“They must be heathens!” cried the voice, in a tone of angry surprise.
“That is what so much grieves me, father; for, as I and my husband are in the room of parents to these young orphans, we should be guilty of the sins which they might commit—should we not, father?”
“Certainly,—since you take the place of those who ought to watch over their souls. The shepherd must answer for his flock,” said the voice.
“And if they should happen to be in mortal sin, father, I and my husband would be in mortal sin?”
“Yes,” said the voice; “you take the place of their parents; and fathers and mothers are guilty of all the sins which their children commit when those sins arise from the want of a Christian education.”
“Alas, father! what am I to do? I address myself to you as I would to heaven itself. Every day, every hour, that these poor young girls remain heathens, may contribute to bring about their eternal damnation, may it not, father?” said Frances, in a tone of the deepest emotion.
“Yes,” answered the voice; “and the weight of this terrible responsibility rests upon you and your husband; you have the charge of souls!”
“Lord, have mercy upon me!” said Frances weeping.
“You must not grieve yourself thus,” answered the voice, in a softer tone; “happily for these unfortunates, they have met you upon the way. They, will have in you and your husband good and pious examples—for I suppose that your husband, though formerly an ungodly person, now practices his religious duties!”
“We must pray for him, father,” said Frances, sorrowfully; “grace has not yet touched his heart. He is like my poor child, who has also not been called to holiness. Ah, father!” said Frances, drying her tears, “these thoughts are my heaviest cross.”