On the 18th of March, Margaret had returned to luncheon from visiting some sick persons; Martha had staid at home to cut out work to be given to poor women. She entered Margaret's room as she was dressing, holding one hand behind her.
"I have had a note from Dr. James to-day," said Martha. "He is in the city, and we shall see him to-morrow."
Margaret looked up inquiringly.
"You have something else to tell! I see it in your face. Why do you make me wait?"
"I have something else to tell, and this shall tell it for me," she answered, laying a letter down on Margaret's table, and going out of the room. Margaret, with trembling fingers, tore it open and read as follows:
"New York, March 18.
"My Dear Miss Lester: It has not been from disapprobation, nor neglect, nor indifference that I have left your letter so long unanswered. It is because I earnestly desired, if possible, to give you some good news in return for that which you sent me.
"You speak of owing your conversion partly to me, and I am very happy that this should be true; but your letter has done a greater work for me than you thought it could when you wrote it. Miss Lester, I ought to have been where you are now a year ago; but pride of intellect, perversity of will, and, latterly, another obstacle, have stood in my way, and I might have kept on blind and miserable for the rest of my life. You have found the church of God through its treasures of charity, displayed in its works of mercy to the poor, the weak, and the sinful; it was your heart, so to speak, that carried you there. I have found the same church entirely by my mind. I have seen repeatedly shallow prejudices, groundless suspicions, and fanatical attacks met by calm, strong, logical arguments. I have seen the carping opinions of sects dwindling away before the majesty of a revealed faith. I have recognized that intellect, learning, science, philosophy, shine brightest in that church which the scoffers of the day assert to be in her dotage and dissolution. I have been forced at last, to admit her divine authority, and the consequent infallibility of her teaching, and there was but one thing left for me to do. How long would I have resisted light, conviction? I cannot tell. Cowardice, pride, and something else held me back; then your letter came, as a push from a friendly hand to a wretch clinging to the feeble branch which threatens to give way in his grasp and precipitate him into the abyss below, yet fearing to take the leap which will land him on firm ground.
"We have landed on the rock—you and I. God grant that we may stand on it for ever.
"I have much more to say, but can write no more. I have been for a week making a retreat at the house of the —— fathers, and I shall be baptized in their church to-morrow morning, Feast of St. Joseph, after the nine o'clock mass. You will come, will you not? Pray for me.
Francis James."
Margaret read this letter steadily through to the end, and then fell on her knees by her little table, where Martha found her some time after, when she came to summon her to luncheon.
"He has asked me to be his godmother," remarked Martha, as they were sitting at the dining-table.
"Has he? I should think he would have asked me," responded Margaret.
"Don't you remember what you told me once about the spiritual relationship between sponsors and their god-children, and what it precludes?"