redeem man from such fatal iniquity, which would have sapped the human
race. But to confound such deeds with the commemoration of God's
saints, who are only pictured because their lives are perpetual
incentives to purity and holiness, and to declare that the Queen of
Heaven and the Mother of God should be to human feeling only as a sister
of charity or a gleaner in the fields, is to abuse reason and to outrage
the heart."

"We live in dark times," said Lothair, with an air of distress.

"Not darker than before the deluge," exclaimed Father Coleman; "not
darker than before the nativity; not darker even than when the saints
became martyrs. There is a Pharos in the world, and, its light will
never be extinguished, however black the clouds and wild the waves. Man
is on his trial now, not the Church; but in the service of the Church
his highest energies may be developed, and his noblest qualities
proved."

Lothair seemed plunged in thought, and Father Coleman glided away as
Lady St. Jerome entered the gallery, shawled and bonneted, accompanied
by another priest, Monsignore Catesby.

Catesby was a youthful member of an ancient English house, which for
many generations had without a murmur, rather in a spirit of triumph,
made every worldly sacrifice for the Church and court of Rome. For that
cause they had forfeited their lives, broad estates, and all the honors
of a lofty station in their own land. Reginald Catesby, with
considerable abilities, trained with consummate skill, inherited their
determined will, and the traditionary beauty of their form and
countenance. His manners were winning, and, he was as well informed in