“What magnificent results do flow from seemingly insignificant causes!” said Sir Christopher.  “A spark shall light a conflagration of a mighty city; an acorn shall bear an oak to waft armies over oceans to conquest; and the conversion of a child to the true faith may change the destinies of nations.  It may be thy blessed lot, Celestina, to plant a seed which shall grow into a tree, whose branches shall cover earth with grateful shade, and reach to heaven.  There was a time when, influenced by the example of a king or queen, whose mind divine grace had illuminated, whole multitudes rushed to be laved in the saving waters of baptism.  Wherefore should not those days return?  Now doth the suffering Church mourn like a pelican in the wilderness, and though she gives her blood in streams from her torn bosom—­alas! how flows that crimson river, as if in vain!”

“Not all in vain,” said the lady.  “Cheering accounts of the progress of our missionaries in the Southern portions of this vast continent reach us from time to time, and the prayers of the Church are sanctifying the land from the flood of the Mississippi to the forests of Canada.  But tell me now, Sir Christopher, of thine adventures.”

The Knight looked significantly at the Indian girl.

“Neebin,” said the lady, “take the book and examine it by thyself.  Sir Christopher and I desire to be alone.  But beware that thou show it to no one, for all are not privileged like thee to see its beautiful pictures.”

The child took the missal, but lingered, as if unwilling to depart, and it was not until after a more decided repetition of the command, that, with a pout, she left the room.

“Whom of the holy fathers saw you?” inquired Sister Celestina, after the door was shut.

“Only Father Le Vieux,” answered Sir Christopher, “and he charged me with a commission which I now discharge.”  So saying, he took from his bosom the letter which the Jesuit missionary had entrusted him with, and handed it to the lady.

Sister Celestina took it, and, imprinting a kiss upon the epistle which had come from the holy father’s hand, laid it on the table.

“Let my presence be no restraint,” said the Knight.  “I have nought to say, which can be of equal importance with anything that comes from Father Le Vieux.”

“Thanks for your courtesy,” said the lady; and, taking up the letter, she broke the wrapper wherein it was contained, and which was fastened together by means of some unknown cement or gum, and commenced its perusal.

Perhaps the Knight had some design in desiring her to open it in his presence, for, during the whole time while she was engaged in reading, he watched her countenance, as if he expected to see the contents of the letter there; and though her training had been as complete as his own, yet, by reason of her more delicate organization, she was unable so to conceal her emotion that it should be entirely unobserved.