as he prayed before an image of the Madonna,
he felt a vivid intimation that he was destined to preach the Gospel
under the northern sky. There appeared no means by which a Roman peasant
should be turned into a missionary; nor did the prospect open, when this
youth found himself, first a lay-brother, then a Father, in the
Congregation of the Passion. Yet, though no external means appeared, the
inward impression did not fade; on the contrary, it became more
definite, and, in process of time, instead of the dim north, England was
engraven on his heart. And, strange to say, as years went on, without
his seeking, for he was simply under obedience, our peasant found
himself at length upon the very shore of the stormy northern sea, whence
Caesar of old looked out for a new world to conquer; yet that he should
cross the strait was still as little likely as before. However, it was
as likely as that he should ever have got so near it; and he used to eye
the restless, godless waves, and wonder with himself whether the day
would ever come when he should be carried over them. And come it did,
not however by any determination of his own, but by the same Providence
which thirty years before had given him the anticipation of it.

At the time of our narrative, Father Domenico de Matre Dei had become
familiar with England; he had had many anxieties here, first from want
of funds, then still more from want of men. Year passed after year, and,
whether fear of the severity of the rule--though that was groundless,
for it had been mitigated for England--or the claim of other religious
bodies was the cause, his community did not increase, and he was tempted
to despond. But every work has its season; and now for some time past
that difficulty had been gradually lessening; various zealous men, some
of noble birth, others of extensive acquirements, had entered the
Congregation; and our friend Willis, who at this time had received the
priesthood, was not the last of these accessions, though domiciled at a
distance from London. And now the reader knows much more about the
Passionists than did Reding at the time that he made his way to their
monastery.

The church door came first, and, as it was open, he entered it. It
apparently was filling for service. When he got inside, the person who
immediately preceded him dipped his finger into a vessel of water which
stood at the entrance, and offered it to Charles. Charles, ignorant what
it meant, and aw