It was only a drive of three or four miles entirely in the park. This was a district that had been added to the ancient enclosure—a striking scene. It was a forest of firs, but quite unlike such as might be met with in the north of Europe or of America. Every tree was perfect—huge and complete, and full of massy grace. Nothing else was permitted to grow there except juniper, of which there were abounding and wondrous groups, green and spiral; the whole contrasting with the tall brown fern, of which there were quantities about, cut for the deer. The turf was dry and mossy, and the air pleasant. It was a balmy day. They sat down by the great trees, the servants opened the luncheon-baskets, which were a present from Balmoral. Lady St. Jerome was seldom seen to greater advantage than distributing her viands under such circumstances. Never was such gay and graceful hospitality. Lothair was quite fascinated as she playfully thrust a paper of lobster-sandwiches into his hand, and enjoined Monsignore Catesby to fill his tumbler with Chablis. “I wish Father Coleman were here,” said Lothair to Miss Arundel. “Why?” said Miss Arundel. “Because we were in the midst of a very interesting conversation on idolatry and on worship in groves, when Lady St. Jerome summoned us to our drive. This seems a grove where one might worship.” “Father Coleman ought to be at Rome,” said Miss Arundel. “He was to have passed Holy Week there. I know not why he changed his plans.” “Are you angry with him for it?” “No, not angry, but surprised; surprised that any one might be at Rome, and yet be absent from it.” “You like Rome?” “I have never been there. It is the wish of my life.” “May I say to you what you said to me just now—why?” “Naturally, because I would wish to witness the ceremonies of the Church in their most perfect form.” “But they are fulfilled in this country, I have heard, with much splendor and precision.” Miss Arundel shook her head. “Oh! no,” she said; “in this country we are only just emerging from the catacombs. If the ceremonies of the Church were adequately fulfilled in England, we should hear very little of English infidelity.” “That is saying a great deal,” observed Lothair, inquiringly. “Had I that command of wealth of which we hear so much in the present day, and with which the possessors seem to know so little what to do, I would purchase some of those squalid streets in Westminster, which are the shame of the metropolis, and clear a great space and build a real cathedral, where the worship of heaven should be perpetually conducted in the full spirit of the ordinances of the Church. I believe, were this done, even this country might be saved.”