"I don't know, sir," answered the man.
"The horse is a mare, if you please, sir. She's
the highest-couraged thing we've got in the
stables. Her name's Brown Molly, sir; and
she'll go till she drops. Sir Percival usually
takes Isaac of York for the short distances."

"And your shining courageous Brown Molly
for the long?"

"Yes, sir."

"Logical inference, Miss Halcombe,"
continued the Count, wheeling round briskly, and
addressing me: "Sir Percival is going a long
distance to-day."

I made no reply. I had my own inferences to
draw, from what I knew through the
housekeeper and from what I saw before me; and I
did not choose to share them with Count Fosco.

When Sir Percival was in Cumberland (I
thought to myself), he walked away a long
distance, on Anne's account, to question the family
at Todd's Corner. Now he is in Hampshire, is
he going to drive away a long distance, on
Anne's account again, to question Mrs. Catherick
at Welmingham?

We all entered the house. As we crossed the
hall, Sir Percival came out from the library to
meet us. He looked hurried and pale and
anxious—but, for all that, he was in his most
polite mood, when he spoke to us.

"I am sorry to say, I am obliged to leave
you," he began—"a long drive—a matter that
I can't very well put off. I shall be back in
good time to-morrow—but, before I go, I
should like that little business-formality, which
I spoke of this morning, to be settled. Laura,
will you come into the library? It won't take
a minute—a mere formality. Countess, may I
trouble you also? I want you and the Countess,
Fosco, to be witnesses to a signature—nothing
more. Come in at once, and get it over."

He held the library door open until they had
passed in, followed them, and shut it softly.

I remained, for a moment afterwards, standing
alone in the hall, with my heart beating fast,
and my mind misgiving me sadly. Then, I went
on to the staircase, and ascended slowly to my
own room.

PHASES OF PAPAL FAITH.

ONE of the most curious facts in the history
of the Popes is, that they may readily be divided
into series, each marked by characteristics
common to all the pontiffs in that set, and differing
in a marked manner from those of the preceding
and following series. We have hectoring popes,
who trample on crowned heads; and meek popes,
who deserve in some sort the hypocritical title
of "Servus Servorum," affected by all of them.
We have ecclesiastical popes, in whom the
clerical tendency has overridden the monarchical
character; and "royal-minded" popes, in whom
considerations of temporal sovereignty have well-
nigh obliterated the sacerdotal element. There
have been warrior popes, whose efforts have
been devoted to the aggrandisement of the
dominions of the Church; and family-founding
popes, who have sacrificed all other considerations
to the establishment of their name among
the great ones of the earth. We have had
epicurean popes, and ascetic popes; free-thinking
popes, and fanatical popes; profligate popes,
and respectable popes; do-nothing popes, and
earnest popes—men as various in character
as may be found in any other line of potentates
or dignitaries. But the remarkable thing
is, that we almost always find three or four, or
more, of a sort together, a fact that at once
suggests the reflection that the popes have, with
wonderful accuracy and most plastic adaptability,
taken their colour from the possibilities of the
times, from the changing position and requirements
of the Church, and, above all, from the
varying amount of opposition and hostility
Church doctrines have been exposed to. Kings,
emperors, and other rulers, have at various times
had to adapt themselves, more or less, to the
necessities imposed on them by the spirit of their
age. But they have never done so as
completely and remarkably as the popes have. Nor
could they do so. For, in hereditary lay
governments, the most critical times had to be dealt
with, as best they might, by the prince whom
the lot of heirship had placed upon the throne.
But the popes were selected at elections recurring
at short intervals. The popes of the
fifteenth century, thirteen in number, reigned, on
an average, seven years, eight months, and a few
days each. The popes of the sixteenth century,
seventeen in number, reigned, on an average,
only six years each. Those of the seventeenth
century, eleven in number, reigned eight years,
eight months and a half, or thereabouts, each.
The "Sacred College" of Cardinals, therefore,
were never long without an opportunity of
choosing such a man as the colour of the time
needed or permitted. And, notwithstanding the
amount of corrupt influence which was always
brought to bear on these elections—so loudly
proclaimed to be made by the direct and special
inspiration of God—the regularity with which the
characteristics of the popes reflect the
characteristics of the phases of Church history is very
remarkable.

As a general rule, fear has been the motive for
amelioration. And in the highest ecclesiastical, as
in the humblest secular, matters, the competition
of a rival establishment has been the most potent
stimulus to improvement.

Improvement? Yes, certainly improvement.
For it must be admitted to be an improvement
when a man applies his energies to the discharge
of the functions entrusted to him, instead of
either exerting no energies at all, or applying
them to other and incompatible objects. Yet
it is necessary to bear in mind the nature of
such improvement. It must be remembered that
the functions and conditions of the office to be
discharged are essentially such, that the more
thorough and energetic the discharge of them,
the greater is the evil inflicted on the present
welfare, and, more still, on the future prospects
of mankind, probably even also on the soul and
spiritual nature of the man himself elected to