"No, sir, I do not eat meat on Friday. I am a Roman Catholic," the child answered with precision. And, having made the announcement thus fully, shut her mouth, and sat pale, with her eyes fixed on Mr. Yorke's face. A smile flashed into Owen Yorke's eyes at this reply. "Little Spartan!" he thought. Edith did not miss the slight contraction of the brows and the downward twitch of the corners of the mouth in the face she watched; but the signs of displeasure passed as quickly as they came. "Then I am afraid you will make a poor breakfast," Mr. Yorke said gently. "But I will do the best I can for you." There was a momentary silence; then the talk went on as before. But the family were deeply annoyed. It seemed enough that they should have to take this little waif, with they knew not what low habits and associates, or what unruly fires of temper inherited from her mother, without having an alien religion brought into their midst. Catholicism as they had seen it abroad appealed to their æsthetic sense. It floated there in a higher atmosphere, adorned with all that wealth and culture could do. But at home they preferred to keep it where, as a rule, they found it--in the kitchen and the stable. After they had returned to the sitting-room, Mr. Yorke called Edith to him. She went trembling; for, in spite of himself, her uncle's face wore a judicial look. The girls, who were just going up-stairs, lingered to hear what would be said, and Owen took his stand behind Mr. Yorke's chair, and looked at the child with an encouraging smile. "Were the family you lived with Catholics, my dear?" the judge began. "No, sir. Only Mr. Rowan was when he was a little boy." "And Mr. Rowan wished to make a Catholic of you?" Mr. Yorke said, his lip beginning to curl. The child lifted her head. "Mr. Rowan had nothing to say about me," she replied. "It was my mother." A slight smile went round the circle. They quite approved of her reply. "But you cannot recollect your mother?" Mr. Yorke continued. "Oh! yes," Edith said with animation. "I remember how she looked, and what she said. She made me hold up my hands, and promise that I would be a Roman Catholic if I had to die for it. And that was the last word she ever said." Mr. Yorke gave a short nod. To his mind the matter was settled. "_N'est ce pas?_" he said to his wife. She bowed gravely. "There is no other way. It is impossible to ask her to break a promise so given. When she is older, she can choose for herself." "Well, you hear, girls?" Mr. Yorke said, looking at his daughters. "Now take her, and make her feel at home."