The Master-Christian

du Boulogne, where the Cardinal's niece, Angela Sovrani, only daughter of Prince Sovrani, and herself famous throughout Europe as a painter of the highest promise, had a suite of rooms and st

w, which flies with amazing swiftness yet seeming slowness. Angela never moved quickly,-no one had ever seen her in what is termed a "rush," or a vulgar hurry. She did everything she had to do without haste, without noise, without announcement or assertion of any kind;-and all that she did was done as perfectly as her ability could warrant. And that ability was very great indeed, and displayed itself in small details as well as large attempts. Whether she merely twisted her golden-brown hair into a knot, or tied a few flowers together and fastened them on her dress with a pearl pin, either thing was perfectly done-without a false line or a discordant hue. Her face, form, voice and colouring were like a chord of music, harmonious,-and hence the impression of satisfaction and composure her presence always gave. In herself she was a creature of remarkable temperament and character;-true womanly in every delicate sentiment, fancy and feeling, but with something of the man-hero in her scorn of petty aims, her delight in noble deeds, her courage, her ambition, her devotion to duty and her unflinching sense of honour. Full of rare perceptions and instinctive knowledge of persons and motives, she could only be deceived and blinded where her deepest affections were concerned, and there she could certainly be fooled and duped as completely as the wisest of us all. Looking at her now as she stood awaiting her uncle's arrival in the drawing-room of her "suite," the windows of which faced the Bois, she expressed to the air and surroundings the personality of a thoughtful, charming young woman,-no more. Her black silk gown, cut simply in the prev

or those who love, is not absence after all! To the soul, time is nothing,-space is nothing,-and my true and passionate love for you makes an invisible bridge, over which my thoughts

ori

n was ever known to admit, even in thought, that a woman can do better things in art than himself! If a masculine creature draws a picture on a paving-stone he will assure himself in his own Ego, that it is really much more meritorious simply as 'man's work' than the last triumph of a Rosa Bonheur. Besides, you have to remember that in this case the man is the woman's lover-he could soon kill her genius if he chose. He has simply to desert her,-such an easy thing!-so often done!-and she will paint no more. Women are all alike,-they rest on love,-when that fails, then everything fails, and they drop into old age without a groan." And then perhaps a stray cynic would say, "But Angela Sovrani need not depend on one lover surely?-" and he would get for answer, "No, she need not-but it so happens that she does,"-which to everybody seemed extraordinary, more particularly in Italy, where morals are so lax, that a woman has only to be seen walking alone in the public gardens or streets with one of the opposite sex, and her reputation is gone for ever. It is no use to explain that t

o she was well aware that of all kinds of human speech in the world there is none so adapted for making love and generally telling lies in, as the "lingua Toscana in bocca Romana." And this particular "lingua" Florian possessed in fullest perfection of sweetness, so far as making love was concerned;-of the telling of lies he was, according to Angela's estimate of him, most nobly ignorant. She had not many idle moments, however, for meditation on her love matters, or for dreamy study of the delicate beginnings o

said, tenderly,-and

followed him and was now standing qui

protector for the present. You will be kind to him-yes-as kind as if you were his sister, will you not?-for we are all one fa

uncle had found so intelligent and inspired-looking a creature. But one of her UNfeminine attributes was a certain lack of curiosity concerning other people's affairs, and an almost fastidious

st try to feel that wherever

oft musical voice, "I was all alone when my lord the Cardi

amber, and that just outside his door in a little ante-room adjoining, his "waif and stray" was seated, reading. There was something indescribable about the boy even in this reposeful attitude of study,-and Angela observed him for a minute or two, herself unseen. His face reminded her of one of Fra Angelico's seraphs,-the same broad brow, deep eyes and sensitive lips, which seemed to suggest the utterance of wondrous speech or melodious song,-the same golden hair swept back in rich clusters,-the same eager

the house, . . . however,-I always do have that impression with Uncle Felix, for he is so good and nobl

ed features,-a notable character of the time in Paris, known as the Abbe Vergniaud. He had seated himself in a low fauteuil, and was turning over the pages of the month's "Revue de Deux Mondes", humming

nopportune moment? I saw your uncle arrive, and I was extremely anxious to see him

d Angela, quickly, "My uncle Felix is indeed here

non-presence, bowed low over the extended hand of "the Sovrani" as she was sometimes called in the world of ar

s important?" questioned Angel

me!" And he dexterously arranged a couple of cushions in an arm-chair and placed it near the window. Angela half-reluctantly seated herself, watching the Abbe under the shadow of her long lashes as he sat down opposite to her. "Yes,-the emmets, the flies, the worms and the men, are all of one equality in the absurd belief that they can do things-things that will last. Their persistent

know," said Angela So

epressing and

himself according to his temperament and capabilities. Do not impose bounds upon him-give him his liberty. Let him alone. Do not try to bamboozle him with the idea that there is a God looking after him. So will he be spared much disappointment and useless blasphemy. If he makes his own affairs

," who flushed with a sudden warmth that sent a wave of pale rose o

habit and temperament,-no matter whether such habit and temperament led to crime or otherwise,-you would

laughed

, with beliefs and hopes! I should not wonder if you even believed that love itself is eternal!-that most passing of phantoms!-yes-and you exclaim against me because I venture to think for myself? It is appalling that I should thi

violet ey

ed to remain Pres

character of an innocent man. To women of your type, it always seems as if God-the Large Person up above-stepped in

ugh space. It is all mathematical and exact. And the moving Spirit-the Divine Centre of things, whom I call God,-cannot dislodge or alter one particle of the majestic system without involving the whole in complete catastrophe. It is our mistake to 'chance' things-at least, so I think. And if

ains all one's life to present a charmingly virtuous and noble aspect to the world, it w

sed Angela, "It is torn off ruthlessly by a force greater t

be a good man,-"But that maxim can be taken in two ways. It may mean that no man is happy till his death,-which I most potently believe,-or it may mean that a man is only JUDGED after his death, in which case

smiled

ry man having a kindly-worded epitaph only proves good

t the dear creature has gone and will never come back. Either motive, would, I know, inspire me to write

r dead it would have been far kinder. But his conduct was worse than murder. He finally deserted her, and left her penniless to fight her own way through the world. Then he died suddenly, and she forgot all his faults, spoke of him as though he had been a model of goodness, and lives now for his

the self-deception. She knows that the man had deserted her and was quite unworthy of her devotion;-but she pretends to herself that she does NOT know. And it is char

a sta

he exc

which you endow this excellent Florian. He is a delightful creature,-a good artist-unique in his own particular line,-but you think him something much greater than even artist or man-a

efence," said Angela with a slight touch o

ty;-I admit my faults-I am old-I am a cynic-I talk too much-I have a bad opinion of man, and an equally bad opinion of the Forces that evolved him. By the way, I met that terrible reformer and socialist Aubrey L

ter sweet and low, thrilled t

en in you! And how does he manage to bel

n wrinkled th

as twenty. Then I dropped all the pretty heaven-toys at once;-and since then I have believed in nothing-myself, least of all. Now I am sixty-and yet you tell me I am only passing through a phase.' 'Quite so,' he answered me with the utmost coolness, 'Your forty years-or your sixty years, are a Moment merely;-the Moment will pass-and you will find another Moment coming which will explain the one which has just gone. Nothing is simpler.' And when I ask him which will be the best Moment,-the one that goes, or t

him talk on the subject of religion-and of art, and of work,-and all he says seem

say, but he writes with the pen of a prophet. And this Englishman is of the same calibre,-only his work is directed against religious hypocrisies more than social ones. I daresay that is why I always feel so uneasy in his presence!" And Vergniaud laughed lightly. "For the rest, he is a brilliant creature enough, and thoroughly manly. The other evening at the Cl

a lau

in everything that is distinctly English-riding, shoot

of the heavy British mental and physical stolidity. He is strong and muscular certainly,-but also light and supple,-and with

Angela, "But there i

lan

crossing to its shores I suffer of course from the mal de mer-then when I arrive exhausted to the white cliffs, it is generally raining-then I take train to London, where it is what is called black fo

more miserable in cold weather than England. I passed a summer once in England, and it was to me like a glimpse of Paradise. I never saw so many f

ggy! The one round Sun of one Creed is unknown to them. I assure you it is best to have one light of faith, even though it be only a magic lantern,-a toy to amuse the children of this

hand, bowing slightly over it as he did so, "I have taken the liberty to wait for you, cher

sing the hand of Vergniaud and smiling kindly. "You are well? But sur

rned the Abbe, "However, I do not fare bad

are hap

sing the perplexities of one's own mind. Still, on the whole, it is

terflies!" la

are very dissatisfied creatures,-no sooner on one flower than off they go to another. Very like human

miling, as he sat down in the ea

way lately. Some of the new sciences puzzle me,-I am surprised to find how closely they approach to the fulfi

now placed beyond mere

e is surely no

a quick side-glance

with the question of 'To be, or not to be.' It drove Hamlet mad, just as the knotty point as to whether Hamlet himself was fat or

, but the Cardin

de, yet that is what the greater part of humanity is guilty of in these days. Never was there so much beholding and yet ignoring of the Divine as now. Science is searching for God, and is getting closer to Him every day;-the Church remains stationary and refuse

hrugged hi

and imagination itself is like a flying Geni which overtakes and catches the hair

!" said Angela S

in characters of lightning, to express the wonders and discoveries of this age. When I find I can send a message from here to London across space, without wires or any visible means of communication,-and when I am told that probably one of these days I shall be able at will to

they mean much more than mere common utility to our finite selves. They are the material declarations of what is spiritual. They are the scientific proofs that Christ's words to 'THIS generation,' namely, this particular phase of creation,-are true. 'Blessed are they which have not seen and yet believed,' He said;-and many there are who have pass

hy

for us in a dazzling and moving continuity, so that we can see scenes of human life in action, is merely a hint to us that every scene of every life is reflected in a ceaseless moving panorama SOMEWHERE in the Universe, for the beholding of SOMEONE,-yes!-there must be Someone who so elects to look upon everything, or such possibilities of reflected scenes would not be,-inasmuch as nothing exists w

nal, and slightly raised his eyebr

nto a mystic? One of those doubtful personages who

Truth is God! God cannot be found anywhere in a lie; and the Church in many ways would make our Divine Redeemer Himself a lie were it not

be, and in a way stupefying to his niece Angela. She had never heard him give utterance to such strong sentiments and she shrank a little within herself, won

osed to express yourse

n,-" h

ing, half cynical glance composedly. "I have many things to speak of a

of the boy Manuel, who at that moment came into the room and stood beside the

exclaimed, "One of you

affection, "A little stray disciple of our Lord,-to whom I have ventured to offer prot

look at the youthful waif who stood so quietly while the story of his troubles was told in the gentle and sympathetic way which was the Cardinal's usual manner of speech, and which endeared him so much to all. "And for the present," finished Bonp

vey the boy more attentively, "You can read Scripture? But

arded him

id in Judaea that "

ETH'?"

that you would

s perhaps for the reason that 'THE LETTER KILLET

t something in the tone of his voice had a strange

ong and pure,-shall I drop the poison of doubt into the open flow

ught for yourself. Who taught you to re

el s

eed teaching

other equally worn in mind, if not in body. In the brief silence which followed,-a silence of unexpressed feeling,-a soft strain of organ-music came floating deliciously towards

she said, "He is in m

malicious twinkle in his eyes, "To be allowed t

ifted her fair head w

" she said, "He is welc

ture is valuable,-besi

e laughed, and

his boots by walking on foreign soil? With the helmet he defies the gemdarme,-with the sceptre he breaks open every door,-we prostrate ourselves before his face and curse him behind his back,-c'est drole!-yet we are all alike, French, Germans, Austrians, and Italians;-we hate the Englishman, but we black his boots all the same,-

ny question could be put to him, "I love it! It

re closely. Dearest uncle," and she knelt for a moment by the Cardinal's chair

hand rested loving

much to Manuel,-he is a strange lad; more fond of silence and prayer tha

boy, who at once followed her. As the two disappeared a chill and a darkness seemed to fall upon the air, and the Cardinal sa

y tired, I f

yes. Spiritually, I am cert

hrugged hi

in spiritual matters to en

the Cardinal gripped both arm

oo long, and the time is near when we shall find out the bitter cost of it! Levity-careles

aimed the Abbe,

I can faithfully say I have an almost jealous honour for my Master-but I repeat, heresy against the Church is nothing,-it is heresy against Christ which is the crime of the age,-and in that, the ver

own a moment, then looked up, and a quizzica

ent and honest, whether you believe I am going to another existence,-and if so, what sort of a one you think is in prospect for such a man as I am? Now don't pity me, my dear Bonpre,-don't pity me!-" and he laughed a little huskily as the Cardinal took his hand and pressed it with a silent sympathy more eloquent than words, "We must all die,-and if I am to go somewhat sooner than I expected, that is nothing to comp

the troubled look remained in h

began gently, "I am grie

ther life? Now do not FORCE your faith for me. Tell me your own honest conviction. Do we end?-or do we begin again? Be frank and fair and true; according to the very latest science, remember!-not according to the latest hocus-po

ighting up his features. "It is CHRIST in all, and through all! Christ only;-Christ, the fr

ly,-truly,-then?" exclai

t and soul!" responded the Cardinal

that the lad you have just rescued from the streets of Rouen is

o face with Manuel. The boy had entered noiselessly and stood for a moment glancing from one pr

e, my lord Card

dinal l

my ch

. If you should need m

his departure as before,-a silence which was only disturbed by the occa