‘Well, her plans were artfully laid. The servants were her creatures. The medical man was her dupe. She had sole command of the mansion. The poor dying wife had begged her to take the trouble off her hands. Milor fancied she was his slave; he in reality was her dupe. She made him believe that his child was dead. She did more, she paid some women to take care of a child which she pretended, with strict injunctions to secrecy, was the heir. Gold did it all. At that time the lady had plenty of gold.’ ‘Which might have been better spent in the service of the Holy Catholic Church, which needs the treasures of the faithful, and gives them interest for the money, which will yield rich fruit through the countless ages of eternity.’ ‘Ah, my friend did not think of such things. She was in the world and of it. There, in that island of heretics, she had given up her religious observances, and had almost lost her religious faith. Oh, how much better it is for the woman to stop in the land where the poetry of youth ripens and matures, till in her old age she has all the ardour and the blessedness of a devotee.’ ‘You speak truly and well,’ said the priest, with an approving smile; and though he did not often smile, his smile, when it did appear on his marble face, was encouraging. ‘My father,’ said the penitent, weeping, ‘I can keep up the deception no longer—I speak of myself!’ ‘I thought as much,’ he replied. ‘I am afraid you have done a great wrong. But what has become of the child?’ ‘I know not; and the father is dead.’ ‘Oh,’ said the priest, ‘you should have brought him to Italy and placed him in the school of the Monastery of St. Joseph.’ ‘Yes, holy father, I ought to have brought him up in the true faith. I hear his father is dead; I hear they believe there is no heir; I hear the brother and his family are now in possession of the estate. I know all about them. They are of the Low Church school which hates our faith, abuses its priests, and even the Holy Father—’ ‘Hush!’ said the priest, ‘do not sully your lips with the foolishness and wickedness of these poor Protestants. I have heard them talk their blasphemies in Naples, and even at Rome itself. It is the holy Inquisition that we need to put a stop to such vile calumnies.’ ‘I had my revenge; but I know not what became of the boy. If we could gain his rights we could make a Catholic of him. I am no longer a penitent, holy father. I feel as if I had been a mighty instrument in paving the way for the return of the true religion to that unhappy land. Here,’ placing in the priest’s hand a handsome casket, ‘are the documents which will establish his claim. You go to London. You will see the lawyer of the family; he cannot deny the claim. Oh, I feel so joyful! I’ve gained my revenge! and is it not a sanctified one, as it is for the good of the Church?’