Chapter 38

The family of Raby must be considered collectively, as each member united in one feeling, and acted on one principle. They were Catholics, and never forgot it. They were not bent on proselytism; on the contrary, they rather shunned admitting strangers into their circle: but they never ceased to remember that they belonged to the ancient faith of the land, and looked upon their fidelity to the tenets of their ancestors as a privilege, and a distinction far more honourable than a patent of nobility. Surrounded by Protestants, and consequently, as they believed, by enemies, it was the aim of their existence to keep their honour unsullied; and that each member of the family should act for the good and glory of the whole, unmindful of private interests and individual affections. The result of such a system may be divined. The pleasures of mediocrity—toiling merit—the happy home—the cheerful family union, where smiles glitter brighter than gold; all these were unknown or despised. Young hearts were pitilessly crushed; young hopes blighted without remorse. The daughters were doomed, for the most part, to the cloister; the sons to foreign service. This, indeed, was not to be attributed entirely to the family failing—a few years ago, English Catholics were barred out from every road to emolument and distinction in their native country.

Edwin Raby had thus been sacrificed. His enlightened mind disdained the trammels thrown over it; but his apostacy doomed him to become an outcast. He had previously been the favourite and hope of his parents; from the moment that he renounced his religion he became the opprobrium. His name was never mentioned; and his death hailed as a piece of good fortune, that freed his family from a living disgrace. The only person among them who regretted him was the wife of his eldest brother; she had appreciated his talents and virtues, and had entertained a sincere friendship for him; but even she renounced him.

Her heart, naturally warm and noble, was narrowed by prejudice; but while she acted in conformity with the family principle, she suffered severely from the shock thus given to her better feelings. When Edwin died, her eyes were a little opened; she began to suspect that human life and human suffering deserved more regard than articles of belief. The “late remorse of love” was awakened, and she never wholly forgot the impression. She had not been consulted concerning, she knew nothing of, his widow and orphan child. Young at that time, the weight of authority pressed also on her, and she had been bred to submission. There was a latent energy, however, in her character that developed itself as she grew older. Her husband died, and her consequence increased in old Oswi Raby’s eyes. By degrees her authority became paramount; it was greatly regulated by the prejudices and systems cherished by the family, as far as regarded the world in general; but it was softened in her own circle by the influence of the affections. Her daughters were educated at home—not one was destined for the cloister. Her only son was brought up at Eton; the privileges granted of late years to the Catholics made her entertain the belief, that it was no longer necessary to preserve the old defences and fortifications which intolerance had forced its victims to institute; still pride—pride of religion, pride of family, pride in an unblemished name, were too deeply rooted, too carefully nurtured, not to form an integral part of her character.