ishops, even one of the Cardinals of the Propaganda, brought there
by Bishop Walsh (the Bishop of our own diocese), and I could not help
but hear portions of their conversation.

"It will be difficult, extremely difficult," the Cardinal would say.
"Such marriages are not encouraged by the Church, which holds that they
are usually attended by the worst consequences to both wife and husband.
Still--under the exceptional circumstances--that the bridegroom's family
was Catholic before it was Protestant--it is possible, just
possible. . . ."

"Cardinal," my father would answer, while his strong face was darkening,
"excuse me, sir, but I'm kind of curious to get the hang of this
business. Either it can be done or it can't. If it can, we'll just sail
in and do it. But if it can't, I believe I'll go home quick and spend my
money another way."

Then there would be earnest assurances that in the end all would be
right, only Rome moved slowly, and it would be necessary to have
patience and wait.

My father waited three weeks, and meantime he occupied himself in seeing
the sights of the old city.

But the mighty remains which are the luminous light-houses of the
past--the Forum with the broken columns of its dead centuries; the
Coliseum with its gigantic ruins, like the desolate crater of a moon;
the Campagna with its hollow, crumbling tombs and shattered
aqueducts,--only vexed and irritated him.

"Guess if I had my way," he said, "I would just clean out this old
stone-yard of monuments to dead men, and make it more fit for living
ones."

At length the Bishop came to say that the necessary business had been
completed, and that to mark its satisfactory settlement the Pope had
signified his willingness to receive in private audience both my father
and myself.

This threw me into a state of the greatest nervousness, for I had begun
to realise that my father's business concerned myself, so that when,
early the following morning (clad according to instructions, my father
in evening dress and I in a long black mantilla), we set out for the
Vatican, I was in a condition of intense excitement.

What happened after we got out of the carriage at the bronze gate near
St. Peter's I can only describe from a vague and feverish memory. I
remember going up a great staircase, past soldiers in many-coloured
coats, into a vast corridor, where there were other soldiers in other
costumes. I remember going on and on, through salon after salo