"I see the moral of the tale," said the widow to herself: "Virgilius, ennobled by his affection for a worthy object, enlightened by experience, and improved by trials, will find out the errors into which his fine mind has been led; he will become religious as well as moral, and all will end happily at last." All did end happily in the novel, but not in the way which Mrs. Vernon expected. Hypocrisy was unmasked, bigotry disgraced, but infidelity triumphed in success! The brilliant winding-up of the work was almost a paraphrase of the celebrated line, "He can’t be wrong whose life is in the right;"-- as if any life _could be right_ in which the chief end of our existence, _the glory of God_, is disregarded! It is as though we should speak of the perfection of the ocean without water, or of the universe without the sun! The dim light of morning was purpling the sky before the widow had finished the book. She sat for some moments with her brow resting upon her hand, and the open volume on her knee. "Perhaps I have read until my mind is too much wearied to form a correct judgment," she murmured to herself. "Perhaps I have mistaken the meaning of the author, and have done him injustice. I am a weak, ignorant woman, not capable of appreciating all the beauties of this work; I will lean on a stronger mind than my own, ask the aid of a better judgment. I will take the books to Mr. Ward to-morrow, and see if he views the work in the same light as I do. And now I must go to my rest; I have done wrong to waste so many hours over a novel!" But even in sleep the mind of the mother pursued the same theme; the scenes of the novel were repeated in her dreams, only the actors were Sir Amery and Flora. Mrs. Vernon arose unrefreshed and uneasy, and before many hours were over, she was on her way to the little vicarage, bearing with her "The Master-Mind." "How foolish I am to take these anxious thoughts!"--such were the lady’s reflections as she wearily toiled up the lane, which had never seemed so long before. "I have no reason to fear that Sir Amery is anything more to my child than an admired author, an agreeable acquaintance. He is above her in birth and position; flattered as he is by the world, why should I fancy that my simple moss-rose should attract the regard of one who is the idol of all the circles of fashion! It is a mother’s weakness, a mother’s vanity, which make me believe that all who see her must view her with eyes like my own! But oh! is she not my earthly all, and can it be wondered at that my heart should tremble at the most distant prospect of danger to one so beloved!" *CHAPTER X.* *RECALL.*