"Because I want it," he returned, smiling.
"What do you want it for?" she exclaimed, instantly alarmed at his look and tone.
"Because, dear mother, I want it to use; I am a Roman Catholic."
"A Roman Catholic! You might as well plunge this dagger into my heart," said his mother, "as tell me that. Dearly as I love you, I would much rather see you dead and buried."
"And I," said George quietly, "would much rather be dead and buried than ever be a Protestant again."
"What infatuation! But how came you to be a Catholic, and what put it into your head to change your religion?"
George began to tell her of an acquaintance formed on the outward voyage with a Catholic priest, who was bound for the same port as himself; of the inexplicable attraction which drew him to this man; of the charm of his conversation and manners; of their discussions; of the books which he lent him; of his tender and fatherly advice and instructions—here Mrs. Hartland interposed an expression of impatience and contempt—"in short, dear mother," pursued the young man earnestly and quietly, "I became perfectly convinced that the Catholic religion is the only true religion; and as I did not choose to risk my salvation by living any longer without it, I was received into the church before I left Valparaiso."
"Well, I feel as if all the happiness of my life were blighted."
"I am sorry you feel so, dear mother; I am grieved to pain you, but there was no help for it; you would not have me violate my conscience."
"There is such a thing as an ill-enlightened conscience."