round at the fireplace and studied the )0 reflection of his face in the glass. a{. "Hook worse and worse," he said, jy thoughtfully, to himself. to It was true. His fleh had fallen j. away; his face had withered and whit. t ened; he stooped like an old man. ,n. The change for the worse had been steadily proceeding from the time when he left Yange Abbey. tl-1 " It's useless to conceal it from me I" pg II? UUrbl/ UUl'| OiH.1 JL. VUAVW jj "I am in some way answerable?though 3 you all deny it?for the French boy's ,0 death. Why not ? His voice is still in my ears?and the stain of his brother's ; u. blood is on me. I am under a spell! Do vou believe in the witches?the iu * merciless old women who made w-x im[ej and stuck pins in their mock likenesses, f 1 to register the slow wasting away oi oe their victims day after day? People he disbelieve it in these times; but it has ts. never been disproved." He stopped, qj looked at Penrose, and suddenly g changed his tone. "Arthur! what is f a the matter with you ? Have you had a nj bad night? Has anything happened?"' - (3 For the first time in Eomayne's ex?* perience of him Penrose answered -1- - evasively. i T " is there nothing to make me anxa ions," he said, " when I hear yon talk eD as you are talking now? The poor 5e* French boy died of a fever. Must I 3 remind you again that he owed the hap fr piest days of his life to you and your gcoil wife?" Fiomayne still looked at Him, without attending to what he said. " Sarelv yon dc n'fc*hinkl am deceiving you ?" Penrose remonstrated. "No: I was thinking of something else. I was wondering whether I really know you as well as I thought I did. Am I mistaken in supposing you are not an ambitious man V "My only ambition iy to lead a worthy Jife, and to be usef^J to my fellow-creatures as I can. Does, that satisfy you ?" P.omayne hesitated. "It seems strange?" hobegaD, " What seems strange ?"_. " I don't say it seems strange that yon shonld be a priest," Komayne explained. "I am only surprised that a man of your simple way of thinking should have attached himself to the Order of the Jesuits." ' y " I can auite understand that." said Penrose. "But you shouiff^frnember that circumstances often influence a man in his choice of avocation. It has been so with me. I am a member of a lege was near our place of abode, and a near relative of mine - since dead?was one of the resident priests." He paused, and acid'id, in a lower tone:* "When I was little more than a lad I suffered a disappointment which altered my character for life. I took refuge in tha college, and I have found patience and pcace of mind since that time. Oh, my friend, you idiglit have been a more contented man?" He stopped again. His interest in the husband had all but deceived him into forgetting his promise to the "wife. Eomayne held out his hand. "I hope I have not thoughtlessly hurt you," he said. Penrose took the offered hand, and pressed it fervently. He tried to speak, and suddenly shuddered, like a man in pain. "I am not very Tvell this morning," he stammered; "a turn in the garden ?Ml .1 _*1 ft will ao me guuu. * Romayne's doubts were-confirmed by the manner in whicli Penrose left him. Something had unquestionably happened, which his friend shrank from communicating to hi r. He sat down again to his desk and tried to read. Tho time passed, and he was still left alone. When the door at last opened, it was only Stella who entered the room. "Have you seen Penrose?" he asked. The estrangement between them had been steadily widening of late. Romavne had expressed his resentment at his wife's interference between Penrose and nimseit, oy tnat air or comempi;uons endurance which is the hardest penalty that a man can inflict on the woman -who loves him. Stella Lad submitted with a proud and silent resignation?the most unfortunate form of protest that she could have adopted toward a man of Bomayne's temper. When she now appeared, however, in her husband's study, there was a change in her expression which he instantly noticed. She looked at him with eyes softened by sorrow. Before she could answer his first question he hurriedly added another. "Is Penrose really ill?" "No, Lewis. Ho is distressed." " About what V " About you and about himself. " Is he going to leave us ?* " Yes." . ~ " But be will come back again ?' Stella took a cbair by ber husband's side. "I am truly sorry for you, Lewis," she said. "It is even a sad parting for me, If yon will let me say it, I havo a sincere legard for dear Mr. I Penrose." Under other circumstances this confession oi" feeling for a man who bad sacrificed his dearest aspiration to the one consideration of ber happiness might have provoked a sharp reply. But by this time Romayne had really become alarmed. "You speak as if Arthur was going to leave England," he said. " He leaves England this afternoon," she answered, " for Rom?." "Why doe3 he tell this to you and not to me ?" Romayne asked. " He cannot trust himself to speak of it to yon. He begged me to prepare you?" Her courage failed her. She paused. Romayne beat his hand impatiently on the desk before him. "Speak out!" ha cried. "If Rome is not the end of his journey, what is?" Stella hesitated no longer. "He ?roe3 to Rome," she said, "tc receive Ms instructions, and to become personally acquainted with the missionaries whe are associated with him. They will leave Leghorn in the next vassel which sets sail for a port in Central America. And the dangerous dutj intrusted to them is to re-establish one of the Jesuit missions destroyed by the savages years since. They will find their church a ruin and not a vestige left of the house once inhabited by the j mnrdered priests. It is not concealed from them that thov may be martyred too. They are soldiers of the cross; and they go?willingly go?to save the souls of the Indians at the peril of their lives." Romayne rose and advanced to the door. There he turned and spoke tn Stella. " Where is Arthur?" he said. Stella gently detained him. " There was one word more he entreated mo to say?pray wait and hear it," she pleaded. " His one grief is at leaving yon. Apart from that he devotts himself gladly to the dreadful service -which claims him. He has long looked lor.>ard to it, and has long prepared himself for it. Those, Lewis, are his own words." There was a knock at the doer. The servant appeared to announce that the carriage was waiting. Penrose entered the room as tfce man left it. "Hav.-? you spoken for me?" he said to Stella. She could only answer him by a gesture. He turned to Homayne with a smile. " The saddest of all words must be spoken," ho said. " Farewell." Pale and trembling, Eomayne took his band. " Is this Father Ben well's doing ?" he asked. "NoI" Penrose answered, firmly I " In Father Benwell's position it might have been his doing, but for hi* goodness to me. For the first time r,ince I have known him, he ha-! shrunk from a responsibility. For my sake he has leZt it to Pome. And Home has spoken. " Oh, my more than friend, my brother in love?!" His voice failed him. With a resolution that was nothing less than heroic in fi mart of liis rLftv.rtf.inri.af a rint.nrA lip recovered his composure. "Let us make it as little miserable as it can be," lie said. "At every opportunity we will write to eacli other. And, who knows'? ?I may yet come back to yon. God has preserved his servants in dangers as great as any that I shall encounter. May that merciful God bless and protect you. Oh, liomayne, what happy days we have had together!" TTic Idcf nniuarc nf vacieftvera wavti out. Tears of noble sorrow dimmed the friendly eyes which had never looked u-ikindly on the brother of his love. He kissed Romayne. " Ilelp me out!" ho said, turning bKndly toward the hall in which the servant was waiting. That last act of mercy was not left to a ser. vant. With sisterly tenderness Stella took his hand and ied him away. "I shall remember you gratefully as long as I live," she said to him when the carriage door was closed. He waved his hand at the window, and she saw him no more. SIia rpf.rirnp^ f.n t.Tip. stndv. J The relief of tears had come ^o Romayne. He had dropped into a cbair when Penrose left him. In stony silence he sat there, bis head down, his eyes dry and stariDg. The miserable days of their estrangement were forgotten by his wife in tbe moment when she looked at him. She knelt by his side, and lifted his head a little and laid it on her bosom. Her heart was full?she let the caress piead for her silently. He felt it; his cold fingers pressed her hand thankfully; but he said nothing. After a long interval tne nrsc outward expression of sorrow that fell from his lips showed that lie was still thinking of Penrose. " Every blessing falls away from me," he said. "I have lost my best friend." Years afterward Stella remembered thoss words, and the tone in which he had spoken them. CHAPTER VTT.?THE IMPULSIVE SEX. After a lapse of a few days Father Bon well was again a visitor at Ten Acres Lodge?by Piomayne's invitation. The priest occupied the very chair by the study fireside in which Penrose had been accustomed to sit. " It is really kind of you to come to me," said Homayne, " so scon after receiving my ackaoTledgment of your letter. I can't tell you liow I was touched by the manner in which you wrote of Penrose. To my shame, I confess it, I had no idea that you were sc warmly attached to him." "I scarcely knew it myself, T>Ir. Pcmayne, until our dear Arthur was takon away from us." " If you used your influence, Father Benwell, is their no hope that you might yet persuade him "To withdraw from the mission ? Oh, Mr. Pioaiayne, don't you know Arthur's , character better than that? Even his I gentle temper has its resolute side. | The zeal of the first martyrs to Christianity is the z?al that burns in that noble nature. The mission has been the dream of his life; it is endeared to him , by the very dangers which we dread. | Persuade Arthur to desert the dear and devoted colleagues who have opened | their arms to him ? I might as soon i persuade that statue in the garden to desert its pedestal and join us in this room. Shall we change the sad subject: Have you received the book which I t sent you with my letter ?" Bomayne took up the book from his desk. Before he could speak of it some one called out briskly, on the other side of the door: " May I come in ?" and came in without waiting :o be asked. Mrs. Eyrecourt, painted and robed for the morning, wafting perfumes as she moved, appeared in the study, i She looked at the priest, and lifted her many-ringed hands with a gesture of coquettish terror. "Oh, dear me? I had no idea you were here, Father Benwell. I ask tea thousand pardons. Dear and admirable Romayne, you don't look as if you were pleased to see me. Good gracious I I am not interrupting a confession, am I ?" Father Benwell (with his paternal cnile in perfect order) resigned his chair to Mrs. Eyrecourt. Tho traces of her illness still showed themselves in an I i ?tafm i fc tramlil tn rr rtf lifvr TtA.l/1 fllin v o -* ? ?C her hands. She had entered the room, strongly suspecting that the process of conversion might he proceeding in the absence of Penrose, and determined to interrupt it. (iuuled by his subtle intelligence, Father Benwell penetrated her motive as soon as she opened the door. Mrs. Eyrecourt bowed graciously and took the offered chair. Father Benwell sweetened his paternal smile, and offered to get a footstool. " How glad I am," he said, " to see you in your customary good spirits! But wasn't it just a little malicious to talk of interrupting a confession ? As if Mr. Iiomayne was one of us! Queen Elizabeth herself could scarcely have - i - ~i SU.1U ii suai'jjei tiling iw tv ^uui vatuunu priest!" "You clever creature!" said Mrs. Eyrecourt. " How easily you see through, a simple woman like me! There?I give you my hand to kiss; we will make it up as the children.say. Do you know, Father Benwell, a most extraordinary wish has suddeuiy come to me. Please don't be offended. I wish ~ >> JUll VtCi'tt u ucw. "May I ask why?" Father Ben well inquired. Mrs. Eyrecourt explained herself with i the modest self-distrust of a maiden oi fifteen. "I am really so ignorant I scarcely know liow to put it. But learned persons have told me that it is the peculiarity of the Jews?may I say the amiable peculiarity ??never to ! ikoI.-o ^.invnrfq Tt would be so nice if you would take a leaf out of their book when we have the happiness of receiving you here. My lively imagination picture? you in ? double character. | Father Ben well everywhere else, an I? j say, the patriarch Abraham at Ten Acres Lodge." Father Benwell lifed his persuasive hands in courteous protest. "My dear lady! pray make yonr mind easy. Not j one' word on the sub jeer of religion has passed between Tlr. Eomayne and myself-" "I beg your pardon," Mrs. Eyrecourl j interrupted; "I am afraid I fail to foli low yon. My silent son-in-law looks as j if lie longed to smother ine, and my at tention is naturally distracted. You I were about to say?" " I was about to say, dear Mrs. Eyreconrthat von are alarming yourself without any reason. Not one word o.i :my controversial subject has passed?'" Mrs. Eyrecourt cocked her head with the artless vivacity of a bird. "Ah, but it might, though I" sho suggested, slyly. Father Benwell once more remonstrated in dumb show, andEomayne lost Lis temper. . - "Mrs. Eyrecourt!" he cried, sternly. Mrs. Eyrecourt screamed and lifted her hands to her ears. "I am not deaf, dear Komayne?and I aai not to be put down by any illtmpfi pYhihitinn of what I mav call do mestic ferocity. Father Benwell sets you an example of Christian moderation. Do, please, follow it." Bomayne refused to follow it. _ " Talk on any other topic that you like, Mrs. Eyrecourt. I request you? don't oblige me to nse a harder word?I request you to spare Father Ben well and | myself any further expression of your i A?ininr? An AAr?fi?A*rarciol " A son-in-law may mate a request, and j n mother-in-law may decline to comply, j lurs. Eyrecourt declined to comply. "No, Eomayne, it won't do. I may lament your unhappy temper, for my daughter's sake?but I know what I am about, and you can't provoke me. Our reverend friend and I understand each other. He will make allowances for a sensitive woman, who has had sad experience of conversions in her own household. My eldest daughter, Fath< 7 Ben well?a poor, fooli>h creature?was converted into a nunnery. The last time 1 saw her (she used to be sweetly rretty; my dear husband quite adored ?thft last timfi T s:i\v her I she had a red nose, and, what j is even more revolting at her age, a I double chin. She received me with her lip.s pursed, up, and her eyes on the ground, and she was insolent enough to say that she would pray 'or me. I am not a furious old man with a long white j beard, and I don't curse my daughter and rush out into a thunder-storm afterward, but I know what King Lear felt, and I have straggled with hysterics just as he did. With your wonderful insight into human nature, I am sure you will sympathize and forgive me. | Mr. Penrose, as my daughter tells me, | behaved in the most gentlemanlike ; manner. I make the same appeal to ' your kind forbearance. The bare prosj pect of our dear friend here becoming ! a Catholic?" I Remaync's tempsr gave way once : more. I " If anything can make me a Catlij olic," lie said, " yonr interference will | do it." i " Out of sliecr perversity, dear Ro~ | mayne?" I "Not at all, Mrs. Eyrecourt. If I I became a Catholic, I might escape from I the society of ladies in the refuge cf a j monastery." I Mrs. Eyrecourt hit him back again, j with the readiest dexterity, i "Remain a Protestant, my dear, and ! tro to vonr club. There is a refuge for I you from the ladies?a monastery, with j nice little dinners and all tlie newspa| pers and periodicals." Having launched j this shaft, she got up, and recovered her ; easy courtesy of look and manner. "I J am so much obliged to you, Father Ben! well. I have not offended you, I hope j and trust ?' " You have done me a service, dear j Mrs. Eyrecourt. Bnt for your salutary i caution, I might have drifted into coni , troversial subjects. I shall be on my j guard now." j " How very good of you! We shall ! meet again, I hope, under more agreej able circumstances. After that polite i fr\ n tv>AnocfT t? n r?n,'1 j tbllLtOlVSLA W c? aju vuugtvij) a i that my visit to my son-in-law may as well come to an end. Please don't for| get 5 o'clock tea at my house." j As she approached the door it was i opened from the outer side. Her daughter met her half-way. " Why are you here, mamina ?" Stella asked. " Why, indeed, my love! You had j better leave the room with me. Our I amiable Eomayne's present idea is to ; relieve himself of our society by retiring i to a monastery. Don't you see Father | Benwcli?" ! Stella coldly returned the priest's bow | and looked at Eomayne. She felt a j vague forewarning of what bad hap: pened. Mrs. Eyrecourt proceeded to 1 enlighten her as an appropriate expr.'s| sion of gratitude. " We are indeed in1 debted to Father Benwell, my dear. He lias been most considerate and kind?" Eomayne interrupted her without; j ceremony. "Favor me," lie said, addressing his wife, " by inducing Mrs. Eyrecourt to continue her narrative in another room." Stella was scarcely conscious of what her mother or her husband had said. | S'je felt that the priest's eyes were on i her. Under The spell of those watchful eyes she trembled inwardly; her cus; tomary tact deserted her; she made an j indirect apology to the man whom she ! t? x ^ J i liUCUU. uuu xvuicu. " Whatever my mother may have said I to you, Father Benwell, has been with! out my knowledge." j Bomajne attempted to speak, but ! Father Benwell was too quick for him. "Dear Mrs. Bomayne, nothing hae I Deen said which needs any disclaime? | on your part." i " I should Ihii.k not!" Mrs. Eyre! "Reallv. Stella. I don't j understand you. Why may I not say | 10Father Benwell what yon said to Mr. j Penrose? You trusted Mr. Penrose as j your friend. I can tell yon this?I am I quite sure you may trust Father Benwell." ! fWA more "Romavne attempted tc i speak. And ouce more Father Ben; well was beforehand with him. . ' r?:. ? _ "May I hope," said the priest, with a finely ironical smile, " that Mrs. Eomayne agrees with her excellent mother?" With all her fear of him, the exasperating influence of his tone and his look was more than Stella could endure. Before she could restrain them, the rish words flew out of her lips. "I am not sufficiently well acquainted with you, Father Benwell, to express an opinion." With that answer she took he: mother's arm and left the room. The moment they were alone, Bo mayne turned to tlie priest, trembling with anger. Father Eenwell, smiling indulgently at the lady's little outbreak took him by the hand, with peace-making intentions. "Now don't ?pray don't excite yourself!" Eomajne was not to be pacified in Ahat way. His anger was tr?bly intensified by the long continued strain on his nerves of the effort to control himself. "I must and will speak oni at last!' lie said, "f ather JtJenweli, L Hope you understand that nothing conld have kept me silent so long bnt the duty of conrtesy toward women, on winch the ladies of my household have so inexcusably presumed. No words can say how much ashamed I am of what has happened. I can only appeal to yonr admirable moderation and patience to accept my apologies, and the most sincere expression of my regret." "No more, Mr. Romajne! As a favor to me, I beg and entreat you will say no more. Sit down and compose yourself." But Romayne was impenetrable to the influence of friendly and forgiving demonstrations. " I can never expect yon to enter mv house again!" lie exclaimed. "My dear sir, I will "come and see yon again with, the greatest of pleasnre on any day that- you may appoint?the earlier day tli3 better. Come, come! let us laugh. I don't say it disrespectfully, but poor dear Mrs. Eyitecourt haf Deen more amusing man ever, l ex-, pect to see our excellent archbishop tomorrow, and I must really tell him how tbe good lady felt insulted when her riiitlmlift Jan filter offered to t)rav for her. There is scarcely anything more hu morons; even in Moliere. And the donble chin and the red nose?all the fault of those dreadful Papists. Oh, dear me, you still take it seriously. How I wish you had my sense of humori When shall I come again and tell you . how the archbishop likes the story of the nun's mother ? He held ont his hand with irresistible cordiality. Eomayne took it gratefully, still bent, however, on making atonement. "Let me first do myself the honor of calling oil you," he said. " I am in no state to open ray mind, as I might have wished to open it to you, after what has happened. In a day or two more?" Say the day after to morrow," Father Benwell hospitably suggested. "Do me a great favor. Come and eat your bit of mutton and some remarkably good claret, a present from one of the faithful. You will ? That's hearty i And do promise mo to think no more of our little domestic comedy. Believe your mind. Look at ' "Wiseman's Recollections of the Popes.' Good-bje?God bless you!" The servant who opened the housedoor for Father Benwell was agreeably surprised by the priest's cheerfulness. | " He isn't half a bad fellow," the man | announced among his colle&guues. j " Gave me half a crown, and went out j humming a tune." CHAPTER vm.?FATHER BENWEIJ/S CORRESPONDENCE. To the Secretary, S. J., Rome. I. " I beg to acknowledge the receipt o* | your letter, mentioning that our reverend fathers are discouraged tvt not haviug heard from me for more than six weeks. " I am sorry for this?and I am more than sorry to hear that my venerated brethren regret having sanctioned the i iVIon nf obtaining the restoration of the Vange property to the church. Let me humbly submit that the circumstances justified the idea. An unentailed property in the possession of a of imaginative temperament, vithont any near relations to control him, id surely a property which might change hands, under the favoring circumstances of that man's conversior to the Catholic faith? It may be objected that the man is not yet converted. Also, tl^at he is now married, and maj have an heir to his estate. Grant me a delay of another week?and I will tin dertake to meet the first of these objections. In the meantime, I bow to superior wisdom; and I do not venture to acid another word in my own defense. IL "The week's grace granted to me has elapsed. I write with humility. At the same time, I have something to sav for myself. " Yesterday, IMr. Lewis Fomayne, of Vauge Abbey, was received into the community of the HjIv Catholic Church. I inciose an accurate newspaper report of che ceremonies which attended the conversion. " 13e pleased to iDform in-1 by telegraph, whether our reverend Fathers vribh me to go or not. 1FE xTND OF THE FOURTH EOOS. . Fogg put his foot into it bodily when he was introduced to 3rtrs. Smith and her daughter. He wished to say some thing neat and gallan t. Addressing the daughter, ?aid he : "Really, madam, I never should have suspected that that lady was your daughter. I supposed, of course, that ron were sisters; I did, I assure you." "Thankyou, Mr. Fogg," replied Miss Smith. "Yoa were perfectly right in thinking that lady could not be my daughter. She is my mother, sir." Fosrg went off in a hurry, calling somebody or other a confounded fool, while Miss Smith was heard to remark indignantly, "Sisteis, indeed 1" ! The word thimble is derived from "Thumb-bell," being at fist thumble and afterward thimble. Tho little instrument itself is a Dutch invention, and was first introduced in England about the year 1605 by John Lofting. . - Oriental Contrasts. Identity of terms applied to the necessaries of life, and similarity of the rude implements by which the simple operations of industry aie performed, show that the art of craftsmen had voodSc 1 o / orfoin <rel 1 Anfja Vw?fnrA thA European parted company with the natives of India. Bat by neither of these clews can any connection be traced between China" an-i other lands. The language, even in its simplest roots, has no analogy; and the implements of industry have characteristic forms which show that in the earliest period of her existence China drew nothing from other peoples. What siie required, she originated; she imitated nothing, as tne IOiiowing IICIS most cieariy uiu?cate: The anvil of the Chinese smith is not flat, like the anvil of other countries, bat convex on its npper or working surface ; and the bellows of a Chinese forge, instead of working vertically, has _? a horizontal stroke. The paper of the _ Chinese is th>n and weak ; it ia printed " on one side only, but doubled to present a'folded-edge at the rim of the leaf, and a , printed surface on eitner side. The cbaia pump of China has a square barrel ;-;.bttt that of o^er,.countries is -cylindrical. Brass is made elsewhere b.T melting together copper'Smd zinc in a crucible; in China, by suspending thin sheets of copper, heated almost to melting, in the vapor of molten zinc. The German silver of Europe is made' by combining the*materials in their metallic condition; the Chinese equivalent -i>y mangling the ores of the. metals, and reducing them to produce the alloy. Spangles are made not by cutting or stamping from steel metal, but by flattening wire first bent into annular form. Pewter vessels are not cast, but are shaped by hammering upon a block. The primitive mill in many countries for crushing apples for cider, for pulverizing ores, and composed of p wheel traveling in a groove or channel has, among the western nations, its wheel running continuously in a certain track around a vertical axle; in China its wheel runs to and fro in a horizontal movement. Chinese lanterns are not made of horn like those of the Romans, nor of perforated metal as looj since in Europe, nor of glass as is now universal, but of a varnished papsr stretched on bamboo frames, sometimes of little cost for the multitude, sometimes of great intrinsic worth and blazoned with titles for the mandarins. mu~ J hoc 1ULC UUUICOtil^ JLUUUCUIJ VI WUW& M?U\* * ?**- / obtained the healthful tcid of vinegar from, the acetic f-roaentation of the sweet juice of fru ts; the Chinese by placing in water the sea polyp s found along the coasts. The fish cultnre, so . - recently attracting the attention of the United States aud o tier countries is old in China ; but Chinese tish culturists - ' pat the spawn in an eg* shell and place it under a batching fowl, and, after due delay, break the shell in water warmed by the sun. " ..'-yixM POPULAR SCIENCE. As we ascend from the earth the air grows thinner and thinner. From this fact astronomers believe that the limit of the atmosphere is 200 miles from the In Alpine regthere are more narrow, partly-closed flowers than elsewhere," and a greater proportion cf longtongne insects, the flora seeminj? to be exactly adapted to the insects feeding on its honey. ... Professor Osborne Keynolds has been trying to discover why, nnder certain \ circumstances, drops of water may be 't seen floating for some time on the snrface of pools during a shower before they disappear. He believes that his experiments proved that the suspension depends only on the purity of the surface of the water, and not at all on the temperature ?r condition of the air. The results of the experiments of Dr. Lacerdo Filho on the poison of the rattlesnake are : 1. The poisoa acts upon the blood by destroying the red corpuscles, and by changing the physical and />Viorr?i/?o1 ornolifxr nf +V10 rVtasma 2 Thfl poison contains seme mobile bodies, similar to the microceccus of putrefaction. 3. The blood of an animal killed by a snake's bite, when inoculated to another animal of the same size and species, causes the death of the latter within a few hours, under the same symptoms and the same changes oi the blood. 4. The poison can be dried and preserved for a long time without losing its specific qnality. 5. Alcohol is the best antidote for the poison yet known. Frozen salmon have been imported in excellent condition in London from the Hudson Bay settlements The vessel was fitted with one of the patent dryair refrigerators, invented by Mr. S. I. ^ Coleman, and manufactured by some Glasgow company. The hold was made air-tight and "lined with a non-conducting substance. As soon as the lisli wera caught, they were deposited in the Vinl/3 cf fna rofro nf ?Virvnt. t.hrAA tons a day, -until the compartment, holding thirty-five tons, "was filled. The temperature at which the fish was kept daring the voyage was between 20 degrees and 22 degrees Fahrenheit. This successful experiment is an important one for the fish industry in the United States. . ~T|| _ -The Carnage at Fredericksburg. "I was sergeant of a gun which was stationed just there," ?aid an ei Confederate to me as we faced the height. " We did not believe the Federals would charge the hill, and when they came the second time we cheered them. Such bravery I never saw on a battlefield. Some of tbe men who were hit - - - way down the street hobbled ana nmpea forward, ana were struck down witnin one hundred feet of tbe wall. This road was the worst spectacle of the * '? whole war. Our artillery created horrible slaughter on the heavy lines of men at such close range. That tree down there at the corner of the garden stood in an open field then, and just beyond it was a slight swell. As Sumner's troops came over that swell in their second charge, I fired iuro the lines just to the right of the tree, and the shell killed or wounded m arly every man in one company. I saw grape and canister open lanes through the ranks, + V> a Wrro linos TIT) atTJltll auu jc? vi?v ? c and dashed at the base of the bill. We thcuaht thej were madmen. "Djwn where the old shed stands I saw a curious thing tbat day. When Sumner was driven ba--k the second time a single Federal Folder was left . on his feet among the df^nd thfre. In-tead of falling back with tbe rest he stood there and loadjd a**d fired as coolly as if at target practice. He wounded one man in my company, -- T killed a corporal farther up the hill, ana shot a lieutenant there where the ha -a ! oa monv oc kit *tiu tlil ? CO. l IT/ uo 1. >. ^ L. , w., shots, being fired at in return by a thousand men; but, as he turned and walked away, our men ceased liriner and gave him cheer after cheer.?M. Quad. _ J The Chico (Cal.) Record tells this storv: A couple of Chinamen, while w d fishing in the S.icrimonto river near >jj Chioo landing, were attacked by a l&iga snake, which coiled abou' oae of them. The other Chinaman seized a harchet and cut the monster to pieces. ^ They 11 j._ if onrl r.T.?f?inf? '* , T'zs*!, proceeaea to iiiBJtsuio ^ n together the parts severed, it measured ^ forty-three feel saa seven irclies, 2nd was as large a>o::n<5 as a ma's tag.