“What is it, then, my daughter?”
“Father, do not be angry. It is the old hunger wrought up to desperation. I cannot give my boy to be a monk!”
The priest’s face darkened.
“No! no!” madame hurried on. “It is too much to ask of me. And now I have found a bride for him at last. She waits for me in the chapel, fair and pure as the lilies. I am taking her home in triumph.”
“Does Heinrich know of this?”
“Not one word. He cannot fail to love her when he sees her. It is for this I ask your prayers.”
The priest pushed away the purse. “I will have none of this,” he said. “It is far better to see my poor suffer than that this unrighteous deed should be done. You call yourself a Catholic, and pride yourself because your house was always Catholic; and yet you dare say that anything is too much for God to ask of you! I am an old man, madame, and have had many souls to deal with, but I never yet saw one whose vocation was more plain than Heinrich’s to the entire service of God’s church. Will you dare run counter to God’s will?”
“Nay, father, it cannot be his will. Our very name would die out—our heritage pass from us!”
“And suppose it does! Who shall promise you that if Heinrich marries there shall ever be child of his to fill his place? And what are place, and name, and heritage, madame? That which death, or war, or a king’s caprice may snatch away in a moment. But your spiritual heritage shall never die. What mother on earth but might envy you if you give your three sons—your all—to God! Many are the children of the desolate, more than of her that hath an husband, saith the Lord. He maketh a barren woman to dwell in a house the joyful mother of children. There is a place and a name within his walls better than sons and daughters. Do you dream what risk you run, what part you play, when you would tempt from his calling one who, if you leave God to work his own pleasure, shall hereafter shine as the stars through all eternity?”