“When, in my youth, I ceased to be a Catholic, I did not cease to regard God; but not till I became helpless and friendless did I know the full worth of piety. When I looked round and found no home, I humbly sought my home in the Presence which is every where; when there was no one near to mourn with me, or to love me, it was my true relief to pray; and when I have hope for my children and for my country, it rejoices me to commit it to Him who can fulfil what I can only hope. And above all, when I hear my countrymen curse the authors of their sorrows, it comforts me to disarm those curses with more kindly prayers. Oh! that they would learn that revenge is not for man.”
Mary thought that their friend had learned more from the gospel than he himself was aware of. So thought their father.
“I have been grieved, though not much surprised,” said he, “to perceive how your countrymen long for revenge, and how bitterly they curse their oppressors.”
“Alas!” replied Elvi, “it makes me mourn for them and for our cause. They desire to crush their enemies under their feet, to shed their blood as a welcome libation to freedom, to hunt them as blood-hounds follow their prey; but the noblest hearts feel not thus. The strongest sight looks furthest, and sees a nobler issue than this. I ask them where is their faith, if not in Providence—in liberty. The chains of tyranny are strong, but the consuming power of time is yet stronger. Tyranny now puts forth her force to desolate the lands; but there is an immortal vigour in liberty which shall make her the queen of the world, when prisons shall be razed, and when blood shall cease to be poured out like water. This is the faith which I would give to those who will not receive a better. Yet some of them will not live, even by this faith.”
Mary anxiously listened for what was to come next.
“If they have no higher faith than this,” observed her father, “I do not wonder that they obey the impulse to cast off life and sorrow together.”
“Nor I, my friends; for the temptation is indeed strong.”
“You have felt it to be so.”
“Once: one bitter hour—let us not speak of it. Now I am beyond its reach. I see how poor is the courage which cannot long endure. I see how impious is the impatience which will not wait till the designs of Providence are made known. I pity those who are thus weak, more than they pity me for what remains to me; and for myself—if my lot be to die for my own land, I am ready: if it be to suffer yet many years for her, I am willing. These vows I repeat, as yesterday, on the days which number my years since my birth.”
“Was yesterday your birth-day?”