“So neither your husband nor your son practises,” resumed the voice, in a tone of reflection; “this is serious—very serious. The religious education of these two unfortunate girls has yet to begin. In your house, they will have ever before them the most deplorable examples. Take care! I have warned you. You have the charge of souls—your responsibility is immense!”
“Father, it is that which makes me wretched—I am at a loss what to do. Help me, and give me your counsels: for twenty years your voice has been to me as the voice of the Lord.”
“Well! you must agree with your husband to send these unfortunate girls to some religious house where they may be instructed.”
“We are too poor, father, to pay for their schooling, and unfortunately my son has just been put in prison for songs that he wrote.”
“Behold the fruit of impiety,” said the voice, severely; “look at Gabriel! he has followed my counsels, and is now the model of every Christian virtue.”
“My son, Agricola, has had good qualities, father; he is so kind, so devoted!”
“Without religion,” said the voice, with redoubled severity, “what you call good qualities are only vain appearances; at the least breath of the devil they will disappear—for the devil lurks in every soul that has no religion.”
“Oh! my poor son!” said Frances, weeping; “I pray for him every day, that faith may enlighten him.”
“I have always told you,” resumed the voice, “that you have been too weak with him. God now punishes you for it. You should have parted from this irreligious son, and not sanctioned his impiety by loving him as you do. ‘If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,’ saith the Scripture.”
“Alas, father! you know it is the only time I have disobeyed you; but I could not bring myself to part from my son.”