unkind; but it is past now. You will not surely

leave us?'

Marion listened at first with astonishment while Lucy told all of her future plans that she was at liberty to disclose, but when Lucy ended by condemning the treachery that had betrayed, and the cruelty that had punished Mark Wentworth, Marion's coldness returned, and she said, 'It is strange that Mr. Wentworth's high principles did not cause him to yield more implicit obedience, where our obedience is due. We are commanded to "obey them that have the rule over us, and to submit ourselves."

'Mark Wentworth yields obedience wherever it is due,' replied Lucy, firmly; 'to God first; to man for the Lord's sake afterwards.'

'Why then does he leave Laytonfield?' asked Marion. "That wherein he has offended will be speedily forgiven, and the light penalty which he now suffers will be speedily removed.'

Lucy shook her head. "The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel," she said, without observing the flush that passed over Marion's features. Did you not hear, Marion, of godly Master Hayden,* who, but a few years ago was charged with the deeds with which they tax Mark Wentworth? He insulted the sanctity of painted windows and carved images, and oh! Marion,' she added, covering her face with both her hands, as if to avoid some terrible sight that was present to her imagination, he was cruelly scourged. He was shut up in a cold dungeon during a whole winter. He was chained too, men say, with heavy irons on his hands and feethis food'

*Neale, vol. ii. p. 202.

"All the fruit of his own obstinacy,' said Marion, interrupting her. 'But Mr. Wentworth will conform. He does not object to the habits, or to the ceremonies, and he will yield in those matters wherein he has now offended.'

Tell me that he

The colour which the excitement of her feelings had spread over Lucy Camden's cheek and brow faded in a moment, leaving only one bright spot, the token of earnestness and indignation. ( Marion,' she said, laying her hand on her cousin's arm, will be doomed to perpetual imprisonment-that he will languish for years in the weary captivity. Tell me that I must stand by while the executioner tears his loved and holy face with the cruel iron, but tell me not that Mark Wentworth is false to his God, or will cease to teach and to walk in the law of his Redeemer. All else I could bear, though heart and flesh should fail in the struggle, but that could I never.'

Marion knew nothing of that religion which takes the first place in the heart, and for itself and its beloved ones, says to the Lord, "Whom have we in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that we desire beside thee." She was strict in external devotions, exact in relative duties, but she had no idea of that love to God which becomes, if it may be so expressed, the master passion of the soul, and thus ruling on the throne of the heart, elevates, deepens, and refines every other. 6 'This is enthusiasm, Lucy,' she said, and not religion. Do you indeed think that the godly bishops and fathers of the church would punish a Christian man for too much religion? They fear schism, and disorder in the church, and therefore press conformity. I do not understand your creed, but

'True, thou dost not,' said Lucy, with affectionate

earnestness, or thou wouldest understand how the feet run in the way of God's commandments when He enlarges the heart." Thou wouldest understand how a Christian man could "walk at liberty"-could walk with God even in the presence of kings and counsellors.' 'I like not the liberty whereof too many boast in these days,' replied Marion. It savours strangely of a license to live as we list.'

6

'The Lord's freedman,' answered Lucy, will list to live even as his Lord listeth. His delight is in the law of his God, and he remembers that one precept of that law speaks thus, "Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsars;" but Marion, he forgets not that another says, "And unto God, the things that are God's."

The entrance of Lady Clive prevented Marion's reply, and the latter relieved Lucy by at once declaring to her mother, her cousin's intention to leave Laytonfield, and take shelter in the dwelling of her aunt Redford. Lucy, whose heart still yearned over the relatives she was leaving, was surprised and hurt at the comparative coldness with which they heard of her intention.

"Thou art a silly girl, Lucy,' said her aunt, and wilt one day repent thee for thus following the guidance of thy foolish heart, and putting thy soul in jeopardy through the influence of that old heretic Catherine Redford.'

CHAPTER VI.

'WHAT is heresy?' said Lucy Camden to herself, as in the privacy of her own apartment she thought upon Lady Clive's words. She had been early taught that

all opposition to the Catholic or orthodox church was heresy. 'And what is the Catholic or orthodox church? Nay, this is a difficult problem,' thought Lucy again, seeing if we solve it, as it is commonly solved, William Laud has been long since condemned as a heretic by his reverend predecessors. I will see what the scripture saith on this matter.'

The scripture told her of heretics, who, putting away faith, made shipwreck of a good conscience*—of a heresy that as a cankert eats into true piety, and overthrows the faith of some. She thought of Hymeneus and Philetus, who opposed the doctrines of inspired apostles. Of this sin at least,' she said, 'Catharine Redford is guiltless. Her husband died for rejecting Episcopal authority, and her heart requires his blood at the bishop's hands. This then is her heresy.'

It was near midnight. Lucy Camden could not sleep. Hope, fear, and more than all, uncertainty, kept her thoughts wide awake. At length she rose from her uneasy couch, and taking the lamp which stood on the table beside her, gently opened the door of her apartment. She listened for a moment, and finding that all around her was at rest, she proceeded along the corridor, at the end of which was a back staircase. Down this she descended, and after passing through a short passage at the foot of the stairs, she reached a private door by which Lady Clive was accustomed to enter the chapel this door she hastily unlocked.

It was a sudden, an almost unaccountable impulse that brought Lucy Camden at that unseasonable hour to the chapel. She had not been in it for many weeks.

* 1 Tim. i. 19.

† 2 Tim. ii. 17.

Changes, that she knew were being carried into effect, justified to her own conscience, her refusal to join in the services celebrated there. Now, as she stood within the door, surprise for a moment banished every other feeling.

The Lord's table had been removed from the middle of the aisle, and at the east end, exactly opposite the spot on which Lucy stood, was an altar raised three steps from the floor. It was covered with a large purple cloth, elaborately embroidered, and surrounded by a gilded railing. A large painting was suspended over the altar. Before it burned a lamp, whose pale light revealed with thrilling effect the holiness, and the death, which were delineated in the Saviour's countenance. It was a picture of the crucifixion. Several other paintings hung in different parts of the chapel, but the lesser decorative items scarcely attracted Lucy's attention. It was the striking aspect of the whole, and more than all that picture which wrought upon her powerful imagination. She gazed at it for a moment in silence; the next she turned resolutely away. 'Such emotions are the very germ of idolatry,' she said to herself. The senses first admire, the heart begins to feel solemn and devout, and next the fool who stands looking at the painted canvass, fancies his heart is swelling with love to Him "who only hath immortality, dwelling in the light which no man can approach unto." Oh! Lucy,' so her thoughts ran on, What has withheld thee from being the veriest idol-worshipper in the land? Not the strength of thy own mind. Not thy poor slippery deceitful heart: that even now had led thee astray, but for his grace-his changeless grace.'

As Lucy thus communed with her own heart, she was alarmed by hearing a movement in another part