Saviour's mercy is without money and without price, and yet is worth all money and all price. Only believe, and thou shalt be saved."

"But, Father, I have not obeyed," rejoined the Count.

"Not by works of righteousness, but by His mercy are we saved,' saith St. Paul," answered Father Martin.

This solemn colloquy would have continued, and Luther would have gone on to insist upon the need of not only repentance and faith, but of hearty repudiation of all sin. And his postponement of priestly confession and absolution, would have been as firmly vindicated, on the ground of Christ being the allsufficient source of pardon. And, meanwhile, he would have avowed his readiness to give his assurance, as God's ambassador, of the validity of such pardon; but the strangeness, nay, the happiness of these blessed words, suspended Count Arensberg's power of conversing; and soon after, Luther felt justified in recalling the Countess-Mother, and in leaving him to the peaceful slumber which he saw was creeping over him.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LEAVING Count Arensberg for a short time-during which he was lying disabled-we must resume our narrative of the fates of the Marchese della Scala and his daughter.

Most of what we are about to state took place during the earlier portion of Arensberg's late journey.

Our readers will recall some of our former chapters, in which we gave a few general details of the Cardinals' conspiracy against the life of the Sovereign Pontiff. It was natural that the Roman Priesthood, and that the Pope especially, should feel horror at the thought that the authors of the crime were ecclesiastics solely, and should cast about for some plausible ground for charging its origin upon the laity. Could they but succeed in this, then, how disgraceful soever might have been the conduct of some members of the sacred college, the Church would be spared the shame of having been a principal.

To effect this, but small sagacity was needed. Any great and inveterate foe of Leo X. might feasibly be

put forward as its prime instigator, who, by his wiles, had seduced the Cardinals.

With this scheme, all eyes instantly rested on the Duke d'Urbino. The whole of Europe would know how implacable was the hostility between him and the Pope. All would know how his only chance of recovering his fortunes was the death of Leo. Every one was familiar with the fact that there were many, among the subjects of the Pontiff-both priests and laymen—who deeply sympathized with the Prince in his misfortunes, and who had not been slow in giving utterance to their feeling. And such sympathy might be regarded as reproachful of Leo X., not so much as the Head of the Church as the temporal Sovereign of the Roman States. And so, even a Cardinal might be guilty of disaffection to his chief's conduct in the latter character, whilst his fealty to his infallible master might remain intact.

A distinction so convenient, and providing a sphere for such innumerable sophistries, that it has ever been a favourite with a Papal dialectician!

And so, the Duke d'Urbino was selected as the scape-goat. What mattered it, that the guilty Cardinals, while they cravenly confessed their guilt, never by word or inuendo implicated him? Better, far better, that the broad, open, innocent forehead of a layman should be branded, than that the shameless brow of the Church should remain so scarred.

As we have said before, the Marchese had, unhappily for himself, given vent to the indignant emo

tions of a fair-fighting soldier, at the bad and tortuous designs of Pope Leo against the Duke. The voice of history has pronounced scorn upon the conduct of the former as piratical and treacherous; and, although the duty of a soldier forbids his canvass of the proceedings of his Sovereign when he is in actual service, it was not strange that, upon his return from the battlefield, the Marchese should have allowed his opinions to escape him. This he did; but it was only among men whom he regarded as bosom-friends. But bosomfriends can sometimes become bosom-foes; and one such had betrayed him to the Cardinal * * * *.

With what instruments, then, was the Cardinal not furnished, wherewith to display his eagerness to defend the fair fame of the Church! and thus, while he ingratiated himself with the Pontiff, to wield an influence on Bianca that, he might think, would be irresistible.

Little dreaming of the foul purposes, and too credulous in the assumed Church-loyalty of the Cardinal, Father Francis had facilitated the arrest of the Marchese, as we have seen in the previous chapter. He loved-he revered the Marchese. With a purity, such as the holiest office would justify, he loved Bianca. But he loved the Church still more; and, as may be often seen in other though different cases, it allowed of the utmost tenderness for other objects so long as its own supremacy remained inviolate; but could become fierce and unpitying as the grave, the instant that the lowest step to its throne was touched. So

Father Francis no sooner heard from Cardinal * * how their disgraced Church might divert her shame to others, and no sooner was the charge, though against his patron, shown to be most probable, than he crushed his other feelings within his heart, and, notwithstanding that it bled at every pore, gave himself eagerly, devotedly, to the vindication of his Holy Mother.

When, by his entreaty, the Marchese left his daughter and followed him to a retired chamber, the father of Bianca instantly divined his own danger, but he assured himself that his good confessor was arranging his escape. Sad, and for many a day, had been his presentiment; open and full had been his disclosures to his ghostly guide; but he little knew that chicanery of Church feeling, which could produce within the mind of even an honest-hearted priest the most credulous suspicions. Father Francis, who, on other subjects, was wont to weigh evidence, and to lean to charity in the conclusions to which he came, had leaped to the belief that the Marchese, even at the confessional, had adroitly revealed but half the truth.

At first, the priest had resolved on breaking the whole subject to the Marchese, so soon as they had gained the chamber. But when they entered it his courage failed him, and he could do no more than stand fronting his benefactor, looking aghast upon his face.

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Speak, Father Francis! fear not for an old soldier's firmness. I see that you would spare me."

VOL. I.

M