gatory in the next world and fire and
fagot in this. Therefore, avoid you, Father Clement, or speak to those
who can understand your doctrine. I have no heart to be a martyr: I have
never in my whole life had courage enough so much as to snuff a candle
with my fingers; and, to speak the truth, I am minded to go back to
Perth, sue out my pardon in the spiritual court, carry my fagot to the
gallows foot in token of recantation, and purchase myself once more the
name of a good Catholic, were it at the price of all the worldly wealth
that remains to me."

"You are angry, my dearest brother," said Clement, "and repent you on
the pinch of a little worldly danger and a little worldly loss for the
good thoughts which you once entertained."

"You speak at ease, Father Clement, since I think you have long forsworn
the wealth and goods of the world, and are prepared to yield up your
life when it is demanded in exchange for the doctrine you preach and
believe. You are as ready to put on your pitched shirt and brimstone
head gear as a naked man is to go to his bed, and it would seem you have
not much more reluctance to the ceremony. But I still wear that which
clings to me. My wealth is still my own, and I thank Heaven it is a
decent pittance whereon to live; my life, too, is that of a hale old man
of sixty, who is in no haste to bring it to a close; and if I were
poor as Job and on the edge of the grave, must I not still cling to my
daughter, whom your doctrines have already cost so dear?"

"Thy daughter, friend Simon," said the Carmelite [Carthusian], "may be
truly called an angel upon earth."

"Ay, and by listening to your doctrines, father, she is now like to be
called on to be an angel in heaven, and to be transported thither in a
chariot of fire."

"Nay, my good brother," said Clement, "desist, I pray you, to speak of
what you little understand. Since it is wasting time to show thee the
light that thou chafest against, yet listen to that which I have to say
touching thy daughter, whose temporal felicity, though I weigh it not
even for an instant in the scale against that which is spiritual, is,
nevertheless, in its order, as dear to Clement Blair as to her own
father."

The tears stood in the old man's eyes as he spoke, and Simon Glover was
in some degree mollified as he again addressed him.

"One would think thee, Father Clement, the kindest and most amiable of
men; how comes it, then, that thy steps are haunted by ge