and, with a heavy
heart, he asked the way to the late curate's house.

Thither he went. Mr. Luke Smith was just at dinner, but the vicar
was, nevertheless, shown into the bachelor's little dining-room.
But what was his disgust and disappointment at finding his late
pupil tete-a-tete over a comfortable fish-dinner, opposite a burly,
vulgar, cunning-eyed man, with a narrow rim of muslin turned down
over his stiff cravat, of whose profession there could be no doubt.

'My dearest sir,' said the new convert, springing up with an air of
extreme empressement, 'what an unexpected pleasure! Allow me to
introduce you to my excellent friend, Padre Bugiardo!'

The padre rose, bowed obsequiously, 'was overwhelmed with delight at
being at last introduced to one of whom he had heard so much,' sat
down again, and poured himself out a bumper of sherry; while the
vicar commenced making the best of a bad matter by joining in the
now necessary business of eating.

He had not a word to say for himself. Poor Luke was particularly
jovial and flippant, and startlingly unlike his former self. The
padre went on staring out of the window, and talking in a loud
forced tone about the astonishing miracles of the 'Ecstatica' and
'Addolorata;' and the poor vicar, finding the purpose for which he
had sacrificed his own word of honour utterly frustrated by the
priest's presence, sat silent and crestfallen the whole evening.

The priest had no intention of stirring. The late father-confessor
tried to outstay his new rival, but in vain; the padre deliberately
announced his intention of taking a bed, and the vicar, with a heavy
heart, rose to go to his inn.

As he went out at the door, he caught an opportunity of saying one
word to the convert.

'My poor Luke! and are you happy? Tell me honestly, in God's sight
tell me!'

'Happier than ever I was in my life! No more self-torture, physical
or mental, now. These good priests thoroughly understand poor human
nature, I can assure you.'

The vicar sighed, for the speech was evidently meant as a gentle
rebuke to himself. But the young man ran on, half laughing,--

'You know how you and the rest used to tell us what a sad thing it
was that we were all cursed with consciences,--what a fearful
miserable burden moral responsibility was; but that we must submit
to it as an inevitable evil. Now that burden is gone, thank God.
We of the True Church have some one t