"I did, myself, your Royal Highness," said Luke, trembling all over with fear.

"Its contents are all true-strictly true?"

"As the words of this holy book," said Luke, placing his hand on his missal.

"Why were they not made known to me before-answer me that?" cried Charles, angrily.

"I'll tell your Royal Highness why," replied Luke, who gained courage as he was put upon the defensive. She that's gone the Heavens be her bed ! -made her sister promise, in her last hour, never to ask nor look for favor or benefit, from your Royal Highness." "I will not believe this," broke in Charles, indignantly; "you are more than bold, sir, to dare to tell me so.'

"'Tis true as Gospel," replied the friar. "Her words were: 'Let there be one that went down to the grave with the thought that loving him was its best reward! and leave me to think that I live in his memory as I used in his heart."

The Prince turned away, and drew his hand across his eyes.

"How came she here since when?" asked he, suddenly.

"Four years back; we came together. I bore her company all the way from Ireland, and on foot, too, just to put the child into the college here."

"And she has been in poverty all this while ?"

"Poverty! faith, you might call it distress -keeping a little trattoria in the Viccolo d'Orso, taking sewing, washing whatever she could; slaving and starving, just to get shoes and the like for the boy."

"How comes it, then, that she has yielded at last to write me this?" said Charles, who, in proportion as his self-accusings grew more poignant, sought to turn reproach on any other quarter.

"She didn't, nor wouldn't," said the Fra; "twas I did it myself. I told her that she might ease her conscience, by never accepting any thing; that I'd write the petition and go up with it, and that all I'd ask was a trifle for the child."

"She loves him, then," said Charles, tenderly.

The friar nodded his head slowly twice, and muttered, "God knows she does.'

"And does he repay her affection?" "How can he? Sure he doesn't know her; he never sees her. When we were on the way here, he always thought it was his nurse she was; and from that hour to this, he never set eyes on her."

'What object was there for all

this?"

"Just to save him the shame among the rest, that they couldn't say his mother's sister was in rags and wretchedness, without a meal to eat."

"She never sees him, then ?"

"Only when he walks out with the class, every Friday; they come down the hill from the Capitol,and then she's there, watching, to get a look at him. "And he-what is he like?"

The friar stepped back, and gazed at the Prince from head to foot, in silence, and then at length said: "He's like a Prince, sorrow less! The black serge gown, the coarse shoes, the square cap, ugly as they are, can't disfigure him; and tho' they cut off his beautiful hair, that curled half-way down his back, they couldn't spoil him. He has the great darkblue eyes of his mother, and the long lashes, almost girlish to look at."

"He's mild and gentle, then?" said Charles, pensively.

"Indeed, and I won't tell you a lie," said Luke, half mournfully, "but that's just what I believe he isn't. The subrector says there's nothing he couldn't learn, either in the sciences or the humanities. He can write some of the ancient and three of the modern tongues. His disputations got him the medal; but somehow

"Well go on. Somehow

"He's wild,-wild," said the friar, as if he was glad to have found the exact word he wanted; "he'd rather go out on the Campagna there and ride one of the driver's ponies all day, than he'd walk in full procession with all the cardinals. He'd like to be fighting the shepherd's dogs, wicked as they are; or goading their mad cattle till they turn on him. Many a day they've caught him at that sport; and, if I'm not mistaken, he's in punishment now, tho' Mrs. Mary doesn't know it, for putting a ram inside the rails of a fountain, so that the neighbours dursn't go near to draw water. 'Tis diversions like these has made him as ragged and tattered as he is."

"Bad stuff for the cloister," said Charles, with a faint smile.

Who knows? Sure Cardinal Guidotti was at every mischief when a boy; and there's Gardoni, the secretary of the Quirinal, wasn't he the terror of the city with his pranks."

"Can I see this boy-I mean, could he be brought here without his knowing or suspecting to whom he was presented."

66

Sure, if Kelly was to "

Ay, ay, I know as well as you do," broke in the prince, "George Kelly has craft and cunning enough for more than that; but supposing, my worthy Fra, that I did not care to intrust Kelly with this office; supposing that, for reasons known to myself, I wished this matter a secret, can you hit upon the means of bringing the lad here, that I might see and speak with him."

"It should be after dark, your Royal Highness, or he would know the palace again, and then find out who lived in it."

་་

'Well, be it so."

"Then, there's the rules of the college; without a special leave a student cannot leave the house; and, even then, he must have a professor with him."

"A cardinal's order would, of course, be sufficient," said the Prince.

"To be sure it would, sir," said the friar, with a gesture that showed how implicitly his confidence was given to such a conjuncture.

"The matter shall be done then, and thus on Tuesday next Kelly goes to Albano, and will not return till Wednesday, or Thursday evening. At seven o'clock, on Tuesday evening, you will present yourself at the college, and ask for the president: you will only have to say, that you are come for the youth Fitzgerald. He will be at once given into your charge; drive then at once to the Corso, where you can leave the carriage, and proceed hither on foot. When you arrive here, you shall be admitted One only caution I have to give you, friar, and it is this: upon your reserve and discretion it depends whether I ever befriend this boy, or cast him off for ever. Should one syllable of this interview transpire should I ever discover that, under any pretence, or from any accident, you have divulged what has

at once.

passed between us here and discover it I must if it be so-from that instant I cease to take interest in him. I know your cloth well; you can be secret if you will: let this be an occasion for the virtue. I need not tell you more; nor will I add one threat to enforce my caution. The boy's own fortune in life is on the issue; that will be enough."

'Is Mrs. Mary to be intrusted with the secret?" said the Fra, timidly. "No; not now, at least." The Prince sat down, and leaned his forehead on his hand in thought. At length he said, "The boy will ask you, in all likelihood, whither you are leading him. You must say, that a countryman of his own, a man of some influence, and who knew his friends, desires to see and speak with him. That he is one with whom he may be frank and open-hearted free to tell whatever he feels; whether he likes his present life, or seeks to change it. He is to address me as the Count, and be careful yourself to give me no higher title. I believe I have said all."

;

"If Kelly asks me what was my business with your Royal Highness.'

"Ay; well thought of. Say it was a matter of charity; and take these few crowns, that you may show him as you pass out."

Well, did you succeed?" asked Kelly, as the poor friar, flushed and excited from the emotion of his interview, entered the antechamber.

"I did, indeed; and may the saints in heaven stand to you for the same! It's a good work you done, and you'll have your reward!"

66

Egad," cried Kelly, in a tone of levity, "if I had any friends amongst the saints I must have tried their patience pretty hard these last eight or nine years; but who is this Mary Fitzgerald-I just caught the name on the paper?""

"She's she's-she's a countrywoman of our own," stammered out Fra Luke, while he moved uneasily from foot to foot, and fumbled with his hands up the sleeves of his robe.

"It was lucky for you, then, we were just talking about Ireland before you went in. He was saying how true and stanch the Irish always showed themselves."

And does he talk of them times?" asked the Fra, in astonishment.

"Ay, by the hour. Sometimes its breaking day before I go to bed, he telling me about all his escapes and adventures. I could fill a book with stories of his."

"Musha! but I'd like to hear them," cried Luke, with honest enthusiasm.

"Come up here, then-let me see what evening-it mustn't be Tuesday

nor Wednesday-maybe, indeed, I won't be back before Friday. Oh, there's the bell now; that's for me," cried he; and before he could fix the time he hurried off to the Prince's chamber.

Ir was a long and weary day to the poor friar, watching for that Tuesday evening when he should appear at the gate of the Jesuits' College, and ask for the young Fitzgerald. He felt, too, as though some amount of responsibility had been imposed on him to which he was unequal. It seemed to his simple intelligence as if it were a case that required skill and dexterity. The rector might possibly ask this, or wish to know that; and then how was he to respect the secrecy he had pledged to the Prince? or was he to dare to deceive the great President of the College? Supposing, too, all these difficulties over, what of the youth himself? How should he answer the inquiries he was certain to make whither he was going-with what object and to whom? Greater than all these personal cares was his anxiety that the boy should please his Royal Highness-that the impression he made should be favourable; that his look and bearing might interest the Prince, and insure his future advancement. Let us own that Fra Luke had his grave misgivings on this score. From all he could pick up through the servitors of the convent, Gerald was a wild, headstrong youth, constantly "in punishment," and regarded by the superiors as the great instigator of every infraction to the discipline of the college. "What will a prince think of such an unruly subject?" was the sad question the simple-hearted friar ever posed to himself. "And if the rector only send a report of him, he'll have no chance at all." With this sorrowful thought he brought his reflections to a close; and, taking out his beads, set himself vigorously to implore the intercession of the saints in a cause intrusted to hands so weak and unskilful as his own.

The grim, old gate of the college,

flanked with its two low towers, looked gloomy enough as the evening closed in. The little aperture, too, through which questions were asked or answered, was now shut up for the night, and all intercourse with the world without suspended. The Fra had yet a full hour to wait, and he was fain to walk briskly to and fro, to warm his blood, chilled by the cold wind that came over the Campagna. For a while the twinkling of a stray light, high up in the building, set him a-thinking where the cell of the boy might be; but gradually these disappeared, and all was wrapt in gloom and darkness, when suddenly the chapel became illuminated, and the rich, full swell of an organ toned out its solemn sounds on the still night. The brief prelude over, there followed one of those glorious old chants of the church which combine a strain of intense devotion with a highly exalted poetic feeling. In a perfect flood of harmony the sounds blended, till the very air seemed to hold them suspended. They ceased; and then, like the softest melody of a flute, a young voice arose alone, and, soaring upwards, uttered a passage of seraphic sweetness. It was as though the song of some angelic spirit, telling of hope and peace; and, as a long, thrilling shake concluded the strain, the loud thunder of the organ and the full swell of the choir closed the service. The moment after all was silent and in darkness.

Bell after bell, from the great city beneath, tolled out seven o'clock; and Fra Luke knocked modestly at the gate of the college. His visit appeared to have been expected, for he was admitted at once, and conducted to the large hall, which formed the waitingroom of the college. The friar had not long to wait; for scarcely had he

taken his seat, when the door opened, and young Fitzgerald appeared. Advancing with an easy air, and a degree of gracefulness that contrasted strangely with his poverty-struck dress, the boy said, "I am told you wish to speak to me, Friar."

"Are you Gerald Fitzgerald, my son?" asked Fra Luke, softly.

"Yes; that's my name."

The Fra looked at the beaming face and the bright blue eyes, soft in their expression as a girl's; and the dimpled cheek, over which a slight flush was mantling, and wondered to himself can this be the wild, reckless youth they call him have they not been calumniating that fine and simple nature? So deeply was the Fra impressed with this sentiment, that he forgot to continue the interrogatory, and stood gazing with admiration on him.

"Well," said the boy, smiling goodhumouredly, "what is your business with me, for it is nigh bed-time, and I must be going?"

"It was your voice I heard in the solo a few minutes ago," cried the Fra, eagerly; "I know it was. It was you who sang the

66

Virgo virginum præclara,
Mihi jam non sis amara'?

"Yes, yes," said the youth, reddening. But what of that? You never came here to-night to ask me this question."

"True, true," said the Fra, sighing painfully-less, indeed, at the rebuke than the hot-tempered tone of the boy as he spoke it. "I came here to night to fetch you along with me, to see one who was a friend of your family long, long ago; he has heard of you here, and wishes to see and speak with you. He is a person of great rank and high station, so that you will show him every deference, and demean yourself towards him respectfully and modestly; for he means you well, Gerald; he will befriend you."

"But what need have I of his friendship or his good offices?" said the youth, growing deadly pale as he spoke. Look at this serge gown-see this cap-they can tell you what I am destined to. I shall be a priest one of these days, Fra; and what has a priest to do with ties of affection or friend

ship?"

"Oh! for the blessed Joseph's sake,"

whispered the Fra, "be careful what you say. These are terrible words to speak and to speak them here, too," added he, as he threw his eyes over the walls of the room.

"Is this man a cardinal?" "No," said the Fra; "he is a layman, and a count."

"Better that; had he been a cardinal, I'd not have gone. Whenever the old cardinal, Caraffa, comes here, I'm sure to have a week's punishment; and I hate the whole red-stockinged

race

"There, there-let us away at once," whispered the Fra. "Such discourse as this will bring misfortune upon us both."

"Have you the superior's permission for my going out with you?" asked Gerald.

66

'Yes; I have his leave till eleven o'clock- we shall be back here before that time."

"I'm sorry for it," said the boy, sternly. 'I'd like to think I was crossing that old court-yard there for the last time."

"You will be cold, my poor boy," said the friar, "with no other covering but that light frock; but we shall find a carriage as we go along."

"No, no, Fra," cried the boy, eagerly. "Let us walk, Fra; let us walk, and see every thing. It's like one of the old fairy tales nurse used to tell me long ago to see the city all alight thus, and the troops of people moving on, and all these bright shops with the rich wares so temptingly displayed. Ah! how happy must they be who can wander at will amongst all theseexchanging words and greetings, and making brotherhood with their fellows. See, Fra-see!" cried he, "what is it comes yonder, with all the torches, and the men in white ?"

"It is some great man's funeral, my child. Let us say a 'Pax eterna;'" and he fumbled for his beads as he said so.

"Let us follow them," said the boy, "they are bearing the catafalque into that small church-how grand and solemn it all is;" and now attaching himself to the long line of acolytes the boy walked step for step with the procession, mingling his clear and liquid notes in the litany they were chanting. While he sung with all the force of intense expression, it was strange to mark how freely his gaze wandered over all the details of the scene-his