HUBERT'S SECOND VISIT.
In June, the month of roses, came Hubert Lisle to visit Althea. He came
thus early in her presumed widowhood, to woo her for his wife. But she
would not hear one word of love from his lips. She had studied her
religion, and found that its laws forbade marriage with another until
abundant proof had been obtained of the death of her husband. So far,
she had but proof presumptive. He had disappeared at such a time and in
such a state as, to most minds, forbade even a possibility that he
should have continued to exist. Again, the Catholic rule forbade the
marriage of cousins.
Hubert urged to this that they were not strictly cousins. His father and
her mother were but half-brother and sister.
Again, the Catholic Church did not forbid, but strongly discountenanced
the marriage of a Catholic with a Protestant. She, Althea, loved her
Church so well, she would not do that which the Church disapproved.
These were three great obstacles in the way then, to his marriage with
Althea, Hubert found. He began to think he had now a more formidable
opponent in the Church than he had had in Thornton Rush. He had
succeeded in winning from Althea a promise to sue for a divorce. The
rest would be easy. But he found it impossible, with all his eloquence,
to prevail upon her to take one step contrary even to the wish of this
more tyrannical guardian. He even went to the priest. He had seen Father
Ryan at Mass, for, of course, he accompanied his cousin. He judged from
his open, honest face that it would be an easy matter to win him over to
his views. He entered upon the subject confidently, but ended very much
discomfited. Father Ryan would listen to but one point, which was that
Althea was not at liberty to entertain thoughts of marriage until
conclusive proof was obtained of her husband's death. Hubert reverting
to the other points--"All that comes afterward," was all the priest
would say.
"But, supposing nothing more is ever heard of Thornton Rush, which is
almost certain, is Althea to live a widow to the end of her days?"
questioned Hubert incredulously.
"Yes," replied the priest. "And allow me to intimate," he continued
gently, "that, entertaining the dispositions you do, it is improper you
should remain a guest at Vine Cottage. As a cousin you were privileged,
perhaps, according to your Protestant views, but as you are a suitor, it
is quite different."
Having politely listened to these words of the priest, he wisely made up
his mind to take his leave, before he should hear them reiterated from
the lips of Althea.
"Well, cousin," presenting himself before her, on returning from the
priest's, "I have had the courage, or the impudence, to consult Father
Ryan; he is as inexorable as yourself. It is astonishing with what an
iron will this Catholic faith infuses people. Last fall you promised to
marry me, although a thousand difficulties were to be overcome. Now,
that you are your own mistress, according to every human probability,
and you are at perfect liberty, free from any scruples about the right
and wrong of the thing, and yet--and yet how strange! You have scruples
more binding a hundred fold. And Father Ryan, the gentlest, quietest
person, whom you would not believe could say _no_, whom I made sure I
could prevail upon to intercede for me, is just as resolute as Napoleon,
as unyielding as Draco. What does it mean? Is it in the religion or
what?"
"I believe, Hubert, it is the love of God in the heart. We love God
better than the world, or aught the world can offer. We love God so
well, that we fear to break His holy law," replied Althea.
"But others love God too, who are not Catholics, but they are not so
inexorably bound."
"They have not the restraints of the Church. They have not its laws to
govern them, its teachings to instruct, its pastors to guide and direct.
Moreover, they cannot expect heavenly graces in abundance who are out of
the true Church. Christ's promise of assistance is to His Church, His
anathema against those who will not hear it."
"It looks to me as though you had taken upon yourself a yoke, and the
bonds of servitude," Hubert remarked disconsolately.
"The bonds of the dear Lord Jesus, yes," and Althea's countenance glowed
with enthusiasm.
"But Christian bonds should not press so heavily. Protestants in all
these things do as they please, yet they profess to be bound with the
same fetters."
"Profess! what use in professing when every day they burst them asunder
as would they gossamer threads? I assure you, Hubert, that is one of the
beauties of the Catholic Church. Its laws are so binding, its teachings
so direct, its discipline so perfect, that one cannot stray away
blindly. The obedient child who would be pained not to do the Father's
will is kept in the straight and narrow way, the light is held steadily
before his eyes; if he stumble or turn aside he is brought back, and if
he become restive and the 'fetters,' grateful to the loving child, bind
too galling he throws them off, more willing to be lost than bear
self-denial for the present. For myself, Hubert, I have started for
heaven, confident of arriving if I follow the path marked out for me. If
I do not follow in that path I have no hope but of straying far from
that desired haven, the happy land of souls."
"Althea, I believe you have never loved me," suddenly exclaimed Hubert,
steadily regarding his cousin.
"That is a cruel assertion, and it wounds me more than you can think,"
returned the lady, deeply moved. "Would I could forget that I ever loved
you! The memory recalls my sin, my shame, and, thank God, my
repentance. I deserve that you should recall all this to me, but I pray
you, if you have regard for me, never to refer to this again."
"Forgive me, Althea, I did not intend thus to pain you. You are right
and I am wrong. While regretting, I honor you the more for the noble
stand you have taken. I go, Althea, and should I ever come again, you
shall behold me worthier, God willing. I shall think of you as resting
under the very shadow of heaven, and no ill, I am sure, will betide you.
Farewell, and God will help you."