Loud exclamations of applause burst from the company; and all crowded eagerly around the father. In the meanwhile the servants entered, bearing refreshments; the master of the mansion, again addressing Father Christopher, said, “Father, afford me a proof of your friendship by accepting some of these trifles.”
“Such things are no longer for me,” replied the father; “but if you will allow me a loaf of bread, as a memorial of your charity and your forgiveness, I shall be thankful.” The bread was brought, and with an air of humble gratitude he put it in his basket. He then took leave of the company; disentangled himself with difficulty from the crowd in the antechambers, who would have kissed the hem of his garment, and pursued his way to the gate of the city, whence he commenced his pedestrian journey towards the place of his noviciate.
It is not our design to write the history of his cloistral life; we will only say, he executed faithfully the offices ordinarily assigned to him, of preaching, and of comforting the dying; but beyond these, “the oppressor’s wrongs, the proud man’s contumely,” aroused in him a spirit of resistance which humiliation and remorse had not been able entirely to extinguish. His countenance was habitually mild and humble, but occasionally there passed over it a shade of former impetuosity, which was with difficulty restrained by the high and holy motives which now predominated in his soul. His tone of voice was gentle as his countenance; but in the cause of justice and truth, his language assumed a character of solemnity and emphasis singularly impressive. One who knew him well, and admired his virtues, could often perceive, by the smothered utterance or the change of a single word, the inward conflict between the natural impetus and the resolved will, which latter never failed to gain the mastery.
If one unknown to him in the situation of Lucy had implored his assistance, he would have granted it immediately; with how much more solicitude, then, did he direct his steps to the cottage, knowing and admiring her innocence, trembling for her danger, and experiencing a lively indignation at the persecution of which she had become the object. Besides, he had advised her to remain quiet, and not make known the conduct of her persecutor, and he felt or feared that his advice might have been productive of bad consequences. His anxiety for her welfare, and his inadequate means to secure it, called up many painful feelings, which the good often experience.
But while we have been relating his history, he arrived at the dwelling; Agnes and her daughter advanced eagerly towards him, exclaiming in one breath, “Oh! Father Christopher, you are welcome.”
CHAPTER V.
Father Christopher perceived immediately, from the countenances of Lucy and her mother, that some evil had occurred. “Is all well with you?” said he. Lucy replied by a flood of tears. “Quiet yourself, poor child,” continued he; “and do you,” turning to Agnes, “tell me what is the matter.” Whilst the good dame proceeded with the melancholy relation, he experienced a variety of painful emotions. The story being done, he buried his face in his hands, and exclaimed, “Oh, blessed God! how long?”—He then turned to Lucy; “Poor child! God has, indeed, visited you,” said he.
“You will not abandon us, father?” said Lucy, sobbing.
“Abandon you!” replied he. “How should I dare ask the protection of Almighty God for myself, if I abandoned you! You, so defenceless!—you, whom he has confided to me! Take courage! He will assist you—His eye beholds you—He can even make use of a feeble instrument like myself to confound a ——. Let us think what can be done.”