“Well said, well said, dear child!  There is, thank God, a Church Triumphant,—­a crowned queen, a glorious bride; and the poor, struggling Church Militant shall rise to join her!  What matter, then, though our way lie through dungeon and chains, through fire and sword, if we may attain to that glory at last?”

“Uncle, are there such dreadful things really before you?”

“There may be, child.  I say of my master, as did the holy Apostles:  ’Let us also go, that we may die with him.’  I feel a heavy presage.  But I must not trouble you, child.  Early in the morning I will be up and away.  I go with this youth, whose pathway lies a certain distance along mine, and whose company I seek for his good as well as my pleasure.”

“You go with him?” said Agnes, with a start of surprise.

“Yes; his refuge in the mountains lies between here and Rome, and he hath kindly offered to bring me on my way faster than I can go on foot; and I would fain see our beautiful Florence as soon as may be.  O Florence, Florence, Lily of Italy! wilt thou let thy prophet perish?”

“But, uncle, if he die for the faith, he will be a blessed martyr.  That crown is worth dying for,” said Agnes.

“You say well, little one,—­you say well! ‘Ex oribus parvulorum.’ But one shrinks from that in the person of a friend which one could cheerfully welcome for one’s self.  Oh, the blessed cross! never is it welcome to the flesh, and yet how joyfully the spirit may walk under it!”

“Dear uncle, I have made a solemn vow before our Holy Mother this night,” said Agnes, “to go on a pilgrimage to Rome, and at every shrine and holy place to pray that these great afflictions which beset all of you may have a happy issue.”

“My sweet heart, what have you done?  Have you considered the unsettled roads, the wild, unruly men that are abroad, the robbers with which the mountains are filled?”

“These are all Christ’s children and my brothers,” said Agnes; “for them was the most holy blood shed, as well as for me.  They cannot harm one who prays for them.”

“But, dear heart of mine, these ungodly brawlers think little of prayer; and this beautiful, innocent little face will but move the vilest and most brutal thoughts and deeds.”

“Saint Agnes still lives, dear uncle,—­and He who kept her in worse trial.  I shall walk through them all pure as snow,—­I am assured I shall.  The star which led the wise men and stood over the young child and his mother will lead me, too.”

“But your grandmother?”

“The Lord will incline her heart to go with me.  Dear uncle, it does not beseem a child to reflect on its elders, yet I cannot but see that grandmamma loves this world and me too well for her soul’s good.  This journey will be for her eternal repose.”

“Well, well, dear one, I cannot now advise.  Take advice of your confessor, and the blessed Lord and his holy Mother be with you!  But come now, I would soothe myself to sleep; for I have need of good rest to-night.  Let us sing together our dear master’s hymn of the Cross.”