d the
times are unsettled; there are robbers and loose fellows about, and we
want a protector."

"And is not the good Lord our protector?--has He not always kept us,
grandmother?" said Agnes.

"Oh, that's well enough to say, but folks can't always get along
so;--it's far better trusting the Lord with a good strong man
about,--like Antonio, for instance. I should like to see the man that
would dare be uncivil to _his_ wife. But go your ways,--it's no use
toiling away one's life for children, who, after all, won't turn their
little finger for you."

"Now, dear grandmother," said Agnes, "have I not said I would do
everything for you, and work hard for you? Ask me to do anything else
in the world, grandmamma; I will do anything to make you happy, except
marry this man,--that I cannot."

"And that is the only thing I want you to do. Well, I suppose I may as
well lock up these things; I see my gifts are not cared for."

And the old soul turned and went in quite testily, leaving Agnes with a
grieved heart, sitting still by her uncle.

"Never weep, little one," said the kind old monk, when he saw the silent
tears falling one after another; "your grandmother loves you, after all,
and will come out of this, if we are quiet."

"This is such a beautiful world," said Agnes, "who would think it would
be such a hard one to live in?--such battles and conflicts as people
have here!"

"You say well, little heart; but great is the glory to be revealed; so
let us have courage."

"Dear uncle, have you heard any ill-tidings of late?" asked Agnes. "I
noticed this morning you were cast down, and to-night you look so tired
and sad."

"Yes, dear child,--heavy tidings have indeed come. My dear master at
Florence is hard beset by wicked men, and in great danger,--in danger,
perhaps, of falling a martyr to his holy zeal for the blessed Jesus and
his Church."

"But cannot our holy father, the Pope, protect him? You should go to
Rome directly and lay the case before him."

"It is not always possible to be protected by the Pope," said Father
Antonio, evasively. "But I grieve much, dear child, that I can be with
you no longer. I must gird up my loins and set out for Florence, to see
with my own eyes how the battle is going for my holy master."

"Ah, must I lose you, too, my dear, best friend?" said Agnes. "What
shall I do?"

"Thou hast the same Lord Jesus, and the same dear Mother, when I am
gone. Have faith in God, and cease not to