e me. We must take good care, while we avoid
any public notice, that this fellow should not think himself deserted by
us."

"The very point on which I was reflecting, D'Esmonde. We can talk over
this as we go along."

As the two priests affected to be engaged on a kind of mission to
collect subscriptions for some sacred purpose, their appearance or
departure excited no feeling of astonishment, and the landlord of "The
Bore" saw them prepare to set out without expressing the least surprise.
The little "low-backed car," the common conveyance of the people at
fair and market, was soon at the door; and, seated in this, and well
protected against the weather by rugs and blankets, they began their
journey.

"This is but a sorry substitute for the scarlet-panelled coach of the
Cardinal, D'Esmonde," said his companion, smiling.

A low, faint sigh was all the answer the other made, and so they went
their way in silence.

The day broke drearily and sad-looking; a thin, cold rain was falling,
and, from the leaden sky above to the damp earth beneath, all was gloomy
and depressing. The peasantry they passed on the road were poor-looking
and meanly clad; the houses on the wayside were all miserable to
a degree; and while his companion slept, D'Esmonde was deep in his
contemplation of these signs of poverty.

"No," said he, at last, as if summing up the passing reflections in
his own mind, "this country is not ripe for the great changes we are
preparing. The gorgeous splendor of the Church would but mock this
misery. The rich robe of the Cardinal would be but an insult to the
ragged coat of the peasant. England must be our field. Ireland must be
content with a missionary priesthood. Italy, indeed, has poverty, but
there is an intoxication in the life of that land which defies it. The
sun, the sky, the blue water, the vineyards, the groves of olive, and
the fig--the lightheadedness that comes of an existence where no fears
invade--no gloomy to-morrow has ever threatened. These are the elements
to baffle all the cares of narrow fortune, and hence the gifts which
make men true believers! In climates such as this men brood and think
and ponder. Uncheered from without, they turn within, and then come
doubts and hesitations,--the fatal craving to know that which they may
not! Of a truth these regions of the north are but ill suited to our
glorious faith, and Protestantism must shun the sun as she does the
light of reason itself."