A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel
sick-bed, has gained already many souls within the true pale. And now,
to continue of the illness of Monsieur, now Brother Thomas, as I have
already made you aware, a low fever caused him to remain at the
convent for the space of four months. Sister Fidele, a French nun,
shared the fatigue and duty of ministering to the sick man's wants,
with the young Saxon sister, whose life I have told you of. She is
with us Sister Faith; a name given to her by his Holiness, Pope Pius,
her child-like belief and peaceful beauty of expression, suggesting
it.
"But to proceed, Sister Fidele, seeing her patient was ever restless
and unsatisfied during the absence of Sister Faith, informed the
Mother Abbess, saving: 'He is a heretic, mother, and if you permit
Sister Faith to be more with him her prayers, zeal and gentle pious
converse may impress his godless soul.'
"Thus it was that Sister Faith spent all her time not devoted to
necessary rest at the bedside of Monsieur. But, alas for the weakness
of man, instead of the piety of her teachings impressing his soul, or
the sacredness of her office shielding her from such passions, her
great beauty had kindled in his heart the flame of a moral love. I as
her father confessor learned of the unlawful words spoken to her; my
indignation and sorrow were great. But when she assured me that to her
he was only a soul to be saved, that her life was only happy in doing
good for the beloved Church, that no earthly love could ever enter her
soul; moreover, that she firmly believed the stranger was beginning to
feel the beauties of our holy faith I abandoned my resolve to bring
him hither, and instead left him in her hands. At first he tried every
fascination of which he was master to make her love him and fly with
him. I need not tell you without avail. Then her gentle piety seemed
to have touched his heart. He permitted her to send for me. I obeyed
the summons joyfully, for I well knew what a triumph over Satan his
conversion would be, and his own wish or consent to see me made me
hopeful. We conversed by the hour on knotty theological questions, he
talking well and seeming at times half persuaded to be a Christian,
but as if too proud to humble himself. The blessed saints made
intercession for him, for our prayers were heard; and I had the great
triumph of baptising and administering to him the blessed sacrament of
the Holy Eucharist. After he had received he begged of me a private
interview, and then implored of me to give him Sister Faith to wife.
He said her great faith and gentle converse had made him think, 'If
these things be, how great is my condemnation.' It was she who had
taught him to say or think it possible he might ever say: 'Whereas I
was blind I now see.' He said he had great wealth, and if she was his
they would give much gold to the Church.
"But I could not grant his wish. Six months before his advent amongst
us our sweet-faced sister had taken, the black veil; had she been in
her novitiate I might by personal application to his Holiness have
granted his prayer. He bowed his head in grief. I told him of the
unchanging vow of celibacy of priest and nun, and of the immovableness
of the Church; I feared he would have a relapse and removed him
hither, where he has since taken our vows, and is now a brother. You
have heard his wondrous power of song, and, as I told you, goes soon
to Paris. He grieves yet to the very heart that Sister Faith cannot be
his, but his penances are severe, and I am in hopes the saints will
strengthen him to subdue the flesh altogether to the spirit; 'tis so
new to him to sing the songs of the Church that he practices at
whatever hour allowed him; but has been anxious to destroy his infidel
writings that I have given him an hour to-day and tonight at midnight
for the work.
"Such, noble guests, is a page in our new brother's life," concluded
the priest.
"And a most interesting page, reverend father," said Lady Esmondet.
"What a checkered life his has been," said Lionel thoughtfully, as
they wended their way from the quiet seclusion of the monastery out to
the carriage which was to convey them once more to the busy life of
the world.
"Yes, none more so," said the priest; "how kind is Providence to lead
this wayward soul at last, and in its great pride to the cross, and
through the piety of a young maiden."
Here the heavy, iron gate of the garden is reached and they bid the
hospitable, though austere, monk adieu.
"Could we see the beautiful Sister Faith?" enquired Vaura; "if we in
our descent into Italy, call at the convent of Ste. Marie, I feel so
interested in her, she deserves perfect happiness; do you think
reverend Father, that she is so?"
"Your own lovely face, Mademoiselle, looks as if it had never been
clouded by sorrow. The face of Sister Faith is unclouded as your own,
and we know that the trials of the world can never reach her, the
protecting arms of the church enfold her; I am full of regrets that
you cannot see her, she is now praying devotedly to the saints that
Brother Thomas may be given strength to banish her image altogether
from his heart, as well as attending two cases of fever among the
inmates."
"Are you not afraid, in her great self-abnegation, that her own health
will give way?" inquired Lady Esmondet.
"No, she is gifted with wonderful health and strength, one quiet hour
in the cell restores the vigour lost in days and nights of fatigue;
and now adieu, and may the blessing of St. Gregory go with you, and I
thank you in the name of Christ's poor, for the gold you have given."
"Adieu, adieu, farewell!".
And our friends are again _en route_.
"Depend upon it," said Lionel, "in ages to come, the good Sister Faith
will be Ste. Faith of the Alpine mountains."
"Poor young creature, I cannot but think," said Vaura, her eyes
suffused with tears, "that she would be happier in the bright world,
loved and loving, than in the cloister."
"What a gifted couple they would have been," observed Lady Esmondet.
"Brother Thomas has lived and knows what life is, and I cannot help
thinking the cloister, will not bring him peace," said Lionel.
"What a power in the church the nuns are," said Vaura; "not in her
grand ceremonial, not in her unity, not in her much gold dwelleth her
greatest and most powerful arm, but in her gentle sisterhood."
"True," said Lionel; "though I cannot but think, that the church would
have gained more had they united the Saxon nun with the now Brother
Thomas; what a power their united lives, and with much gold; his
influence will not tell immurred in a cell."
"I am sure we shall not soon forget the story of poor Brother Thomas
and Sister Faith," remarked Vaura.
"There was a time," said Lionel, "when I used to wonder that so many
fellows gave up this life of ours and buried themselves in a monastry,
but as I listened to the priest I felt that if a man is feeling that
the love of the one woman he craves can never be his, that, as an
escape from the speculative eye of Mrs. Grundy, a cell might look
inviting."
"So you give Mrs. Grundy credit for a speculative eye, Lionel," said
Lady Esmondet, amusingly.
"What else is she but a speculator? she is ever busy, always alive and
speculating with some unfortunate beings, name or fame," said Lionel
bitterly.
"I am glad we have run away from her; she cannot be with us on the
mountains, so rest easy for to-day, Lionel," answered Lady Esmondet.
"No," said Vaura, earnestly; "the Alpine heights are too pure and too
lofty for her, she loves the heated gaslit _salon_, with the music of
many voices; but we are all the better for an outing with Dame Nature,
I do love her so, with her sunlit air, her breezy fan, her robes of
green, while her children, the brook and field, sing and laugh, they
are so merry and so rich; yes, I love her so, I should just like to
take her in my arms; see the birds in the trees as we pass, she rocks
them to sleep, for as she breathes she sways the branches to and fro,
and so gives a tuneful accompanyment to their song ere they rest."
And so in gay chit-chat or more serious converse, the descent into
fair Italia is made. The grand passion of Trevalyon's life becoming
more earnest, and completely mastering him for this sweet woman; the
companion of his journey; for not only her grace and rich beauty made
him her captive, but her tender womanliness, underlying her vivacity,
charmed him, and his eyes were seldom off her face as she sat opposite
him; he was never tired of watching the ever-warying expression of her
countenance; and poor Lionel, subdued at last, felt he must clear
himself to Eric Haughton, and have her ever beside him.
Her grey eyes were luminous as stars with a warmer light as they
sometimes rested on his; there was a wild rose bloom on her cheeks
painted by nature, with the invigorating air of the mountains.
Sometimes, with a gay _abandon_, she tossed aside head-gear and cloak,
and with Lionel, descended from the carriage to cull some rare moss or
late flower, or make the ascent of a higher spot to view some lovelier
scene; just now she is looking more than usually lovely. In this
prelude to real love-making, as was now taking place daily between
Lionel and Vaura; what a magical softening of expression there is,
what a sweetness of languor in the eyes, a tremulous sighing from the
waiting heart; and yet, she is blissfully happy, for she knows that
she is loved by a man whom she will love, aye, does, with all the
sympathy and passion of her nature.
CHAPTER XXVII.
GRUNDY'S LASH CAUSES HEART-ACHE.
On the evening of the sixth day, our friends leisurely arrived in the
city of the Caesars; on coming in at the depot, Trevalyon, hiring a
landau, they, with Sims and the maids following, proceeded to the
villa Iberia. They learned that the noble owner had been there three
days previously, and had then given his own servants a holiday, hiring
English in their stead, thinking the comfort of his guests would be
better attended to by this arrangement.
"The Marquis must have come here immediately after the ball," said
Lady Esmondet, "I heartily wish he were here to welcome us."
Her companions were silent, both busy with thought; Trevalyon's were
not altogether pleasant, his proud spirit recoiling from self at the
part he had played in the boudoir of Madame de Hauteville.
"Had I not," he told himself, "had I not bowed to Del Castello's
question of 'are you anything to her?' he would have been here to do
his wooing; we, at an hotel, and yet, it was only human, but, bah! how
mean; but was I to give up any place I may have in her heart, and
yield her to the influence of his southern tongue, merely because I am
held in honour not to speak, and am just now a foot-ball for Dame
Rumour. God help me, darling, I couldn't; you might, in _pique_ at my
silence, have given way to his warm words; you belong to me; I have
only you, and should I lose you, one of two courses would be mine;
either to make an endless beast of myself for distraction's sake, or
become misanthrope, like my poor father." So thinking, he unfastened
the cloak of the woman whose beauty and sweet womanliness, had made
him captive.
In the hall, the butler saying:
"Dinner will await your ladyship's pleasure in half an hour; our
master, his noble lordship, commanded cook to have it ready every
evening, on arrival of nine o'clock express, so your ladyships and the
English gentleman would find comfort."
"Your master is very thoughtful," said Lady Esmondet.
One of the household now ushered them to their respective apartments.
"What an air of complete comfort pervades the whole place, said Vaura.
"Yes," said Lady Esmondet, "I am rather _difficile_ in such matters,