“I dare not take a such a step without consulting him.”

“Not only must you abstain from consulting him, but the thing must be done during his absence.”

“What, father? should I not wait for his return?”

“No, for two reasons,” answered the priest, sternly:  “first, because his hardened impiety would certainly lead him to oppose your pious resolution; secondly, because it is indispensable that these young girls should break off all connection with your husband, who, therefore, must be left in ignorance of the place of their retreat.”

“But, father,” said Frances, a prey to cruel doubt and embarrassment, “it is to my husband that these children were entrusted—­and to dispose of them without his consent would be—­”

“Can you instruct these children at your house—­yes or no?” interrupted the voice.

“No, father, I cannot.”

“Are they exposed to fall into a state of final impenitence by remaining with you—­yes or no?”

“Yes, father, they are so exposed.”

“Are you responsible, as you take the place of their parents, for the mortal sins they may commit—­yes or no?”

“Alas, father!  I am responsible before God.”

“Is it in the interest of their eternal salvation that I enjoin you to place them this very day in a convent?”

“It is for their salvation, father.”

“Well, then, choose!”

“But tell me, I entreat you, father if I have the right to dispose of them without the consent of my husband?”

“The right! you have not only the right, but it is your sacred duty.  Would you not be bound, I ask you, to rescue these unfortunate creatures from a fire, against the will of your husband, or during his absence?  Well! you must now rescue them, not from a fire that will only consume the body, but from one in which their souls would burn to all eternity.”

“Forgive me, I implore you, father,” said the poor woman, whose indecision and anguish increased every minute; “satisfy my doubts!—­How can I act thus, when I have sworn obedience to my husband?”

“Obedience for good—­yes—­but never for evil.  You confess, that, were it left to him, the salvation of these orphans would be doubtful, and perhaps impossible.”

“But, father,” said Frances, trembling, “when my husband returns, he will ask me where are these children?  Must I tell him a falsehood?”

“Silence is not falsehood; you will tell him that you cannot answer his question.”

“My husband is the kindest of men; but such an answer will drive him almost mad.  He has been a soldier, and his anger will be terrible, father,” said Frances, shuddering at the thought.

“And were his anger a hundred times more terrible, you should be proud to brave it in so sacred a cause!” cried the voice, with indignation.  “Do you think that salvation is to be so easily gained on earth?  Since when does the sinner, that would walk in the way of the Lord, turn aside for the stones and briars that may bruise and tear him?”