"My dear, that is more than I can tell you," answered Mrs. Thorpe. "His father and mother were so, and he was brought up in that way. My own impression is that he is not much of anything."
"You do not mean that he has no religion at all!" said Amabel, startled.
"If he hasn't, he is not the only one,—more's the pity say I," answered the good woman. "But in England just now, as I understand is the case here, a great many fine gentlemen profess infidelity just as they carry clouded canes and tortoise-shell snuff-boxes. But your aunts, your mother's sisters, are very religious ladies, in their way, and keep their church regularly—so my sister-in-law tells me, who lives in the same parish."
"Shall we have to go to church with them?" I asked.
"My dear Mrs. Corbet, if I were you, I would leave that to settle itself," replied Mrs. Thorpe. "You cannot tell just how you may find things, and there is no use in borrowing trouble. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'"
"That is what I always tell Lucy," said Amabel, "but she picks out her knots a dozen times before she comes to them, or they are made at all. But what a nice proverb that is you repeated. Please say it again."
"Proverb, child! Why, 'tis in the Gospel. Our Lord himself said it. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' Lay it to heart, my dears. It will save you a great deal of trouble."
I never knew how or when Sister Angela propounded her notable plan to Mother Superior, but I can make a good guess that it was that very afternoon. For she appeared at the table with very red cheeks and all the sisters were so very meek and silent, that I fancy they had got what Mrs. Thorpe would have called a wigging at "obedience." Mother Superior never mentioned the matter to us, and of course we never said anything to her. Not but she might have considered all fair in the cause of the church, and the saving of souls, but I think she naturally revolted at anything underhanded, and, besides, our community had too recently emerged from a heavy cloud of disgrace and danger to run any such risk as would have been incurred by the spiriting away of two English girls of good family at that time.
Sunday passed as rapidly as last days always do. On Monday the carriage bespoken by Mrs. Thorpe came to the door. We bade a tearful farewell to our old friends and home, and parted from them forever.
And in this place, I may as well say what I think about convent life. I am far from believing all the scandalous tales that are told, though one may learn from the writings of Roman Catholic authors, as well as from the history of Mother Angelique herself, what disorders have sometimes existed in them. But I do say the whole system is an unnatural and, therefore, an unhealthy one, and it is liable to great abuses.