It was natural she should turn to the bosom of that Church, before whose altar she had seen her own soul as in a mirror, and whose anointed priest seemed to have been chosen of God for her awakening and instruction.
A few years earlier, she might have had prejudices to overcome; though slight, for one brought up an Episcopalian. That her uncle lived and died a good and true Catholic, and that her embittered aunt had embraced and become greatly attached to the true Church, had insensibly recommended it to her confidence. At first, she deemed herself unworthy to enter the fold. She had broken, in thought, one of its stringent laws. What she had come to regard as but a venial error, now appeared to her as an unpardonable sin. So unpardonable, indeed, that left to herself, she might have despaired of forgiveness, and returned to it cherishingly, seven times worse than before. But this aged Missioner, wise and experienced, knew well how to guide this untried soul. She was not the first, by hundreds and thousands, who had knelt to him for direction. He well understood the malady, and like a skillful physician, knew what remedies to apply.
In a week, at the close of the Mission, Althea was ready for baptism. She had her catechism by heart, and was pretty well grounded in instruction. She had faith which would remove mountains, a confident hope in Jesus, and a willing heart and hand for Christian action. She stumbled not over Transubstantiation, nor Confession, nor any of the Seven Sacraments. She embraced them with a loving heart and a simple faith, not questioning but they were of God, since they were in His own Church.
Whispers and winks were on the increase among Protestants. To secure an election according to his own ideas, Mr. Rush had placed his wife where she had made her own calling and election sure. This fact was slow in dawning upon him, but when it had fairly caught his vision, it shone with the effulgence of the sun. His friends had no pity for him. He had placed his wife in the fire; what could he expect but that she would be burned? It did not alter the case that Mrs. Sharp had been also in the fire, but came out unconsumed. She was made of sterner stuff. Stubble would burn, but rocks were incombustible.
Althea anticipated a storm; but she braved it, and asked Thornton's consent to her baptism. She might as well have asked the mountain to come down and be bathed in the sea. He was fierce as the whirlwind, unrelenting as death. His words of scorn and anger poured down like a water-spout, but unlike this element of destruction, his fury became not spent.
He forbade her attendance at the closing exercises of the Mission, or any further discourse with the Jesuit. Of this Jesuit, he had jocosely asserted he was going to take lessons in the art of intrigue. He deemed the lesson had been given without his seeking, and it was no less galling from his secret conviction that it was all his own fault.
Had his wife asked his permission to join either of the other sects, he would have answered her with an indifferent laugh and sneer. That would have been of no consequence. She could have been a Methodist, or a Universalist, anything but a Catholic! Like a Pagan Diocletian, he would have gathered all Catholics together, and thrown them to wild beasts. The coming election had lost for him its interest. It had cost him dear. Everything might go to Sharp and the dogs; one thing was certain—his wife should not become a Catholic. He remained steadily at Vine Cottage, a Cerberus to guard his domain. The Missioner would leave Windsor on the morrow. Althea wrote him a brief note, which she sent by Mary, asking him what she should do.
His reply was this verbal message: "Wait—and trust in God!" Mary delivered this faithfully, and added:
"He said, ma'am, to tell you that he would never forget to pray for you at every Mass he should say."
"God will hear his prayer," was Althea's thought, and she was comforted.