January wore away, and February, and at last, on one of the first days of the first month of spring, a raw and dreary day, when Dr. James had been glad that no patient needed his attendance, he had made a bright little fire, and was sitting in his study chair, deeply engaged with the last number of The Catholic World, which Father Barry had lent him. Richards came in from the post-office, laid the doctor's mail upon the table, and then went home to his mother's house. Dr. James very deliberately finished the article he was reading, stared at the fire for a few minutes, and then carelessly took up his letters and glanced at the handwritings. There was one from his sister Lucy, one from a medical friend at the West, and—what was this?—one in a clear, firm hand, which gave him a start, and brought him very quickly out of his reverie.
"From Margaret Lester! What can she have to say to me?"
A misgiving came over him as he held the letter in his hand, and he delayed opening it. What might not her boldness and independence be capable of! He smiled contemptuously as he realized that his imagination was running away with him.
"She is engaged, I suppose," and he quickly broke the seal.
"My Dear Friend: I write to you because this is the very happiest day of my life, and because I owe that happiness, after God, to you.
"Do you remember your words, 'For the direction of practical, systematic good works, I advise you to go to the Catholic priest'? Well, I established myself in New York with the object of making myself happy by doing as much good to the poor as I was able; and as soon as I asked myself how I should begin, I thought of your words, and said to myself, 'I found how true that advice was in that quiet little town; now, why should it not hold good in a great city like this, where there is so much more misery, and where opportunities for doing good are so much greater?' So I said to my cook, whom I found to be a good Catholic, going to her confessions and communions regularly, 'Where does your priest live? For I want to go and see him.' She gladly told me where to find him, and I went where she directed me, and found an old, white-headed Frenchman with most courtly manners, before whom I felt as unpolished as a school-girl. I told him the simple truth, and asked to be instructed as to how I could aid the poor. Well, we sat down, and he gave me a little sketch of the different Catholic charities in New York, and each one, as he described it, seemed to me best of all; and I saw how much more good I could do by aiding those perfectly organized charities than by working on my own responsibility. He ended by telling me of a lady who would take me with her and show me all these institutions.
"From that day began for me a life of revelations. I had always dreamed of lives of heroism; and I began to see that they were not only possible, but of every-day occurrence among those men and women devoted to works of mercy. Then came the question, What is it that inspires such self-sacrifice, such complete abnegation and ignoring of self, such all-embracing charity and purity of motive? For in no case could I see a trace of any personal advantage to be gained from these almost superhuman labors. And then, Dr. James, I began to look into the doctrine of that church which all my life I had been taught to regard as the teacher of falsehood, superstition, and idolatry.
"The result has been that a week ago I was baptized a Roman Catholic, and this day, for the first time, I have received our Lord Jesus Christ in the most holy communion.
"O my friend! God's goodness has been great to me, and I am as happy as a person should be who has found there is such a thing as heaven upon earth. This is why I have written to you, because my heart, in its gratitude to God, turns next to you; and also because I wish you to hear from no one except myself of this great change in my life.
"And now, I cannot end my letter without one more word. I have another saying of yours in my mind; was it not this? 'Do as well as you know how, and then be at peace.' That is true; yet it is not all that will be required of us. We ought to try to know the best thing, and then do what we know as well as we can.
"Good-by, and God bless you.
"Margaret.
"P.S.—Martha Burney, after trying her best to dissuade me, had the justice to examine what I was about, and she was received into the church this very day."
Father Barry received this news by the same mail as Dr. James, and from him Margaret heard at once. The pious priest wrote a letter full of joy and congratulation, of good advice and blessing; but to her other letter no answer was received. Two weeks passed, and no word came. Miss Selina had written a reproachful and admonitory letter, assuring Margaret that it was not too late, and while life was spared her she could draw back. She insinuated that a plan of rescue could be easily arranged, and offered her home as an asylum to the fugitive.
Margaret laughed over this letter, and showed it to her friends with great glee. However, she wrote back a kind and soothing answer, which softened her aunt a little, though the subject continued a very sore one for a long time. To think that she should have been a month in the same house with Margaret, never suspecting the machinations of which the poor child was being made the victim! But when she applied to Dr. James for sympathy, he said abruptly,
"I don't agree with you at all, ma'am. Miss Lester has done right because she has consulted her own conscience, and been brave enough not to stop for what the world or her friends would say or think."
He then changed the subject; and Miss Spelman was so much scandalized that she never spoke of it again.