town with a district of 10,000 souls, where he
was full of plans for the introduction of the surplice and gilt
candlesticks among his people, and where, it is to be hoped, he will
learn wisdom. Willis also was gone, on a different errand: he had bid
adieu to his mother and brother soon after Charles had gone into the
schools, and now was Father Aloysius de Sancta Cruce in the Passionist
Convent of Pennington.

One evening, at the end of September, in the year aforesaid, Campbell
had called at Boughton, and was walking in the garden with Miss Reding.
"Really, Mary," he said to her, "I don't think it does any good to keep
him. The best years of his life are going, and, humanly speaking, there
is not any chance of his changing his mind, at least till he has made a
trial of the Church of Rome. It is quite possible that experience may
drive him back."

"It is a dreadful dilemma," she answered; "how can we even indirectly
give him permission to take so fatal a step?"

"He is a dear, good fellow," he made reply; "he is a sterling fellow;
all this long time that he has been with me he has made no difficulties;
he has read thoroughly the books that I recommended and more, and done
whatever I told him. You know I have employed him in the parish; he has
taught the Catechism to the children, and been almoner. Poor fellow, his
health is suffering now: he sees there's no end of it, and hope deferred
makes the heart sick."

"It is so dreadful to give any countenance to what is so very wrong,"
said Mary.

"Why, what is to be done?" answered Campbell; "and we need not
countenance it; he can't be kept in leading-strings for ever, and there
has been a kind of bargain. He wanted to make a move at the end of the
first year--I didn't think it worth while to fidget you about it--but I
quieted him. We compounded in this way: he removed his name from the
college-boards,--there was not the slightest chance of his ever signing
the Articles,--and he consented to wait another year. Now the time's
up, and more, and he is getting impatient. So it's not we who shall be
giving him countenance, it will only be his leaving us."

"But it is so fearful," insisted Mary; "and my poor mother--I declare I
think it will be her death."

"It will be a crushing blow, there's no doubt of that," said Campbell;
"what does she know of it at present?"

"I hardly can tell you," answered she; "she has been informed of it
indeed distinctly a year ago; but seeing