CHAPTER II. But let us try these truths with closer eyes, THE Conversation between the two friends was here interrupted by the entrance of a servant, announcing that coffee and tea were served in the saloon, and that the Warden had returned from the Town Hall, where he had been, since dinner, attending the conference of the Board of Health. On descending to the saloon, the ladies found not only the dignitary in question, but also two medical gentlemen, who had just arrived from London, and whom Dr. Sinclair had invited to spend the evening at Elverton Hall. The conversation between the gentlemen, which the entrance of Miss Carrington and her friend had suspended, was, after awhile, renewed; and the Warden, who grasped at every species of information, heaped question on question to his medical visitors, respecting the different theories advanced on the treatment of the cholera, and the results attendant on each. One of these surgeons had been appointed, by the London Board of Health, to remain in the town of Elverton, where the disease raged most furiously; the other was proceeding farther north, having but a few weeks previously returned from Vienna, where his reputation had been established. It happened that the arrival from London of these two gentlemen, took place exactly at the time when the uproarious people of Elverton were bearing on their shoulders, to the town hospital, their former victim, and present idol, Father Bernard, the Catholic priest; and the gentleman from Vienna, Mr. Warburton, related with much animation and apparent interest, the scene at the hospital on the re-appearance of the devoted Father Bernard. To this account Dr. Sinclair gave a polite attention. Geraldine lost not a word of the narrative; and Katherine Graham, feeling equally alarmed and provoked at the fresh interest which this incident was likely to occasion towards the Popish priest in the heart of her friend, whispered to Geraldine, as Mr. Warburton's anecdotes closed, that, with respect to all this gentleman had advanced to prove the annihilation of self in the Catholic clergy, as seen abroad and at home, she could only observe, as a melancholy trait in human nature, that people were ever more devoted, and more constant to their delusions, than to the truth, and that this fact could only be accounted for by regarding it as the work of Satan! At length Mr. Warburton, remembering, perhaps, as he finished his eulogiums on the Catholic priesthood, that his subject was not chosen in the best taste, when addressing a dignitary of the English establishment, suddenly checked himself, and rising, with his fellow practitioner, took leave of the party at the Hall, promising great success to the cause of life and health at Elverton, from the extraordinary discoveries of his friend Dr. Newitt, whose pompously silent manner had not hitherto prepossessed the fair ladies in his favour, but who had succeeded more with the Warden, who liked silence, had learned to endure pomposity, and who, delighting in pamphlets which attacked neither Church nor State, had just been presented with the second edition of Dr. Newitt's boldly pronounced opinion, that "he who was well salted could never die!" After the departure of the two medical visitors, Geraldine wandered about the elegant and spacious room, too much absorbed by the wished for yet dreaded conference with her uncle to be aware that his eye was upon her. She passed her hand across the strings of her neglected harp, then sighed, and left it, to draw aside the crimson drapery which hung before the sliding door of plate glass that divided the south end of the room from a noble conservatory. But there was no moonlight, and the alabaster lamps had not that night been made to shed their dreamy poetic light amongst the choice exotics. Geraldine turned from the uninviting obscurity, and, after inhaling successively all the various scents, whether in flask or flower, which lay in her uncertain and aimless course round the saloon, disturbing and playing with her sleepy little greyhound, and watching, or seeming to watch, the progress of her friend, Miss Graham's pencil, she drew her embroidery frame to a sofa, and, in a listless manner, prepared the shades of silk for her task. A sudden increase of light at length roused her from this state of abstraction, and she looked up, to meet the calm yet searching gaze of the Warden, who had raised the light of the lamp near to where Geraldine sat, and who now stood watching his niece as though prepared to address her. Geraldine's heart beat as she returned her uncle thanks for his attention to her; for she felt, by the expression of his countenance, that she had become an object of solicitude to him, and that the moment of explanation had perhaps arrived. 66 Geraldine," at length began Dr. Sinclair, "are you well?" "My head throbs, uncle, but otherwise I am well." "You are the daughter," continued he, "of the only woman I ever unvaryingly respected; and, as a child, you were remarkable for courage, both ་ physical and moral. Knowing the advantages you have possessed of an enlightened and religious education, and the strength which can be given, even to the weakest, by a firm trust in Providence, I own I am surprised, I am disappointed, I am shocked, to see my sister's daughter sink unnerved at the approach of danger. Most true, it is an awful thing to die! and to the young, the lovely, and the prosperous, it may be hard to quit the flattering scenes of earth; but you, Geraldine, have been better taught the nothingness of time, the value of eternity!" A pause followed this appeal, during which the Warden and Miss Graham exchanged looks, and the latter rose with the intention of relieving the uncle and niece from the constraint of a third person; but Geraldine held out her hand to detain her friend, saying, "I have no secrets withheld from you, Katherine. Remain, to hear me assure my uncle that it is neither the fear of death, nor the loss of earthly possessions, which causes my present distress. No! I have, indeed, been better taught: for 'what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" "If," said the Warden, in a softened tone of voice, "you are suffering from the remembrance of time misspent, and talents unemployed,-if doubts of your acceptance and salvation harass you, think of the price paid for all sin, with hearty repentance, and the God who has mercifully favoured you by membership with his pure and holy Protestant Church of England, will surely, never fail you,-if, on your side, you be but faithful to the means of grace afforded you." At this allusion to her discovered interest in Catholicity, Geraldine looked up from the workframe, over which she had again bent her head; and feeling that her uncle had now made an opening for her confidence, which had been unhoped for, and which, if evaded, might never occur again, determined to avow at once the cause of her doubts. Yet, when she caught the softened expression of his eye, and felt how that expression would be changed at her disclosure, she became again unnerved, and, hiding her face with her hands, wept audibly; while Dr. Sinclair, but little accustomed to woman's tears, and still uncertain from what cause they proceeded, remained patiently awaiting the time when, in the natural course of things, a weeping fit might cease. Nor did he wait in vain. After an inward struggle, and an inward prayer, Geraldine met the Warden's gaze, and firmly said, "Uncle Sinclair, I shall with gratitude_confide in you, and receive your instructions, for I greatly need them. I have been, during the last twelve months, both alarmed and distressed by the clamour and division of opinion in the Church of England. I apply to you, as a dignitary of that establishment, to satisfy me respecting her authority to decide on points of faith; and I pray that my doubts on this subject may be satisfactorily answered: for, if not, I fearI feel-Oh! uncle, pray forgive me-I must become -a Catholic !" Our heroine had made so great an effort in revealing the state of her mind to the orthodox and awful Warden of, that, in the long pause which ensued, her excited imagination conjured up every disaster to herself that could occur. How great then was her relief, when, in a voice unusually calm and mild, Dr. Sinclair replied, "My dear child, do not distress yourself by a fancied departure from your Church, or by doubts of her authority. You have, unhappily, been cast amidst a lawless crew, where you have heard and witnessed enough to have unsettled a deeper theologian than one of your sex and age could well be. I cannot be surprised |