a strange tenderness. To
spare her any pang, or possible pangs, she is content to wait. I have
feared, too, I must confess, that any undue expression of condemnation
or distrust might work revulsion of her own feeling. But while she
assents,--with some reluctance, I must admit,--to this plan of deferring
her meeting with Adele, on whom all her affections seem to centre, she
insists, in a way that I find it difficult to combat, upon her child's
speedy return. That her passionate love will insure entire devotion on
the part of Adele, I cannot doubt. And how the anti-Romish faith which
must have been instilled in the dear girl by your teachings, as well as
by her associations, may withstand the earnest attack of Madame
Maverick, I cannot tell. I have a fear it may lead to some dismal
complications. You know what the earnestness of your own faith is; but I
don't think you yet know the earnestness of an opposing faith, with a
Frenchwoman to back it. Even as I write, she comes to cast a glance at
my work, and says, 'Monsieur Maverick,' (she called me Frank once,)
'what are you saying there to the heretical Doctor?'

"Whereupon I translate for her ear a sentence or two. 'Tell him,' says
she, 'that I thank him for his kindness; tell him besides, that I can in
no way better atone for the guiltiness of the past, than by bringing
back this wandering lamb into the true fold. Only when we kneel before
the same altar, her hand in mine, can I feel that she is truly my
child.'

"I fear greatly this zeal may prove infectious.

"And now, my dear Johns, in regard to the revelation to Adele of what is
written here,--of the whole truth, in short, for it must come out,--I
haven't the heart or the courage to make it myself. I must throw myself
on your charity. For Heaven's sake, tell the story as kindly as you can.
Don't let her think too harshly of me. See to it, I pray, that my name
don't become a bugbear in the village. I have pretty broad shoulders,
and could bear it, if I only were to be sufferer; but I am sure 't would
react fearfully on the sensibilities of poor Adele. _That_ sin is past
cure and past preachment; no good can come from trumpeting wrath against
it. Do me this favor, Johns, and you will find me a more willing
listener in what is to come. I can't promise, indeed, to accept all your
dogmas; there is a thick crust of the world on me, and I doubt if you
could force them through it; but, for Adele's sake, I think I could
be