but of the penitent and servant of all men,
the Poor Clare, Sister Magdalen."

'' Sir," said I, "I listen to your request with
respect; only I may tell you it is not needed
to urge me to do all that I can on behalf of
one, love for whom is part of my very life.
If for a time I have absented myself from
her, it is to think and work for her redemption.
I, a member of the English Church—
my uncle, a Puritan—pray morning and
night for her by name: the congregations of
London, on the next Sabbath, will pray for
one unknown, that she may be set free from
the Powers of Darkness. Moreover, I must
tell you, sir, that those evil ones touch not
the great calm of her soul. She lives her
own pure and loving life, unharmed and
untainted, though all men fall off from her. I
would I could have her faith!"

My uncle now spoke.

"Nephew," said he, " it seems to me that
this gentleman, although professing what I
consider an erroneous creed, has touched
upon the right point in exhorting Bridget to
acts of love and mercy, whereby to wipe out
her sin of hate and vengeance. Let us strive
after our fashion, by almsgiving and visiting
of the needy and fatherless, to make our
prayers acceptable. Meanwhile, I myself
will go down into the north, and take charge
of the maiden. I am too old to be daunted
by man or demon. I will bring her to this
house as to a home; and let the Double
come, if it will! A company of godly
divines shall give it the meeting, and we will
try issue."

The kindly, brave old man! But Father
Bernard sate on musing.

'" All hate," said he, " cannot be quenched
in her heart; all Christian forgiveness cannot
have entered into her soul, or the demon
would have lost its power. You said, I
think, that her grandchild was still
tormented '?"

"Still tormented! " I replied, sadly, thinking
of Mistress Clarke's last letter.

He rose to go. We afterwards heard that
the occasion of his coming to London was a
secret political mission on behalf of the
Jacobites. Nevertheless, he was a good and
a wise man.

Months and months passed away without
any change. Lucy entreated my uncle to
leave her where she was,—dreading, as I
learnt, lest if she came, with her fearful
companion, to dwell in the same house with me,
that my love could not stand the repeated
shocks to which I should be doomed. And
this she thought from no distrust of the
strength of my affection, but from a kind of
pitying sympathy for the terror to the nerves
which she observed that the demoniac visitation
caused in all.

I was restless and miserable. I devoted
myself to good works; but I performed them
from no spirit of love, but solely from the
hope of reward and payment, and so the
reward was never granted. At length, I
asked my uncle's leave to travel; and I
went forth, a wanderer, with no distincter
end than that of many another wanderer—to
get away from myself. A strange impulse
led me to Antwerp, in spite of the wars and
commotions then raging in the Low
Countries—or rather, perhaps, the very craving
to become interested in something external,
led me into the thick of the struggle then
going on with the Austrians. The cities of
Flanders were all full at that time of civil
disturbances and rebellions, only kept down
by force, and the presence of an Austrian
garrison in every place.

I arrived in Antwerp, and made inquiry
for Father Bernard. He was away in the
country for a day or two. Then I asked my
way to the Convent of Poor Clares; but, being
healthy and prosperous, I could only see the
dim, pent-up, grey walls, shut closely in by
narrow streets, in the lowest part of the
town. My landlord told me, that had I been
stricken by some loathsome disease, or in
desperate case of any kind, the Poor Clares
would have taken me, and tended me. He
spoke of them as an order of mercy of the
strictest kind, dressing scantily in the coarsest
materials, going bare-foot, living on what the
inhabitants of Antwerp chose to bestow, and
sharing even those fragments and crumbs
with the poor and helpless that swarmed all
around; receiving no letters or communication
with the outer world; utterly dead to
everything but the alleviation of suffering.
He smiled at my inquiring whether I could
get speech of one of them; and told me that
they were even forbidden to speak for the
purposes of begging their daily food; while yet
they lived, and fed others upon what was
given in charity.

"But," exclaimed I, " supposing all men
forgot them! Would they quietly lie down
and die, without making sign of their
extremity ?"

"If such were their rule, the Poor Clares
would willingly do it; but their founder
appointed a remedy for such extreme case as
you suggest. They have a bell—'tis but a
small one, as I have heard, and has never yet
been rung in the memory of man; when the
Poor Clares have been without food for
twenty-four hours, they may ring this bell,
and then trust to our good people of
Antwerp for rushing to the rescue of the
Poor Clares, who have taken such blessed
care of us in all our straits."

It seemed to me that such rescue would be
rather late in the day; but I did not say
what I thought. I rather turned the
conversation, by asking my landlord if he knew,
or had ever beard, anything of a certain
Sister Magdalen."

' Yes," said he, rather under his breath;
"news will creep out, even from a convent of
Poor Clares. Sister Magdalen is either a
great sinner or a great saint. She does more,