“Well, then, surely the Church is in a very bad way,” said Vergniaud smiling, “Think of the vow of perpetual celibacy!”

“Celibacy cannot do away with woman’s help or influence,” said Leigh, “There are always mothers and sisters, instead of sweethearts and wives.  I am in favour of celibacy for the clergy.  I think a minister of Christ should be free to work for and serve Christ only.”

“You are quite right, Mr. Leigh;” said the Cardinal, “There is more than enough to do in every day of our lives if we desire to truly follow His commands.  But in this present time, alas!—­religion is becoming a question of form—­not of heart.”

“Dearest uncle, if you think that, you will not judge me too severely for my pictures,” said Angela quickly, throwing herself on her knees beside him.  “Do you not see?  It is just because the ministers of Christ are so lax that I have taken to studying them in my way,—­which is, I know, not your way;—­still, I think we both mean one and the same thing!”

“You are a woman, Angela,” said the Cardinal gently, “and as a woman you must be careful of offences—­”

“Oh, a woman!” exclaimed Angela, her beautiful eyes flashing with mingled tenderness and scorn, and her whole face lighting up with animation, “Only a woman!  She must not give a grand lesson to the world!  She must not, by means of brush or pen, point out to a corrupt generation the way it is going!  Why?  Because God has created her to be the helpmate of man!  Excellent reason!  Man is taking a direct straight road to destruction, and she must not stop him by so much as lifting a warning finger!  Again, why?  Only because she is a woman!  But I—­were I twenty times a woman, twenty times weaker than I am, and hampered by every sort of convention and usage,—­I would express my thoughts somehow, or die in the attempt!”

“BRAVISSIMA!” exclaimed Vergniaud, “Well said, chere Sovrani!—­Well said!  But I am the mocking demon always, as you know—­and I should almost be tempted to say that you will die in the attempt!  I do not mean that you will die physically,—­no, you will probably live to a good old age; people who suffer always do!—­but you will die in the allegorical sense.  You will grow the stigmata of the Saviour in your hands and feet—­you will bear terrible marks of the nails hammered into your flesh by your dearest friends!  You will have to wear a crown of thorns, set on your brows no doubt by those whom you most love . . . and the vinegar and gall will be very quickly mixed and offered to you by the whole world of criticism without a moment’s hesitation!  And will probably have to endure your agony alone,—­as nearly everyone runs away from a declared Truth, orif they pause at all, it is only to spit upon it and call it a Lie!”

“Do not prophesy so cruel a fate for the child!” said the Cardinal tenderly, taking Angela’s hand and drawing her towards him.  “She has a great gift,—­I am sure she will use it greatly.  And true greatness is always acknowledged in the end.”