act as to obtain final absolution and rest for her
soul. Until then, the innocent must suffer. It is to plead for the
innocent that I come to you; not in the name of the witch, Bridget
Fitzgerald, but of the penitent and servant of all men, the Poor Clare,
Sister Magdalen.'

'Sir,' said I, 'I listen to your request with respect; only I may tell
you it is not needed to urge me to do all that I can on behalf of one,
love for whom is part of my very life. If for a time I have absented
myself from her, it is to think and work for her redemption. I, a
member of the English Church--my uncle, a Puritan--pray morning and
night for her by name: the congregations of London, on the next
Sabbath, will pray for one unknown, that she may be set free from the
Powers of Darkness. Moreover, I must tell you, sir, that those evil
ones touch not the great calm of her soul. She lives her own pure and
loving life, unharmed and untainted, though all men fall off from her.
I would I could have her faith!'

My uncle now spoke.

'Nephew,' said he, 'it seems to me that this gentleman, although
professing what I consider an erroneous creed, has touched upon the
right point in exhorting Bridget to acts of love and mercy, whereby to
wipe out her sin of hate and vengeance. Let us strive after our
fashion, by almsgiving and visiting of the needy and fatherless, to
make our prayers acceptable. Meanwhile, I myself will go down into the
north, and take charge of the maiden. I am too old to be daunted by man
or demon. I will bring her to this house as to a home; and let the
Double come if it will! A company of godly divines shall give it the
meeting, and we will try issue.'

The kindly brave old man! But Father Bernard sat on musing.

'All hate,' said he, 'cannot be quenched in her heart; all Christian
forgiveness cannot have entered into her soul, or the demon would have
lost its power. You said, I think, that her grandchild was still
tormented?'

'Still tormented!' I replied, sadly, thinking of Mistress Clarke's last
letter.

He rose to go. We afterwards heard that the occasion of his coming to
London was a secret political mission on behalf of the Jacobites.
Nevertheless, he was a good and a wise man.

Months and months passed away without any change. Lucy entreated my
uncle to leave her where she was,--dreading, as I learnt, lest if she
came, with her fearful companion, to dwell in the same house with me,
that my love could not stand the r