laico' can now
sit at their councils and direct their acts. There is
something so glorious in the tyranny of Rome, so high above
the petty sovereignty of mere kings, soaring beyond the
bounds of realms and states, crossing Alps and oceans,
proclaiming its proud edicts in the great cities of Europe,
declaring its truths in the silent forests of the Far West,
stirring the heart of the monarch on his throne, thrilling
the rugged breast of the Indian in his wigwam, that even to
bear a banner in its ranks is a noble privilege. And now I
come back to these children, with whose fortunes I feel
myself--I know not how--bound up. They were related to this
Mr. Godfrey, and that, perchance, may be the secret link
which binds us. The girl might have won a grand destiny,--
she had beauty, grace, fascination, all that men prize in
these days of ours; but there was no high ambition,--nothing
beyond the thirst for personal admiration. I watched her
anxiously and long. There was a weak goodness about her
heart, too, that gave no promise of self-sacrifice. Such,
however, as she is, she is mine. As for the boy, I saw him
yesterday for the first time; but he cannot be a difficult
conquest. Again I hear you ask me, why can I turn from great
events and stirring themes to think of these? and again I
own that I cannot tell you. Power over every one, the
humblest as the highest, the weakest in purpose and the
strongest of heart,--power to send forth or to restrain, to
crush or to exalt,--this is the prize of those who, like you
and me, walk humbly, that we may reign proudly.

"And now, dear Michel, good-bye. I have made you a
confession, and if I have told little, the fault is not
mine. You know all my sentiments on great events,--my hopes
and my anticipations. I must leave this to-morrow, or the
day after, for there is much to do beyond the Alps. If kings
and kaisers but knew as much as we poor priests, the coming
would scarce be a merry Christmas with them.

"Yours, in all truth and brotherhood,

"Mathew D'Esmonde.

"Feast of St Pancratras, Hof Thor, Vienna."

It was already daybreak when D'Esmonde finished his letter; but, instead
of retiring to bed, he opened his window, and sat enjoying the fresh air
of the morning. Partly from habit, he opened his bo