Mrs. Fitzgerald was affected to tears, as she asked this question, and waited her answer, in silent dread of its nature.
"Is the condition of a change of religion, an immovable one?" inquired Mrs. Wilson, in a thoughtful manner.
"Oh! doubtless," replied Julia, shuddering; "but I am deservedly punished for my early disobedience, and bow in submission to the will of Providence. I feel now all that horror of a change of my religion, I once only affected; I must live and die a Protestant, madam."
"Certainly, I hope so, my dear," said Mrs. Wilson; "I am not a bigot, and think it unfortunate you were not, in your circumstances, bred a pious Catholic. It would have saved you much misery, and might have rendered the close of your father's life more happy; but as your present creed embraces doctrines too much at variance with the Romish church to renounce the one or to adopt the other, with your views, it will be impossible to change your church without committing a heavy offence against the opinions and practices of every denomination of Christians. I should hope a proper representation of this to your uncle would have its weight, or they might be satisfied with your being a Christian, without becoming a Catholic."
"Ah! my dear madam," answered Mrs. Fitzgerald, despairingly, "you little know the opinions of my countrymen on this subject."
"Surely, surely," cried Mrs. Wilson, "parental affection is a stronger feeling than bigotry."
Mrs. Fitzgerald shook her head in a manner which bespoke both her apprehensions and her filial regard.
"Julia ought not, must not, desert her father, dear aunt," said Emily, her face glowing with the ardency of her feelings.
"And ought she to desert her heavenly Father, my child?" asked the aunt, mildly.
"Are the duties conflicting, dearest aunt?"