Agnes watched him departing, her heart in a strange flutter of eagerness and solicitude.  What were these dreadful troubles which were coming upon her good uncle?—­who those enemies of the Church that beset that saintly teacher he so much looked up to?  And why was lawless violence allowed to run such riot in Italy, as it had in the case of the unfortunate cavalier?  As she thought things over, she was burning with a repressed desire to do something herself to abate these troubles.

“I am not a knight,” she said to herself, “and I cannot fight for the good cause.  I am not a priest, and I cannot argue for it.  I cannot preach and convert sinners.  What, then, can I do?  I can pray.  Suppose I should make a pilgrimage?  Yes,—­that would be a good work, and I will.  I will walk to Rome, praying at every shrine and holy place; and then, when I come to the Holy City, whose very dust is made precious with the blood of the martyrs and saints, I will seek the house of our dear father, the Pope, and entreat his forgiveness for this poor soul.  He will not scorn me, for he is in the place of the blessed Jesus, and the richest princess and the poorest maiden are equal in his sight.  Ah, that will be beautiful!  Holy Mother,” she said, falling on her knees before the shrine, “here I vow and promise that I will go praying to the Holy City.  Smile on me and help me!”

And by the twinkle of the flickering lamp which threw its light upon the picture, Agnes thought surely the placid face brightened to a tender maternal smile, and her enthusiastic imagination saw in this an omen of success.

Old Elsie was moody and silent this evening,—­vexed at the thwarting of her schemes.  It was the first time that the idea had ever gained a foothold in her mind, that her docile and tractable grandchild could really have for any serious length of time a will opposed to her own, and she found it even now difficult to believe it.  Hitherto she had shaped her life as easily as she could mould a biscuit, and it was all plain sailing before her.  The force and decision of this young will rose as suddenly upon her as the one rock in the middle of the ocean which a voyager unexpectedly discovered by striking on it.

But Elsie by no means regarded the game as lost.  She mentally went over the field, considering here and there what was yet to be done.

The subject had fairly been broached.  Agnes had listened to it, and parted in friendship from Antonio.  Now his old mother must be soothed and pacified; and Antonio must be made to persevere.

“What is a girl worth that can be won at the first asking?” quoth Elsie.  “Depend upon it, she will fall to thinking of him, and the next time she sees him she will give him a good look.  The girl never knew what it was to have a lover.  No wonder she doesn’t take to it at first; there’s where her bringing up comes in, so different from other girls’.  Courage, Elsie!  Nature will speak in its own time.”