"But no notice was taken of it; the would-be murderers were never called to account till they appeared before a greater than an earthly tribunal.

"But General G.o.din was presently superseded in his command and shortly after dismissed the service. Two plain indications that the sympathy of the government was with the a.s.sa.s.sins and not at all with their intended victims."

"But is it true, sir?" asked Max.

"Yes; it is true that at that time, in those valleys, and under those circ.u.mstances, such a plot was hatched and its carrying out prevented in the exact way that this story relates."

"Mean, cowardly, wicked fellows they must have been to want to murder the wives and children and burn and plunder the houses of the men that were defending them and theirs from a common enemy!" exclaimed the boy, his face flushing and eyes flashing with righteous indignation.

"Very true; but such are the lessons popery teaches and always has taught; 'no faith with heretics,' no mercy to any who deny her dogmas; and that anything is right and commendable which is done to destroy those who do not acknowledge her authority and to increase her power; one of her doctrines being that the end sanctifies the means!"

"But what did they mean when they said they were going to have a second St. Bartholomew in the valleys?" asked Grace.

"Did you never hear of the ma.s.sacre of St. Bartholomew, daughter?" her father asked, stroking her hair caressingly as she sat upon his knee.

"No, papa; won't you tell me about it?"

"It occurred in France a little more than three hundred years ago; it was a dreadful ma.s.sacre of the Protestants to the number of from sixty to a hundred thousand; and it was begun on the night of the twenty-third of August; which the Papists call St. Bartholomew's Day.

"The Protestants were shot, stabbed, murdered in various ways, in their beds, in the street, any where that they could be found; and for no crime but being Protestants."

"And popery would do the very same now and here, had she the power,"

commented Mr. Dinsmore, "for it is her proudest boast that she never changes. She teaches her own infallibility; and what she has done she will do again if she can."

"What is infallibility, papa?" asked Grace. "To be infallible is to be incapable of error or of making mistakes," he answered. "So popery teaching that she has never done wrong or made a mistake justifies all the horrible cruelties she practised in former times; and, in fact, she occasionally tells us, through some of her bolder or less wary followers, that what she has done she will do again as soon as she attains the power."

"Which she never will in this free land," exclaimed Edward.

"Never, provided Columbia's sons are faithful to their trust; remembering that 'eternal vigilance is the price of liberty,'" responded his grandfather.

Grace was clinging tightly to her father, and her little face was pale and wore a look of fright.

"What is it, darling?" he asked.

"O papa, will they come here some time and kill us?" she asked, tremulously.

"Do not be frightened, my dear little one," he said, holding her close; "you are in no danger from them."

"I don't believe all Roman Catholics would have Protestants persecuted if they could," remarked Betty. "Do you, uncle?"

"No; I think there are some truly Christian people among them," he answered; "some who have not yet heard and heeded the call, 'Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.' We were talking, not of Papists, but of Popery. Sincere hatred of the system is not incompatible with sincere love to its deluded followers."

CHAPTER XI.

"My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up."--_Psalm_ 5:3.

It was early morning; Captain Raymond was pacing to and fro along the top of the cliffs, now sending a glance seaward, and now toward the door of the cottage which was his temporary home, as if expecting a companion in his ramble.

Presently the door opened and Lulu stepped out upon the porch. One eager look showed her father, and she bounded with joyful step to meet him.

"Good-morning, my dear papa," she cried, holding up her face for a kiss, which he gave with hearty affection.

"Good-morning, my dear little early bird," he responded. "Come, I will help you down the steps and we will pace the sands at the water's edge."

This was Lulu's time for having her father to herself, as she phrased it. He was sure to be out at this early hour, if the weather would permit, and she almost equally sure to join him: and as the others liked to lie a little longer in bed, there was seldom any one to share his society with her.

He led her down the long flights of stairs and across the level expanse of sand, close to where the booming waves dashed up their spray.

For some moments the two stood hand in hand silently gazing upon sea and sky, bright with the morning sunlight; then they turned and paced the beach for a time, and then the captain led his little girl to a seat in the porch of a bathing-house, from which they could still look far out over the sea.

"Papa," she said, nestling close to his side, "I am very fond of being down here all alone with you."

"Are you, daughter?" he said, bending down to caress her hair and cheek.

"Well, I dearly love to have my little girl by my side. How long have you been up?"

"I can't tell exactly; because, you know, papa, there is no time-piece in my room. But I wasn't long dressing; for I didn't want to lose a minute of the time I might have out here with you."

"Did you do nothing but put on your clothes after leaving your bed?" he asked, gravely.

"I washed my hands and face and smoothed my hair."

"And was that all?"

She glanced up at him in surprise at the deep gravity of his tone; then suddenly comprehending what his questioning meant, hung her head, while her cheek flushed hotly. "Yes, papa," she replied, in a low, abashed tone.

"I am very, very sorry to hear it," he said. "If my little girl begins the day without a prayer to G.o.d for help to do right, without thanking Him for His kind care over her while she slept, she can hardly expect to escape sins and sorrows which will make it anything but a happy day."

"Papa, I do 'most always say my prayers in the morning and at night; but I didn't feel like doing it this time. Do you think people ought to pray when they don't feel like it?"

"Yes; I think that is the very time when they most need to pray; they need to ask G.o.d to take away the hardness of their hearts; the evil in them that is hiding His love and their own needs; so that they have no grat.i.tude to express for all His great goodness and mercy to them, no pet.i.tions to offer up for strength to resist temptation and to walk steadily in His ways; no desire to confess their sins and plead for pardon for Jesus' sake. Ah! that is certainly the time when we have most urgent need to pray.

"Jesus taught that men (and in the Bible men stand for the whole human race) 'ought always to pray and not to faint.' And we are commanded to pray without ceasing."

"Papa, how can we do that?" she asked. "You know we have to be doing other things sometimes."

"It does not mean that we are to be always on our knees," he said; "but that we are to live so near to G.o.d, so loving Him, and so feeling our constant dependence upon Him, that our hearts will be very often going up to His throne in silent pet.i.tion, praise or confession.

"And if we live in such union with Him we will highly prize the privilege of drawing especially near to Him at certain seasons; we will be glad to be alone with Him often, and will not forget or neglect to retire to our closets night and morning for a little season of close communion with our best and dearest Friend.

"You say you love to be alone with me, your earthly father; I trust the time will come when you will love far better to be alone with your heavenly Father. I must often be far away from you, but He is ever near; I may be powerless to help you, though close at your side, but He is almighty to save, to provide for, and to defend; and He never turns a deaf ear to the cry of His children."

"Yes, papa; but oh I wish that you were always near me too," she said, leaning her cheek affectionately against his arm. "I am very, very sorry that ever I have been a trouble to you and spoiled your enjoyment of your visits home."

"I know you are, daughter; but you have been very good of late. I have rejoiced to see that you were really trying to rule your own spirit. So far as I know, you have been entirely and cheerfully obedient to me, and have not indulged in a single fit of pa.s.sion or sullenness."