Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: HE DROPPED ON ONE KNEE BESIDE THE CHILD.]
A Little Protestant
in Rome
BY
EGLANTON THORNE
Author of "Worthy of His Name," "The Elder Brother,"
"Her Own Way"
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
CONTENTS.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I
NOT ASHAMED OF HIS FAITH
CHAPTER II
A REMARKABLE STRANGER
CHAPTER III
HIDE AND SEEK
CHAPTER IV
A BURDENED HEART
CHAPTER V
PAUL ADDS A NEW PETITION TO HIS PRAYERS
CHAPTER VI
PAUL SEES THE POPE
CHAPTER VII
A LETTER FROM THE HIGHLANDS
CHAPTER VIII
IN A GARDEN WITH GRAVES
CHAPTER IX
A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION
CHAPTER X
WHAT BEPPO FOUND
CHAPTER XI
RECONCILED
CHAPTER XII
A SURRENDER
CHAPTER XIII
A FESTIVAL
A Little Protestant
in Rome
CHAPTER I.
Not Ashamed of his Faith.
"I LIKE that big wound wooin," said Paul Bernard, sprawling across his
mother's knees in his endeavour to gaze till the last moment in which
they could be seen at the mighty sunlit walls rising against the deep,
pure blue of the Roman sky.
"Sit up, Paul, directly. You are hurting me. What a rude, rough little
boy you are getting! And I wish you would not say wooin. You can sound
your r's if you take the trouble."
Paul fell back in his seat as the carriage turned a corner and the
famous ruin passed from his sight. He was in no way disturbed by his
mother's fretful reproof, for he was accustomed to being alternately
snubbed and idolised, and could deport himself with equanimity under
either experience. He had not yet seen his fifth summer; but he was
already somewhat of a philosopher, able to take things as they came,
and to possess his soul in patience when it was impossible to mould
circumstances to his will.
Mrs. Bernard sighed as she shook out the folds of her gown, which
Paul's impetuous action had disarranged. She was young and pretty and
elegantly attired, but her face wore a sad and listless expression. She
spoke with a slight drawl and an intonation which betrayed her American
birth.
"I suppose it is the correct thing to visit the Coliseum by moonlight,"
she observed; "at any rate, it is what all my compatriots appear to do."
"Yes, and it is really worth while, although everyone does it," replied
her companion, a lady a few years older, whose dress indicated that
she was a widow. "I advise you to choose a night when the moon is not
too brilliant. One gets finer effects of light and shade, and a deeper
sense of mystery pervades the vast arena, when the moon is contending
with clouds than when the sky is absolutely clear."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Bernard indifferently. "Then I must try to go on
some such night."
"May I go, mother?" asked Paul eagerly.
"You, my dear child!" said his mother's friend. "You will be snug in
bed and fast asleep, long before your mother sets out."
"No, I sha'n't. I don't go to bed so early as you think," he protested;
"and I am often awake when Janet comes to bed. I may go, mayn't I,
mother?"
"You go! Nonsense! You will be much better in bed," said his mother.
"Now, Paul, don't begin to worry me! I will not have it. I should like
you to accompany me, Mrs. Dunton, when I go."
"With pleasure," said that lady; "I love to visit the Coliseum. To me
it is one of the most sacred places on earth, and I greatly regret that
the spot where so many Christian martyrs suffered is no longer marked
by a cross. I should like to have known it when there were shrines
there at which one could offer prayers."
Paul's blue eyes grew big with wonder as he listened to her words.
"Why can't you pray there now?" he asked.
"Why? Because it is no longer possible," said the lady, a little
puzzled how to answer the child's abrupt question. "The Coliseum is no
longer a holy place, except for its memories."
"But I thought that God was everywhere," said Paul, looking puzzled in
his turn; "and that we could speak to Him in any place? I do, and He
hears me too."
"Now, Paul, be quiet," said his mother. "Little boys must not talk
about things they do not understand."
"But I do understand," said Paul; "nurse has told me."
"There! There! That will do," said his mother, holding her
neatly-gloved hand before his lips. "Not another word!"
Paul was silent for a few moments while he turned things over in his
mind.
Then suddenly, he addressed to Mrs. Dunton another question.
"Are you a Catholic?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, smiling. "Most certainly I belong to the Holy Catholic
Church."
Paul's brow cleared. He looked as if he had received enlightenment. He
regarded the lady with an air of great interest.
"Nurse says the Catholics would burn us all if they could," he remarked
cheerfully. "I'm a Protestant, you know," he added, by way of making
things clear.
"My dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Dunton, and she turned towards his
mother with a look of amazement.
"Paul, I told you not to speak," said Mrs. Bernard hastily.
"You see what comes of having a Scotch nurse," she added, in an
undertone to her companion. "I do wish she would not put such ideas
into the child's head; but she is so faithful and good that I could not
bear to dismiss her. It is such a comfort to know that he is perfectly
safe when out of my sight."
"Yes; but still—" Mrs. Dunton began dubiously; then checked herself,
and ended in a lighter tone, as she patted the boy's cheek—"Paul will
know better when he is older."
Paul gave no heed to her words, for at that moment his attention was
diverted by the appearance of a little boy about his own age, clad in
wonderful green velvet knickers and a bright red coat, with a tiny
black "wide-awake" perched on the back of his head, who ran beside the
carriage and made signs to him, which Paul failed to understand. Mrs.
Dunton gave him a "soldo" to fling to the little vagrant; but, after
pocketing it, the boy continued to run along the road, apparently
finding pleasure in amusing the other boy with his antics.
Meanwhile, the ladies could talk in peace.
"Have you thought over the subject of our last conversation, dear Mrs.
Bernard, since we met?" asked Mrs. Dunton, with an air of intense
interest.
"Oh yes, I have thought of it," said her companion wearily; "I am
always thinking, thinking—if only one could stop thinking!"
"I know exactly how you feel," said Mrs. Dunton, her tones soft with
sympathy; "but your thoughts will never cease to trouble you till you
find rest, as I found it, in the bosom of our Holy Church."
"Ah! If I thought that!" exclaimed her friend. "If I could believe
what you tell me, I would become a Romanist to-morrow. But how is it
possible? Can anything undo the past? Many years ago I made a great
mistake—nay, it was a sin. Is there any power on earth that can blot
out that sin and make my life as if it had not been?"
"Of course the past cannot be undone; that is undeniable," said Mrs.
Dunton; "but our Holy Church can absolve from sin the penitent soul.
It is for that purpose we have the sacred office of the Confessional.
Ah! Dear Mrs. Bernard, if you knew the relief one experiences when one
unburdens one's heart in the ears of the priest, and the rest there is
in giving oneself up to be taught and guided."
"Oh! But I could not!" cried Mrs. Bernard. "I could not bear to speak
of my trouble to anyone!"
"Then it will continue to torment you," said Mrs. Dunton gravely. "Dear
Mrs. Bernard, promise me that you will go again to the convent of the
Sacré Cœur, and speak with Sister Célestine. You will find her full of
sympathy, and she is better able to help you than I am."
"I will go," said Mrs. Bernard, after a moment's pause, while the
placid, kindly face of the nun rose before her mental vision; "I like
to talk to Sister Célestine. It would be easier to tell 'her' than to
tell a priest."
"What is a pwiest, mother?" cried Paul, becoming conscious of his
mother's words, as the little "contadino" he had been watching suddenly
fell back breathless and was lost from view. "What is a pwiest?"
As often happened, his mother paid no attention to his query, and he
repeated it, and was still repeating it when the carriage drew up
before the hotel at which they were staying.
"What is a priest?" said a full sonorous voice in amused accent. "Look
at me, my boy, and you will see what a priest is."
At the same moment, a pair of strong arms lifted Paul from the carriage
and held him for a moment high above the ground. Paul looked down into
a merry face, with kindly grey eyes, laughing lips, flashing white
teeth, and a massive chin.
"Oh! Father O'Connell, is it you?" cried both the ladies in tones that
expressed pleasure.
And Paul was set down on the pavement, while the priest turned to greet
his mother.
Paul looked curiously at the tall figure in the long, glossy, black
robe and broad hat. Father O'Connell, turning, caught his intent gaze.
"So, my little friend, you see now what a priest is," he said, with a
humorous twinkle in his eyes; "tell me, do you like the look of me?"
"You don't look bad," remarked Paul gravely, "but nurse says she does
not believe in priests."
Father O'Connell burst into a ringing laugh.
The next moment a middle-aged woman, neatly dressed in black, came to
the door of the hotel, and taking Paul's hand, led him quickly away.