eyes.  Her own family had been too near the seat of power not to see all the base intrigues by which that sacred and solemn position of Head of the Christian Church had been traded for as a marketable commodity.  The pride, the indecency, the cruelty of those who now reigned in the name of Christ came over her mind in contrast with the picture painted by the artless, trusting faith of the peasant-girl with whom she had just parted.  Her mind had been too thoroughly drilled in the non-reflective practice of her faith to dare to put forth any act of reasoning upon facts so visible and so tremendous,—­she rather trembled at herself for seeing what she saw and for knowing what she knew, and feared somehow that this very knowledge might endanger her salvation; and so she rode homeward cowering and praying like a frightened child.

“Does my Lady feel ill?” said the old servant, anxiously.

“No, Mona, no,—­not in body.”

“And what is on my Lady’s mind now?”

“Oh, Mona, it is only what is always there.  To-morrow is Palm Sunday, and how can I go to see the murderers and robbers of our house in holy places?  Oh, Mona, what can Christians do, when such men handle holy things?  It was a comfort to wash the feet of those poor simple pilgrims, who tread in the steps of the saints of old; but how I felt when that poor child spoke of wanting to see the Pope!”

“Yes,” said Mona, “it’s like sending the lamb to get spiritual counsel of the wolf.”

“See what sweet belief the poor infant has!  Should not the head of the Christian Church be such as she thinks?  Ah, in the old days, when the Church here in Rome was poor and persecuted, there were popes who were loving fathers and not haughty princes.”

“My dear Lady,” said the servant, “pray, consider, the very stones have ears.  We don’t know what day we may be turned out, neck and heels, to make room for some of their creatures.”

“Well, Mona,” said the lady, with some spirit, “I’m sure I haven’t said any more than you have.”

“Holy Mother! and so you haven’t, but somehow things look more dangerous when other people say them.—­A pretty child that was, as you say; but that old thing, her grandmother, is a sharp piece.  She is a Roman, and lived here in her early days.  She says the little one was born hereabouts; but she shuts up her mouth like a vice, when one would get more out of her.”

“Mona, I shall not go out to-morrow; but you go to the services, and find the girl and her grandmother, and bring them out to me.  I want to counsel the child.”

“You may be sure,” said Mona, “that her grandmother knows the ins and outs of Rome as well as any of us, for all she has learned to screw up her lips so tight”

“At any rate, bring her to me, because she interests me.”

“Well, well, it shall be so,” said Mona.

CHAPTER XXVIII.