CHAPTER XIII.

A Festival.

SO Mrs. Bernard stayed on in Rome after most of the English visitors had departed. Her acquaintances bestowed much pity on her as they made their adieux; but, in truth, the weeks she passed so quietly were by no means unhappy ones, though she would have been loth to admit how much enjoyment she found in them.

The fever followed its usual course, and though Paul suffered a great deal, he was never in danger. Every day his mother found something to send him. Every day, too, she met Paul's father and heard from him the details which had for her such intense interest. They would walk together in the Villa Borghese or the Villa Doria, and the long afternoons they spent thus seemed to pass with marvellous rapidity.

Slowly the child's tedious convalescence advanced, till the infectious stage was over. It was a happy day for Mrs. Bernard when she set out for Frascati to seek rooms there to which she might welcome her husband and child, and still happier that of their arrival.

Frascati was in the perfection of its summer beauty. The country around was green with spreading vines and the deeper verdure of magnificent woods. The greyish hue of the olive-trees contrasted powerfully with the vivid green of the grass which grew about their roots. Even the ancient ilexes had a suggestion of youth in the fresh, yellowish shoots they were putting forth. The brilliant sunshine rendered delightful the deep shade of the bosky villas, while it brought to perfection the roses which flourished so luxuriantly in their gardens. It seemed to Clarice Bernard that she had never seen a more lovely place. Her heart was so full of joy and thankfulness that the inner sunshine enhanced the glory of the outer.

She stood on the top of the flight of steps leading down to the railway station, looking far into the distance, and watching for the snowy streak which should reveal the approach of the train from Rome. It was the most lovely hour of the day. The sun's level rays illumined the vast, broad Campagna, and made the sea-line gleam like silver. But Paul's mother had only one thought at that moment. The train was late; but at last it came into view. She ran quickly down the steps, and was soon clasping her boy to her heart.

Paul looked radiant. Illness had not marred his appearance. It had given a more delicate bloom to his complexion, and made his eyes look larger and more earnest. Evidently it had not rendered his tongue less nimble.

"Oh, mother!" he cried joyously. "Is it not nice that we are all together again, you and father, and Janet and Beppo?"

"So Beppo is one of the family now," said his mother with a smile. "Yes, it is indeed nice, Paul; better for me than for you. I have wanted my little boy so badly."

"And I have wanted you," he said. "But was it not a good thing, mother, that I ran out that night? If I had not, perhaps father would never have found me, or I him."

"It made me very unhappy at the time, Paul," said his mother; "but I think now that everything has turned out for good."

They went slowly up the long flight of steps, looking at the beautiful plantations, the flowering aloes, the roses, the fountains that gradually came into view.

"What a lovely place it is!" said Mr. Bernard. "It looks one great garden."

"It is like the Garden of Eden," said Paul.

His parents looked at each other and smiled. They were so happy that they seemed indeed to have found a Paradise.

The following was a high day at Frascati, the festival of Corpus Christi. From the balcony of the house in which they were lodging, Paul and his parents looked down on the gay scene presented by the crowded piazza. The whole place seemed astir. Peasants wearing blue blouses were seated on the steps of the church; other country folk were arriving on donkeys; women in gay attire with their rich black tresses gracefully coiled, stood knitting and chatting in groups, brown-frocked friars moved amid the crowd, and boyish priestlings sped to and fro on important errands. Paul watched everything with eager eyes, and asked innumerable questions.

About noon a series of mild explosions announced that the procession was about to set forth from the old cathedral. First came the acolytes in their white gowns and pale blue capes with quaint white hoods, then a troop of boys wearing surplices made of coarse black calico with white linen bands hanging beneath their chins, giving them a resemblance to Scottish doctors of divinity. Huge black crosses, crucifixes, and gorgeous banners were borne aloft as they advanced. After these stepped some tiny girls dressed as "angelette," in white frocks veiled with chiffon, from which peeped forth at their shoulders gilded wings. Then came a group of elderly women, who had donned the ancient and beautiful costumes of the country-side. These were followed by a band of young girls in white, wearing their "first communion" veils. Last of all, the archbishop attended by clergy marched forth under a canopy, carrying the Host. As it approached, the people in the piazza fell upon their knees.

"What superstition, what blind materialism it seems!" Mrs. Bernard whispered in her husband's ear. "John, can you believe that I came near joining the Roman Catholic Church?"

"No, that I cannot believe," he said.

"Yet it is true," she replied. "I was so weary, so burdened, so desolate, and they promised me rest and peace. They said that the confessional would ease my conscience, and the priest absolve me from my sin."

"But you did not listen to them?" he said.

"Alas, I did!" she said. "I tried to believe their words. It was our little Paul who kept me from that fatal mistake. His childish words taught me that God is near and ready to forgive, and that we can come to Him in sorrow and penitence without the intervention of any human priest. And now that I have confessed to my God, and know myself forgiven for my Saviour's sake, I marvel that I was ever fascinated by this elaborate and materialistic system of religion, which hides the very truth it professes to set forth."

"Ay, truly," said her husband. "They lift the cross on high and wreathe it with flowers; they exalt the image of the suffering Christ, yet deny the power of His cross, and teach men to trust for salvation to human rites and ceremonies. It is a strange perversity by which they make the very forms and methods of their worship defeat the main purpose of worship and separate the soul from God."

"What is that gilt thing he is carrying, and why do the people kneel?" asked little Paul. "Did Jesus tell them to do that?"

Mrs. Bernard smiled as she laid her hand on her boy's curly head.

"Paul's question points to the mainspring of all true Christian life and service—the word of Christ," she said. "Truly, one must become as a little child to enter the kingdom of heaven."

——————————————————————————————————— LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.