out of
these troubles. Once men emerge out of the storm-tossed ocean of
their excesses, they strain their eyes to catch some haven--some
resting-place. Some find it in religion; some in ambition, which is the
religion of this world. The crime of France has been that no such goal
has ever existed. In their lust to destroy, they have forfeited the
power to rebuild. As well endeavour to reanimate the cold corpses
beneath the guillotine as revive that glorious monarchy. For men like
these there is no hope--no hereafter. Have no trust in them.'

'But you yourself told me,' cried the Cardinal, 'how vain it were to
pledge men to the cause of the Church.'

'And truly did I say so. Men will serve no cause but that which secures
them a safe recompense. In France they have that recompense--there
is vengeance and there is pillage; but both will be exhausted after a
time--there will be satiety for one and starvation for the other, and
then woe to those who spirited them on to this pursuit. The convulsion
in Ireland, if it should come, need not have this peril; there, there is
a race to expel and a heresy to exterminate; in both the prospect of the
future is implied. Let us aid this project.'

'Ah! it is your old project lurs there,' cried the Cardinal; 'I see
a glimpse of it already; but what a dream is the restoration of that
house!'

'Nor do I mean it should be more; the phantom of a Stuart in the
procession is all I ask for. By that dynasty the Church is typified.
Instead of encountering the thousand enemies of a faith, we rally to us
the adherents of a monarchy. If we build up this throne, he who sits on
it is our viceroy; we have made, and can unmake him.'

'And how can the Cardinal York serve these plans?'

'I never intended that he should; his gown alone would exempt him, even
had he--which he has not--personal qualities for such a cause.'

'Yet with him the race is extinct.'

'Of that I am not so certain, and it is precisely the point on which I
want to confer with you.' So saying, the Pere drew a packet of papers
from the breast of his robe, and placed it on the table. 'I have there
beneath my hand, said he, 'the copy of a marriage certificate between
Charles Edward, Prince of Wales, and Grace Geraldine, of Cappa Glyn,
County Kildare, Ireland. It is formally drawn up, dated, signed, and
witnessed with due accuracy. The Father Ignatius, in whose hand the
document is, is dead; but there are many alive who could recog