Clara Maynard Part 9

Depend on it that, with G.o.d's grace, I will not relax in my efforts to make known the simple Gospel, and to exhibit the sacerdotal system of Rome, and of the so-called ritualism of England, in its true light."

CHAPTER SIX.

On reaching Cheltenham, the general took Clara to the house of his sister-in-law, a Scotch lady, who received her with the most motherly kindness.

"I very well know the sort of glamour which has been thrown around you, my dear," she said, "so that I can heartily sympathise with you; and I praise G.o.d that it has been removed. You can now therefore look with confidence for grace and strength from Him who is the giver of all good, to walk forward in the enjoyment of that true happiness which G.o.d in His mercy affords to His creatures. There is abundance of work for our s.e.x, which can be carried out in a straightforward, Protestant, English fas.h.i.+on."

"I shall be thankful to find it," said Clara.

"You will not have long to wait, my dear," answered Mrs Caulfield; "but at present you require being nursed yourself: you must let me take you in hand."

As soon as the general had deposited Clara with his sister-in-law, he set off and paid his promised visit to Mary Lennard. On reaching Mrs Barnett's establishment, he was shown into a handsome drawing-room, where that lady soon presented herself, under the belief that he had come to place a daughter with her. She bowed gracefully as she glided into a seat, and smilingly enquired the object of his visit.

"I have come to see Miss Mary Lennard, daughter of my particular friend, the Reverend John Lennard," answered he.

"She is too ill, I regret to say, to see visitors," answered the schoolmistress. "Had her father come, I of course should not have objected."

"I am acting in the place of her father," said the general, "and I must insist on seeing the young lady, who has, I understand, been made ill by a system of fasting and penances which all right-minded people must consider objectionable."

"Sir, you astonish me," exclaimed Mrs Barnett. "I should suppose that every clergyman would wish his daughter to fast on Fridays and other days ordered by the Church; and with regard to penances, such have been imposed by the priest to whom she has duly gone to confession."

"Why, I thought this was a Protestant school," exclaimed the general, astonished.

"That term I repudiate," answered the lady. "I am a daughter of the Anglican Church, and as such I wish to bring up all my pupils."

"You may act according to your conscience, but parents may differ from you as to whether you are right in compelling growing children to fast, as also in allowing them to confess to a person whom you call a priest,"

answered the general. "I regret having to act in any way which is disagreeable to you, but I must insist, madam, with the authority given me by Mr Lennard, on seeing his daughter alone, and judging what steps I shall take."

The lady hesitated; the general put Mr Lennard's letter into her hand.

She still hesitated.

"Have you any reason for wis.h.i.+ng me not to see Mary?" he asked.

"She may appear worse than she really is," said Mrs Barnett. "Our medical attendant has visited her daily."

"That makes it more necessary for me to see her and judge for myself,"

said the general, in a firm tone.

Mrs Barnett rang the bell, and a servant appearing, she told her to inform Miss Lennard that a friend of her father wished to see her.

"She isn't able to get up, marm, I'm afraid," was the answer.

"Then show me her room," said the general, rising; and without waiting to hear Mrs Barnett's remarks, he followed the servant, who led the way upstairs to a room containing four beds. A cough struck his ears as he entered. On one of the beds lay poor Mary; her once rosy cheek was pale and thin, and her large eyes unusually bright. She knew him at once, and stretching out both her hands, said, "I am glad to see you; but I thought papa would come."

The general explained that Mr Lennard was prevented from doing what he wished.

"Then, will you take me away from this?" she asked, in a whisper; "I am sure that papa would do so. I am not happy here; but do not let Mrs Barnett know I said so."

"If you can be removed without risk, I certainly will take you,"

answered the general.

"Oh, yes, yes! I shall be well soon. I could get up now if they will give me my clothes," exclaimed Mary.

The day was bright and warm; and as the general felt sure that Mary could be removed without danger, he determined to take her to his sister-in-law's immediately.

"Take me! take me!" said Mary; "I feel quite strong enough, and the doctor said that there was nothing particularly the matter with me."

Her eagerness to go was still further increased when she heard that she was to be taken care of by Clara Maynard.

"I thought that she had been shut up in a convent," she exclaimed. "The girls here were saying that it is a very holy life, though I don't know that there are many who wish to lead it; but I was very, very sorry to hear of Clara's being a nun, because I thought that perhaps I might never see her again, and of all people I wondered that she should turn nun."

"I trust that she has given up all intention of becoming one," said the general; "but you will see her soon, and she will tell you what she thinks about the matter."

The general then told the servant to a.s.sist Miss Lennard in dressing, while he went out to obtain a conveyance. On returning to the house, he desired again to see Mrs Barnett. The lady was somewhat indignant, and warned him that he must be responsible for the consequences of removing Miss Lennard.

"Of course I am, and I am taking her where she can be more carefully nursed than is possible in a school," answered the general.

Mary was soon ready, and her box packed up. The thoughts of going away restored her strength, and she walked downstairs without difficulty.

The general carefully wrapped her up, and telling her to keep the shawl over her head and mouth, lifted her into the carriage. They had but a short distance to go. Clara was delighted to find that Mary was to remain; but on perceiving how ill the poor girl evidently was, she felt very sad. Mary was, however, not at all the worse for being removed, and Mrs Caulfield immediately sent for her own medical man to see her.

He looked very grave, but gave no decided opinion. "She has been poorly fed, and her mind overtaxed for one so young," he remarked. "We must see what proper care and nourishment will effect; but I must not disguise from you that I am anxious about her."

Clara begged that Mary might be placed in her bed, while she occupied a small camp-bed at its foot.

"But you will have no room to turn," observed Mrs Caulfield.

"It is wider and far softer than the one to which I have been accustomed," she answered, smiling, "and I shall be much happier to be near Mary than away from her."

Clara had now ample occupation in attending on her sick friend, though Mrs Caulfield insisted on her driving out every day, and advised her to receive the visits of several friends who called. With the consciousness that she was of essential use to Mary, her own spirits returned and her health improved. The rest of her time was spent in working, or reading to Mary, or playing and singing to her. The healthy literature the general procured for Mary benefited Clara as much as it did her friend; it was an invigorating change from the monastic legends and similar works which were alone allowed to be perused in the convent.

She thought it better not to say much about her own life there; but Mary was not so reticent with regard to her school existence. The only books allowed to be read were those written by priests, ritualists, or Roman Catholics. "The books were mostly very dull," said Mary; "but as we had no others, we were glad to get them. Then a clergyman came, who told us that we were all very sinful, but that when we came to him at confession he would give us absolution; and as we thought that very nice, we did as he advised us; but I did not at all like the questions he put; some of them were dreadful, and I know he said the same to the other girls. Still, as we were kept very strict in school, we were glad to get out to church as often as we could; there was the walk, which was pleasant in fine weather; and then we could look at the people who were there, and the music was often very fine, and the sermon was never very long; and sometimes the young gentlemen used to come and sit near us, and talk to the elder girls when no one was looking--at least, we thought they were young gentlemen, but, as it turned out, they were anything but such. One of them, especially, used to give notes to one of the girls, and she wrote others in return, and we thought it very romantic, and of course no one would tell Mrs Barnett of it. At last, one day, we thought that the girl had gone into confession; but instead of joining us she slipped out of the church at a side door, where her lover was waiting to receive her. Away they went by the train to a distance, where they were married, and could not be found for some time.

At last they came back, when it was discovered that the young man was the son of a small tradesman in the place, though he had pretended that he had a good fortune and excellent prospects. Mrs Barnett was horrified, and tried to hush matters up, and I believe the parents of the girl did not like to expose her for their own sakes. I know that I and the rest were very wrong in our behaviour, and I will not excuse myself, except to say that everything was done to make us hypocrites.

Religion was very much talked about on Sundays and saints' days; but I have learnt more of the Gospel since I came here, from you and dear General Caulfield, than I ever knew before."

Clara sighed as she thought how little she herself had known till lately.

"You had better not talk any more about your school," she said; "let us speak rather about what we read, and things of real importance."

Clara had become very much alarmed about Mary. Wholesome and regular food, and gentle exercise in the carriage when the weather was fine, somewhat restored her strength; but there was the hectic spot on her check, and the brightness of the eyes, which too surely told of consumption. Mr Lennard at length arrived; he looked much depressed, and was shocked at seeing the change in his daughter. He had a most unsatisfactory account to give of his son, whom he had searched for for some time in vain. At last he discovered that the young gentleman had been formally received into the Romish Church, and that his friend the priest was concealing him somewhere in London. The poor father found out where his son was through a letter which was forwarded from Luton, in which the youth asked for a remittance for his support, as he had expended all his means, and could not longer, he observed, encroach on the limited stipend of his friend, Father Lascelles. Mr Lennard, still hoping that it might be possible to win back the youth, wrote entreating him to return home, and on his declining to do this, he offered to let him continue his course at Oxford, that he might fit himself for entering one of the learned professions. After a delay of two or three days, Alfred wrote saying that he had applied to his bishop, who would not consent to his doing so, and that as he was now under his spiritual guidance, he must obey him rather than a heretic father.

"You will pardon me for calling you so," continued Master Alfred; "but while you remain severed from the one true Church, such you must be in the eyes of all Catholics, one of whom I have become."

"I was too much grieved to laugh, as I might otherwise have done, at the boy's impertinence," observed Mr Lennard to the general; "but as I look upon him as deceived by artful men, I cannot treat him with the rigour he deserves. What do you recommend, general?"

"We must, if possible, get him to come home, and then put the truth clearly before him," remarked the general.

"I am afraid that I cannot say enough to induce him to change," said Mr Lennard, with a deep sigh.

"We must have recourse, whatever we do, to earnest prayer," observed the general. "I cannot suppose that your son's mind is already so completely perverted as to be impregnable to the truth."