“Father, feeling as well as the unsanctified reason, does at times rebel.”

“Alas, they are conspirators together.  How willingly the one echoes the fancies of the other, while they deal out mutual encouragement!  But it needs not to say, to thee at least, that feeling can be no criterion of truth; or, rather, that the disturbance of the faculties, baptized with the name of feeling, and which springs from a corrupt nature, must be hostile thereto.  There is in high contemplations on man’s duties, but one infallible test of truth, viz:  the Holy Scriptures, as interpreted by the faithful witness, the Church.  To them, my son, the one as the record, and the other as the inspired interpreter, is it our duty, and should be the business of our lives, to bring into subjection the rebellious passions, the fainting weaknesses and erring reason.  Inspired by this grand truth, behold thousands of devoted men and women, weak with human infirmity, but sustained by courage from on high, renouncing the dulcet, but transitory enjoyments of this life, to encounter, for the salvation of their souls, and of others, privation and sorrow, and painful death. Quoe terra non plena nostri laboris? Yet, O how contemptible is the suffering, when compared with the joy of the hope which is set before us—­of the starry crown that awaits the willing martyr!  Feed thy soul, my son, on these divine contemplations, until they become a part of thyself, and the path that leads to a bloody grave shall be strewed with roses.  Be the motto of our order forever before thine eyes.  From the mystical words in majorem gloriam Dei, shall beam a light brighter and more blessed than that of the sun, for it flows from the throne of the Eternal.”

With suggestions and arguments like these did the enthusiastic father endeavor to animate and confirm the less exalted resolution of his fellow-laborer.  Nor were they without an influence.  As the thirsty traveller, faint and worn with the toil and heat of the day, drinks of the refreshing spring, and bathes his brow in its cooling waters, and goes strengthened on his way, so did the Knight derive vigor from his words.

At their last meeting, Father Le Vieux announced the conclusion to which he had persuaded the Taranteens.

“Hostilities at the present time were premature,” he said.  “The tribes are not sufficiently united to make head, with all the assistance we can afford, against the heretics.  We will wait awhile, until the present supposed outrage is followed by another—­and, in the position and temper of the English, it is inevitable—­which shall rouse other tribes.  Be sure, the Taranteens will not forget.  The war-whoop must sound simultaneously, from the Kennebec to the mouth of the Connecticut, or our labor will be worse than lost.  Meanwhile, a great advantage has been gained.  A gulf is now between the proud Englishman and the Taranteen, over which neither will pass.  Your report, then, to them who sent you will be peace.  Thus will their confidence in you and your influence be increased.” [At the same time the father gave a letter for Sister Celestina.] “Tell her,” he continued, “of my admiration of her devotion.  Blessed be she among women!”