"You have done wisely and chosen the better part," we said. "Your life in consequence is peaceful and happy."

"It could not be more so," answered Rosalie. "I have my earthly shekinah to lighten my path. My heart is so much in my work that if I lived for a century I should never weary of it. What higher mission or greater privilege could there be? I am constantly at the bedside of the sick, a.s.sisting the last moments of the dying, helping to restore others to health. The love they give me is unbounded. My existence is made up of love. I feel I have many in the other world who pray for me, perhaps watch over my daily life."

"But are they not in purgatory?" For of course Rosalie was a Roman Catholic.

"I do not believe in purgatory," she murmured in subdued tones. "I have seen many die who cannot possibly be going to torment. If there be a transition state, it is one of bliss and holiness, where the soul, in grat.i.tude to G.o.d for His mercies, grows and expands until it becomes fit for the heaven of heavens."

"But this is perplexing. Here are two devout Romanists who reject the very first conditions of their faith. Anselmo believes not in confession, you reject purgatory. Of course we agree with you, but then we are Protestants."

"Hush!" murmured Rosalie. "The very walls of Gerona have ears. We can only act up to our convictions, and where they disagree with the Church keep differences to ourselves. What Anselmo believes, I believe. It is wonderful how we think alike in all great matters. This morning I had the privilege of a long conversation with Pere Delormais, who is staying for a week here. There, indeed, is a broad-minded Churchman who ought to be Pope of Rome. He would favour Protestants as much as Roman Catholics--and scandalise the narrow-minded community. In that he reminds me of the Abbe Fenelon, who is so earnest and devout. Do you know his 'Spiritual Letters,' senor?"

"It is one of our favourite books, Rosalie. Those who read and follow Fenelon will hardly go wrong. We have always felt he was a Protestant at heart."

"A follower of Christ at heart," returned Rosalie, "without distinction of forms and ceremonies. To him if the heart was right, the rest mattered little. He cared not whether a soul worshipped within or without the Church of Rome. Would that all errors could be swept away and we were all Protestants and Catholics, united in one creed and ritual, even as we worship the one true G.o.d and believe in the all-sufficient Saviour."

"That day is far distant. We must wait the millennium, Rosalie. Until then it is not to be peace but a sword. The bitterest persecutors are those who fight for what they call Religion."

"'A man's foes shall be they of his own household,'" quoted Rosalie.

"That applies equally to the 'Household of Faith.' There is the prophecy. I suppose we must not look for a Church Triumphant until the Church Militant has ceased. But I must go my way. Senor, I rejoice that you spoke to me. I am glad to know you. Whether the acquaintance be of hours or years, you are evidently Anselmo's friends, therefore mine. Do not think my heart closed to all human interests because I wear a religious garb and go through life as Sister Anastasia, ministering to the sick and dying. On the contrary, I take pleasure in all the worldly concerns of my friends. I like to hear of their being married and given in marriage. Nothing delights me more than the sight of a happy home and devoted family. And I like to hear of all the changes, improvements, inventions that are turning the world upside down and revolutionising the lives of men. If you are staying in Gerona we shall meet again. I am constantly flitting to and fro. My life is a great privilege, as I have said. You will keep a corner in your heart for me and for Anselmo; one niche for both. Adieu, senor. Adieu."

She glided away rapidly with her quiet graceful motion; an angel of mercy, we thought, if earth ever held one.

"Never, never should I have had strength to give her up," said H. C., following her with all his susceptible nature in his eyes. "This morning I admired Anselmo, now I feel quite angry with him."

"You do wrong and are mistaken. It was her choosing, not his. He behaved n.o.bly. They have found their vocation. Both are happy, and we cannot doubt it is Heaven's ordering. There is no shadow in their lives; remember how rare that is. You know Mrs. Plarr's lines:

'There are twin Genii both strong and mighty, Under their guidance mankind retain, Never divided where one can enter, Ever the other doth entrance gain; And the name of the lovely one is Pleasure, And the name of the loathly one is Pain.'

For them the genii have separated. Their life has no pain. Think of Rosalie's vision. Had they married it might have been all sorrow and suffering. No, best as it is. Their story is an idyll too perfect for this world. They have had their romance, and have kept it."

CHAPTER VIII.

MOTHER AND SON.

Demons at work--In the crowd--Ernesto and his mother--Roasted chestnuts--Instrument of torture--New school of anatomy--Rhine-stones or diamonds?--Happy mother--Honest confession--Danger of edged tools--Cayenne lozenges for the monkeys--Joseph--Early compliments--Ernesto pleads in vain--Down by the river--Music of the reeds--Rich prospect--Faust--Singers of the world--Joseph takes tickets--Gerona keeps late hours--Its little great world--Between the acts--Successful evening--In the dark night--On the bridge--Silence and solitude--Astral bodies--Joseph turns Job's comforter--Magnetism--Delormais psychological--Alone in the streets--Saluting the Church militant--Haunted staircase again--Sighs and rustlings--H. C. retires--"Drink to me only with thine eyes"--Delormais' challenge--Leads the way--Illumination--Coffee equipage--"Only the truth is painful"--Lost in reverie.

We were facing the wonderful arcades which still seemed haunted by Rosalie's shadow, so vivid the impression she left behind her. It was one of the most striking bits of Gerona the beautiful, with its ma.s.sive masonry and deep recesses requiring sunlight to relieve their mysterious gloom.

In a few moments we stood once more on the bridge, looking upon the remarkable scene. The demons were in full work down in the dry bed of the river; their altars threw out tongues of flame as wood, coal and braise mingled their elements, and the air seemed full of the scent of roasted chestnuts.

Those marvellous houses stood on either side with their old-world outlines and weather-beaten stains. Above them rose the towers of Gerona's churches, sharply cutting the grey sky. To our right, the boulevard stretched far down, with its waving, rustling trees. All the shows were in full operation; streams of people went to and fro; the booths were making a fortune; the Dutch auction was giving away its wares--if the auctioneer might be relied on.

We joined the crowd and presently felt a tug at our elbow. It was Ernesto with radiant face, his hands full of chestnuts freely offered and accepted. We found it easy to persuade ourselves the indigestible horrors were excellent.

"Ernesto, you are taking liberties," said his mother, as the boy took our arm to confide his purchases. A Rhine-stone brooch for the mother, which Mrs. Malaprop would have declared quite an object of bigotry and virtue; a wonderful knife for himself, full of sharp blades and secret springs. A purse capable of holding gold, and a pocket-book that would soon become dropsical with a boy's treasures. Finally, from the innermost recess of a trousers' pocket, he produced for an instant--a catapult; to be held a profound secret from the mother.

"It keeps her awake at night," he confided; "and when she does get to sleep she dreams of smashed windows and murdered cats. Now I never smash windows, though I do go for the cats when I have a chance. It does them no harm. If I hit them, you hear a thud like a sound from a drum--the cats are not over-fed in these parts--but instead of tumbling down dead, which would be exciting, they rush off like mad."

"Perhaps they die afterwards, Ernesto, of fractured liver or broken heart."

This was at once negatived.

"Oh no, cats haven't livers and hearts like human beings. Their insides are nothing but india-rubber. You can't kill a cat. If one fell from the top of San Filiu, it would get up, shake its paws and run away."

We noted this revelation, intending to bring it before the Faculty on our return to England, which evidently still gropes in Egyptian darkness. The catapult was restored to safe depths, and before long no doubt many a domestic tabby would be missing; there would be widowed cats and orphaned kittens in many a household.

Then Ernesto, drawing us under an arcade out of the throng of the fair, insisted upon fastening his mother's mantilla with the new brooch that we might all admire the flashing stones.

"I believe they have made a mistake, and these are real diamonds," he cried excitedly, kissing his mother and duly admiring the effect. "And I haven't spent half my pocket-money yet."

"Thanks to you, senor," said the happy mother. "I was his first thought.

He bought me the brooch before he would look at a knife or chestnut. It shall be kept amongst my treasures."

She was evidently almost as happy and light-hearted as the boy, her eyes flashing with proud affection. No great care haunted her life in spite of her conjugal good-morning.

"Confess that your lot is favoured," we said, "and you would not change your lazy husband even if you had the chance. Confess you adore him and are to be envied."

"Well, senor, you are not my father-confessor," she laughed, "but I will confess to you all the same. I admit I would rather bear the ills I have than fly to those of which I know nothing," unconsciously quoting Shakespeare.

"Then the conjugal good-morning must be a little sweetened. It is dangerous to play with edged tools."

Again she laughed, a laugh free from anxiety.

"We understand each other, senor. If I received him too amiably he would not appear upon the scene till twelve o'clock. Not that I really mind; but it is a bad example for Ernesto. The boy, however, takes after me.

Never will gra.s.s grow under his feet."

Ernesto was impatient to be off; he must certainly act up to the proverb to-day.

"Now for the shows," cried the lad. "We are losing too much time here. I smell roasted chestnuts, but their flavour is better. We must cross the iron bridge to get to the shows. I want to hear the lions growl, and administer cayenne lozenges to the monkeys. It is great fun to see them.

You must often have done the same, senor?"

We virtuously disowned the impeachment. But he was full of harmless mischief, after the manner of boys healthy in mind and body; free and open in his thoughts and ways.

A few minutes and we found ourselves in the market-place listening to the clown who had used superhuman exertions last night, still apparently in excellent health and spirits. Night was the great harvest-time, but even now his labours were receiving fair success. The people had got over their first glamour and were responding.

"There is Jose, your landlord's son, senor, looking to right and left,"

said madame, in the interval between two terrific trumpet blasts.

"Probably searching for you. Ah! he sees us."

The tall, slight young man was making his way through the few remaining stalls in the market. These sold nothing but fruit and were altogether neglected. Gerona did not shine in that department.

"I have been looking for you everywhere," said our young host as he came up, bowing politely after the fashion of his country. "I thought, senor, you might want me to pilot you about the town; but you are in the hands of a fairer guide, and I am not needed."

Joseph had evidently not pursued his studies at Tours for nothing, and was beginning early to turn compliments.