Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

i
of tin; old Idlers, prevented her from proceeding very rapidly,
-by )H) ni' i hrr ardor; indeed, her :;
1 mi the Inok, that, hail nut little Barbara reminded her
hOUT, tin- mill day meal would have been null: filed.
1
ill'. During week Catherine found little lime I o read-
'W and then a few spare moments were spent by her in
'i' of the old volume; but when Sunda;.
round again she was able to sit down quietly anil enjoy her
treasure. With what delight she heard the good monk's des-
cription of the large mmiasU'ry which St. liemi erected at Hart-
ileoi-lhen, or llerlesi". as the peninsula was called of old.
How her young soul relished the account of the fervent keeping
of fasts and watching; of the chanting of hymns and psalms, und
the study of holy books, to all of which its pious inmates devoted
themselves! A life free from those distracting cares which
must engross the attention of Christians engaged in the world;
a life wholly consi crated to the sen ice of God, and for Ills sake
ID the wauls, both spiritual and temporal, of His suffering chil-
dren such was the beautiful vision which the history of St.
.nd her nuns placed before Catherine. If only that life
could lie one day hers, thought she; but then she feared it was
temerity in one subject to numerous imperfections to aspire to
so high a stale. And then, where could she now find a convent
in England? Those peaceful abodes, where sanctity and learning
had so long flourished, were destroyed; she remembered her
mother telling her how their holy inmates had been ruthlessly
driven from their secluded homes, and the precious altar furni-
ture, and even the money destined for the poor, carried off by
profane hands. There seemed therefore, humanly speaking, no
possibility of her ever following a conventual life; but Catherine
knew that God has merciful designs on all souls, and that
Ho will guide those that confide in Him, whatever be their lot in
this world; she therefore remained in peace.
One evening, when Master Ahvin returned home after a visit
to a country friend, he called Catherine, who was as usual busily
employed upstairs; so, taking with her some doing, she ran down.
knitting she was
'r Alwin had seated himself in his old armchair, and was
entertaining his wife with an. account of all he had seen and
heard during his short absence.
1
Ah, Catherine.' said he, when the young girl entered the
ro mi.
'
thou hast so often spoken to us; he was at my friend's house,
lie told me that he had escaped from the Tower some two years
ago. and that he had been living afore that in Cornwall; so I
I hive news for thee. I have seen the priest of whom
thought to myself, This must be Father Ralph; and having asked
him if he knew any one named Catherine Tresi/e, he said he re-
membered thee well, and he was much pleased to hear of thee,
and to know that the little Lady Barbara was safe. Next time
he comes to town he will stop at my house, and thou wilt see
him.'
Catherine was overjoyed at this news; but old Master Alwin
had more to say, and he did not feel quite sure what effect it
would have on his young friend. He hesitated, sighed, and then
inquired how Barbara was. A merry laugh from the child herself
made him raise his eyes from the ground, on which he had
kept them fixed for the last few minutes, there she sat beside
C ith Tine. 'Ah, "thought the old merchant, 'how will thfii,
who are so united, ever bear to be separated?' Such, indeed,
was the nature of the news he was so loth to impart. Catherine
wish; for the welfare of her little charge was dearer to he.
. 11. Sorrow, il' , at the prospect oi
child who, during three years, had been the constant !>,
her solicitude and love.
When .Master Alwin had finished speaking I
menl's silence, which none seemed inclined to interrupt; then a
little hand cla-ped Catherine's firmly.
'I will not leave thee, sister,' whispered Barbara.
Tears, which she vainly tried to restrain, now flowed down the
young girl's face.
'Ah, tis a sad thing, truly, for thee to part with the little one.'
said Dame Cicely, who had hitherto sat spinning in s: 1
'But maybe there will be no means of sending her after all.'
'
'
exclaimed Catherine. Far from me
O, I do not wish that! '
the desire to keep Lady Margaret's daughter from her parent;
t/inf would be ill complying with her dear ladyship's dying
wishes, and refusing the favor I have daily asked of God for
my darling. 1 and good Widow O'lteilly promised to take care,
of the little child until we could restore her to her father or
brother, if cither escaped. The moment has come to fulfill this
part of the promise; and, although I do weep at the idea of losing
jny little sister,' as she spoke she drew Barbara closer to her
'yet I am glad that the last injunctions of her departed
mother will be obeyed, and that she will be once more with her
family, and in that position of life in which she was born.'
Master Alwin and his wife expressed their satisfaction at
Catherine's sentiments, and said that her view of the case cer-
tainly was the right one.
All anxiously awaited the visit of Father Ralph, who was to
explain his plans for Barbara's journey and to announce the time
of her departure.
The poor child herself was inconsolable. Father, brother,
home, and riches, nothing of all this could reconcile her to leaving
her dear Catherine, and when Dame Cicely tried to comfort
her by mentioning some of these inducements, she would shake
her head sorrowfully, and say, 'I do not remember my father
nor my brother, but I love Kate better than any one in this world.
I am quite happy with her; I do not want to be rich.'
Catherine understood Barbara's grief, for she felt it herself,
and could therefore console her better than Dame Cicely, in spite
of the good woman's excellent intentions.
She told, her, with that effectionate manner which lent force
to her simple words, that it was the will of God that she should
return to her family, to make her father happy by her presence
and good conduct. The child listened with docility, and often
the two mingled their tears together.
FROM the quiet sphere
CHAPTER XX.
in which Catherine moved we must
now divert the attention of the reader to the stirring events
which occupied the closing years of Elizabeth's reign ; for they
affected the fortunes of Barbara's relatives and, indirectly, those
of the child herself, as well as of her young guardian.
Sir Cnthbert de Courcy had, after the destruction of his
manor, returned to London. It will be remembered that he had
promised to obtain, if possible, some succors from the Queen
for the inhabitants of Penzance. On Ins arrival in the capitol
loved her little sister. Meil Barbara, with an affection so
Mid true, that Master Alwin, who was a kind-hearted man.
did not like to tell her that Father Ralph had said that he knew
lolic family who were going to France, and would doubtless
be willing to take Lady Margaret's daughter to her father,
who was livimr in Normandy.
After deferring the evil moment as long as he could, the merrep