Part 9 (2/2)
”Oh, yes, yes! I shall be well soon. I could get up now if they will give me my clothes,” exclaimed Mary.
The day was bright and warm; and as the general felt sure that Mary could be removed without danger, he determined to take her to his sister-in-law's immediately.
”Take me! take me!” said Mary; ”I feel quite strong enough, and the doctor said that there was nothing particularly the matter with me.”
Her eagerness to go was still further increased when she heard that she was to be taken care of by Clara Maynard.
”I thought that she had been shut up in a convent,” she exclaimed. ”The girls here were saying that it is a very holy life, though I don't know that there are many who wish to lead it; but I was very, very sorry to hear of Clara's being a nun, because I thought that perhaps I might never see her again, and of all people I wondered that she should turn nun.”
”I trust that she has given up all intention of becoming one,” said the general; ”but you will see her soon, and she will tell you what she thinks about the matter.”
The general then told the servant to a.s.sist Miss Lennard in dressing, while he went out to obtain a conveyance. On returning to the house, he desired again to see Mrs Barnett. The lady was somewhat indignant, and warned him that he must be responsible for the consequences of removing Miss Lennard.
”Of course I am, and I am taking her where she can be more carefully nursed than is possible in a school,” answered the general.
Mary was soon ready, and her box packed up. The thoughts of going away restored her strength, and she walked downstairs without difficulty.
The general carefully wrapped her up, and telling her to keep the shawl over her head and mouth, lifted her into the carriage. They had but a short distance to go. Clara was delighted to find that Mary was to remain; but on perceiving how ill the poor girl evidently was, she felt very sad. Mary was, however, not at all the worse for being removed, and Mrs Caulfield immediately sent for her own medical man to see her.
He looked very grave, but gave no decided opinion. ”She has been poorly fed, and her mind overtaxed for one so young,” he remarked. ”We must see what proper care and nourishment will effect; but I must not disguise from you that I am anxious about her.”
Clara begged that Mary might be placed in her bed, while she occupied a small camp-bed at its foot.
”But you will have no room to turn,” observed Mrs Caulfield.
”It is wider and far softer than the one to which I have been accustomed,” she answered, smiling, ”and I shall be much happier to be near Mary than away from her.”
Clara had now ample occupation in attending on her sick friend, though Mrs Caulfield insisted on her driving out every day, and advised her to receive the visits of several friends who called. With the consciousness that she was of essential use to Mary, her own spirits returned and her health improved. The rest of her time was spent in working, or reading to Mary, or playing and singing to her. The healthy literature the general procured for Mary benefited Clara as much as it did her friend; it was an invigorating change from the monastic legends and similar works which were alone allowed to be perused in the convent.
She thought it better not to say much about her own life there; but Mary was not so reticent with regard to her school existence. The only books allowed to be read were those written by priests, ritualists, or Roman Catholics. ”The books were mostly very dull,” said Mary; ”but as we had no others, we were glad to get them. Then a clergyman came, who told us that we were all very sinful, but that when we came to him at confession he would give us absolution; and as we thought that very nice, we did as he advised us; but I did not at all like the questions he put; some of them were dreadful, and I know he said the same to the other girls. Still, as we were kept very strict in school, we were glad to get out to church as often as we could; there was the walk, which was pleasant in fine weather; and then we could look at the people who were there, and the music was often very fine, and the sermon was never very long; and sometimes the young gentlemen used to come and sit near us, and talk to the elder girls when no one was looking--at least, we thought they were young gentlemen, but, as it turned out, they were anything but such. One of them, especially, used to give notes to one of the girls, and she wrote others in return, and we thought it very romantic, and of course no one would tell Mrs Barnett of it. At last, one day, we thought that the girl had gone into confession; but instead of joining us she slipped out of the church at a side door, where her lover was waiting to receive her. Away they went by the train to a distance, where they were married, and could not be found for some time.
At last they came back, when it was discovered that the young man was the son of a small tradesman in the place, though he had pretended that he had a good fortune and excellent prospects. Mrs Barnett was horrified, and tried to hush matters up, and I believe the parents of the girl did not like to expose her for their own sakes. I know that I and the rest were very wrong in our behaviour, and I will not excuse myself, except to say that everything was done to make us hypocrites.
Religion was very much talked about on Sundays and saints' days; but I have learnt more of the Gospel since I came here, from you and dear General Caulfield, than I ever knew before.”
Clara sighed as she thought how little she herself had known till lately.
”You had better not talk any more about your school,” she said; ”let us speak rather about what we read, and things of real importance.”
Clara had become very much alarmed about Mary. Wholesome and regular food, and gentle exercise in the carriage when the weather was fine, somewhat restored her strength; but there was the hectic spot on her check, and the brightness of the eyes, which too surely told of consumption. Mr Lennard at length arrived; he looked much depressed, and was shocked at seeing the change in his daughter. He had a most unsatisfactory account to give of his son, whom he had searched for for some time in vain. At last he discovered that the young gentleman had been formally received into the Romish Church, and that his friend the priest was concealing him somewhere in London. The poor father found out where his son was through a letter which was forwarded from Luton, in which the youth asked for a remittance for his support, as he had expended all his means, and could not longer, he observed, encroach on the limited stipend of his friend, Father Lascelles. Mr Lennard, still hoping that it might be possible to win back the youth, wrote entreating him to return home, and on his declining to do this, he offered to let him continue his course at Oxford, that he might fit himself for entering one of the learned professions. After a delay of two or three days, Alfred wrote saying that he had applied to his bishop, who would not consent to his doing so, and that as he was now under his spiritual guidance, he must obey him rather than a heretic father.
”You will pardon me for calling you so,” continued Master Alfred; ”but while you remain severed from the one true Church, such you must be in the eyes of all Catholics, one of whom I have become.”
”I was too much grieved to laugh, as I might otherwise have done, at the boy's impertinence,” observed Mr Lennard to the general; ”but as I look upon him as deceived by artful men, I cannot treat him with the rigour he deserves. What do you recommend, general?”
”We must, if possible, get him to come home, and then put the truth clearly before him,” remarked the general.
”I am afraid that I cannot say enough to induce him to change,” said Mr Lennard, with a deep sigh.
”We must have recourse, whatever we do, to earnest prayer,” observed the general. ”I cannot suppose that your son's mind is already so completely perverted as to be impregnable to the truth.”
<script>