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to e ase spoke , i m
quaaes with -mebes of your ebhureb hi 1ra very laithu, sa4e tt thi tsewho I bw s met 'o sa wa srte meorw e siowest easme r adest~. I ad it 1rewl to eoavaleo m ftat ye a eaprofess a bele whose tassel av ealwayha appoed to s to be a web e S patatitles. My asel ates have bee alb - a er Prostesaat, ea my psJeodis, as yo wel a sell them, very dooeded wherr no.o was aeserand. Toe may think me blunt, eve Apetal J beut allow me at the same time te aMknowledge that I Ief~ confdent theae as be something good and beautiful In a reliagl that ne- of yer intelllgenee sad sadomen admires and pnetfeass." SThere Is something po eand beautiful i Y, religions," she andtlfre l, "tth woule ote be worthy of the eas e-t se m p~s am al. omlss as met of thasre amtIn Io wall i aoodness snd : sasisperdoo, eves m adlmerta n yer geo e I t abared then ees. I wasbieh sd asdeated in the Presby teries uh-nanth , se old and uasaonl e uounaememb the Ie wheao I regalrde OadhellN bat was peothaeforfs of hsathanlsu tor or tr.of my nsligeasoed roam; I ate oe y thank yor-e l the more a a have navwer had eppgatialty to judge ae oetly MofM f ther ms stly I nset take the verdilt for what it is werh. et bet I am al heas, and the lamps are lighted. now late it masst beu Thank py again, and -Sd eveaa. With a little rippling laugh she let my aid. nmd almoit befoe I had ti to answera her ai samlabtatloe, abe had tripped up, the thOs and enteed the homes. A eorwd of IoosleMain soughts pesued each ether in my mind as feostlnaed ay. walk. esoaeiloenws that I endeavored vainly to gmoo grew stronger as I releoted on what had peed, aid weighed more minutely all the eltmstanmce of our meetlg and requaintanoe. Aid with It was mingled a feeling of dleap polItment, almost ot rexation and pain, as though I had beu touched and asearled by some deteatednemy. Igrew restles, nothingsatlised me. People aid I looked ll. No wonder, when I sat up Ihal the night trying todivert my mind from the study of Its own problems, to those of in comprehensible German philogophy. I rea aned with what I was pleased to term my weakness. But what oould I do I had kept "i-lOf the way of temptation; I had avoided assembles where I knew she was likely to be; twenty thre I had stood upon the threshold of her home, and as often turanll ad retrsoed my steps. One night I sat alone in my room, atn almost 'rowed to put the thought of her If ao sy mind at once and for ever. As I mused, Armitage entered unannoonced. SDesolate and melancholy as ever," he said ehlertlly, and the sound of his happy voioe ma_ e me desperate. Suddenly, involuntarily, I might say, I oaund myself answering him: "I m tired of being desolate and melancholy, thoigh;* then arelessly, " What if we saun ter down to Mias Foster's t" Fred was all willingness, while surprised at mi age of mood. We walked lelorely -..le When we reached the hosen, Fred re arohed that the abutters were closed, and that there was some probability of the young ady being out. I said nothing, but made a solemn ompso with myself while bshe waited. "If she Ia not at home," I thought, that row shall be registered and kept; If she is, ehe sera Miss Helean was at home, the servant said. Sherepro-obed me for not having called in eab a length of time, and wondered It the tevelation made at our last meeting had not helped to hkep te away. Then turning to her ecaels she said laughingly, "Mr. Moray was hide lld, the other day, to hear of my beiog a Omhoile" "The other day," I answered. "It Is folly thee months ago, and I have not yet been able to reeoeelle my mind to the faot." "It L a fthat though, Ed," paid Armitage; "and greatly as I deplored the ealmity when it happened, four years ago, I must confess that Helen has changed for the better In the laterval. You see, she was most rrepreble sme time since-before her conversion, as she sel ls i-doing every thing by ites and starts, and holding every one under the severest of despotisms; but I actually bellere this little S devotion be as, this habit of confessing, has t ned her down and made her the rational wbetae we see her. That's how you account -A f eor the hangIe, ln't it cott" " Fred, you are unconsolonable. Mr. Moray knows you as well as Ido, no doubt, and weighs ytar veraoity proportionately. You don't ad mite Shelley, Mr. Moray ?" lnterr.gatively, as I t.rned over the pages of a richly botund dlton of that author whibch lay upon a little table near me. "No; and yetI do not look at him from the same point of view as you probable would. I think he was crasy. You, I suppose, wrinid pass a more merelles Judgments. * Let as be eharitable," she amid, "and hope that he was lsane. But unhappily his was a upaolas of insanity of wbloh there are but too mmany iastncee." Afae that the talk fell upon books generally. The hoars alipped by, and eleven o'clock had rsek beate we took leave. Before I left her tt nlght, J bad thrown down the barriers srtmbling aso eg; I had aeon and recogolsed a true wemanly woman, and, all unknown to her, had sooepted what Ianew to be the In. After this I went often to the enchanted ta. My fair prineam was neatly always mssamlble, bet ao she wan to the aest of the P'weuldswell. Hew ould I hope to bethe A aered halght, when heramilse were hestowed 1 s o w e * we lavratlaby kind I _. iEmie ." a.re ,a a-. Ne r wered O leek bad I iiattemad own f elins towarS ber; e mabiig tsla :toBapset th ga.s pso 4ie, ae .mais 1 br s- I he rases biaWlselg witleds daetl bs v , Sil ib Il 1 l -es-ap seh eaesamom ,. is her miad wasl aba over saausaes .. as plsry; alLd I a bgan a bes re As tiamp steed, we pew to be amse as ledms, Oa views dtibrea jrd l, asee r- poiatket rreiass wm t* eay rsalyt saim t ltivo tole. Mren than oa I bad -ls- at look a pa la ber fees wham I uautheg M .. wit ms at my ma eralUsle view, ,.d a e I at we tuaity avoidd the anaeet altgedb e WieI admired ber beu k slaimphlkiy Ro a faith, I eold ao.bladaeaa. I doRoe N Ihow any s epemn met ao. that tai -itka - wound her e as though it soght b a "frf g I bidse wished to tabe it hew t her. Iabopefjl momoits, few and farbetweee when Ihad dard to think of her as my wife a the thought of bar religion and the bshense o a it In me had, strangely enough, never intrude I Itself upon me. Consequently, it was from n a desire to weaken or alter her oonviotions is a any particular that I became almost involun a tarily instrumental in bringing matters to a . oriais. We had beenreeding Frenoh together, or, to I speak more correotly, I had been reading it ti her, one "evening of every week, with the o tensible purpose of improving my pronundla. Ston unde her tatelage, for abe spoke the lan. . age beautifully. I One day an old Pariasan, w lodged In the house with me, and who oooasionally made my aitting-room the theatre of a homily on Viotor Huga , Saint-B3eve, and their eMftw, laid upon my table a eopy of Beas' "gread sem." "ead it," he said, "read t in the oiginal; it loses by translation." I promised to do so. That evening I took it with me to Miss Poster's. L I walked lelearely alog, the thoughtetruok me that my "teachem might probably not admire the "gredaeeoss;" but it only lingered a moment, and troubled me but little. "No harm in bringing it, any how-the style is good," I soliloquised, and rang the bell in a happier frame of mind than I had known for weeks. Fred Usually joined aus on French evenings, but to-night another engagement olaimed him. Helen was sitting alone when I entered the parlor. "Grandmamma has a headache this evening, and will not be down," she said apologetically. I sat down, made a few trifling remarks, to which she responded, and then arose to bring the book we had been rgading. "Wait, I have something alse to-night," I said, taking the volume from the table where I had placed it. "What is It? " she asked, resuming her seat. "Benan's book," I replied confidently. "I thought I would bring it with me. He has an excellent style-unique and polished. He is the last sensation, you know." "I will not read it," she said in a low tone. "Ill read and you will listen," I answered. "That is the usual arrangement, is it not 1" "I will not listen," she replied, and I saw by the angry flush mantling her forqhead that I had committed a grave error; that she misun derstood my motives and was vexed. "Pardon me," I mid. "We will hot read it, If you so desire; but at the same time there can be no harm in informing one's self on opposite vlews from oar own. This is thoe spirit in which I should read the book, not fearing that it would bias my mind either one way or the other' Can you not be as liberal 1" She left her seat and began fingering in a nervous way the ornaments that lay upon the mantel. "I have no wish to hear my God and my re ligion railed and blasphemed at either at first or second hand," she said. "It would be none the les painful coming from the lips of one whom I had almost learned to call triend, but who has to-night, in a very few words, shown me my mistake. For my religion I have long been aware that you cherish an undisguised contempt; for myaelf I had hoped you enter tained no contemptious feeling. Burely I have never given you reason for your action of this evening." While she was speaking I had shaped my course. Precipitate as It might be, there was nothing left me now but a deolaration of my real sentiments, unles I would forfeit her es teem for ever. Fully consclous of the disad. vantages of time and circumstances as I was, and without any presumption of suscess, I then and there resolved to tell her the whole truth. It was but a hastening to the end. "Stop one moment," I replied, "a word with you. You have wronged me by intimating that I purposed aught of disrespect to you or your religion by what I have nothinkingly done this evening. I could do neither; for I love you. How deeply I, who have struggled with that love for months, alone can know; bow entirely and unselfishly, you perhaps might learn, could you find it in your heart to let me show you; how vainly mnown heart tells me while I watcb your face. aSurprised you may be--I have no doubt you are; displeased, too, but I take no blame to myself for that. An honest man darees.lit his eyes to a noble wo man; and whatever be my faults, and they are many; wherever lie my errors, and they are thiokly sown, I still onall myself an honest man." Bhe moved forther away from where I stood, and once or twice, while I was speaking, made a movement as though to interrupt me. As I uttered the last words I eaw her eye flash, and a half areastle smile wreathe itself about bher "You call yourself an honest man," she said; "an honest man I What is your code, and who the law-giver Is it bonest to leave untitled and brier-strewn the soil that has been given ou in trust for an endless harvesttime; to waste the talents that hare been bestowed on you with lavish hand; to spend days and 1 months and years in pleasant idlene ass you I have done, and as yea do? Is it honest to .mp oeeus, ia amantl et kse and baUow __em.e -bus aa sa e ms: hav I Assbos aseisbleses oMissy dhiams sl; 'iiper my etitioeas, besses, frs the tr. so the ifse me yo lead your owa idaei m t hbe ~bhypoeri to aad ah a IfI amaly a womas, ed each men m- I pmy plasm bat little seoamke.s Iao we*iai Mi sgaird" 'r4ia d Dsi U~flt hij - sad7ma d*per ethe a s pIea. av.aing ofart m a, while yem sat hbios madne or t tligto me, I hea lemn st$it g 'yea. I Shave rm"nsg .me.L t..m st- yo.. paid I weld meall wseaknesmes; thogbt tshat your l warly wisasm seks to Cover with aje or mle; grat apWlabiliot smeries that your at evrj-dy exteror eosseesl under dileaam! . tstes and .eless wrsy. I have mse that in Syour eye, heard that ln your vole, which has , do a marvel how a soul like your could Id be content with huaks and bitterneam. For r you yourelf I could hasve sympathy, but I SI scorn the evil spirit that laisn you." , I had loved her before; but as she satood there i Staxing me with that to th o coeolousuemu of of which I was but uet awakening, ry love gave t od one great bound and aeemed to sit enthroned O high above eight or sound of human passion, a Ieven while, with every word abe uttered, the | n- knowledge of Its vain endeavor fastaned itself I " more Armly upon me. I was about to speak, but abe interrupted me. and the words came more slowly now, and more kindly. t "I may have spoken harebly," she said. "In- a s deed, I am sure I have. ut it was of your- a - melf with regard to yourself, and in what I maid c I thee was so thought of my own connection a with the sbject. As to that part of it, I cn t *e hlve none; but I think, however much or little Sa woman esteem a man, there mnuit'be me Sthing esmpeolally tender in her deslings with 4 one who has made her the offering hi- love. You will believe me, then, when Iay tJbt I am pained, deeply pained, that you should t have given yours to me, or deemed its acknow. t ledgment neosseary. Words are idle and super- tl Sfleoon here. I can and do appreeiate it; I can c be, I am your friend. Forgive me if I have been harsh ; in calmer momenta you will come I to think of me as one whose words were quick y and too Impulsive, but who had your Interest hi Iat heart. Now let me go. Do not speak for- al ther, I beg of you; it would only pain us both." "But a few words," I said; "a very few. You have aimed surely, and struck deep. I do not blame you for my mistake, nor for that which ey you term harshness. I cannot, since I recog. I nize its truth. The difference between you he and most women is, that you are brave enough ma to speak that trath; for you are too free from th vanity or falsity of any kind, I know, ever to speak other than your earnest thoughts. I may have scoffed at creeds; I have never scoffed at God; give me at least this merit. I have dreamed a dream-we all do at some time, I believe; may yours be happy realizations al ways. Good-by." - With a sudden glare the firelight flashed aw upon the wall, and the red glow shone full wo upon her face, paler than usual, bit calm. o There were tears in her eyes as teey met mine; but what woman with a woman's heart could fro be unmoved at such a moment? he "Good-by," she answered, almost inaudibly- Ho I paused to hear no more; the next moment the wej door closed behind me, and I was in the street. get CRAPTIR . IIha I went Abroad, through the principal cities the of the old wdrld, and by quiet ways to unpre tending places, Where travelers seldom go. My al heart sought rest and quiet; my soul was be- nea ginning t> shake off the torpor that had en- ing Chalned it; taking in, almost unoonsciously, Lai silent influences that pervaded my whole being. up. Trutts forced themselves upon me unawares, bu and my ears did not refuse to hear them. we Acroes the wide Atlantic some one was praying 1 for me, although I did not know it while she aff prayed-one whose face I vainly strove to ree banish from my memory, whose voice ran wh through the current of my troubled dreams. het Ahd yet it was with no hope of winning her love in the future that I opened my heart and tro mind to the study of sacred things. That idea qua never came to me. The whole purpose of my haa life seemed changed. How often I thought of '1 her denunciation of my aimleem exitence, my aba "dseante tastes and careless ways." How to often I thanked her that, all unconselously as though it were, she had opened to me new ple avenues of thought and action. "Better to I have loved and lost than never to have loved At pro all," and so the work went on. Silently but her surely my heart unolosed to the heavenly dews baa that fell upon it and renewed it. I remained and some time In France and Italy, spent a few ha months in Germany, and then returned to Eng- to land. At the feet of one of the fathers of the in Oratory in London I made my first confession, fat and tasted the ineffable sweetnems of divine ani compassionu. ha Nearly two years had psastul, and the doloe or non f/or niFn life, so natural once, grew wearl some now. At home there was work for me to lo do; there lay rsy field and my mision. I did fon not attemlpt to disguise from myself the pain oha and renewal of old wounds that most Inevitably fri follow my return. il'+wever, I resolved to tit1 nerve myself for the orreals, and promised my timidity the struggle woild lIe short, and thep fan the world lay before me. A world in which there were great things t,, be learned and con quered. on I had written to Armitage once after my de- thr partnre, and received an immediate answer, alp asking me to continue the oorrespondeac we To his letter I had not replied, and wars almost tiol entirely ignorant of affairs it home. le I landed in New York one bright September per day, and the ALst feeling of strangenes van- -a ished as I walked through the crowded streets to and resognised the familiar faces of former so- wb qualntanoes. My whilom landlady received do me with open arms; my old quarters had Just Yoi been vacated, and I was speedily relonstalled. bei I had not been in town two days, when Armi- not tage rushed in one eveningglad to see me, and not brimful of news. say '"Strange freak of yours that, Ed," he said, to a UI came aroted here onenight by appeltmeat TelI old lady makme with the Isnematlo thaty. Lao M r't-YW,.. wIet life MalsC f I *aat dsta thinkl you'd ha i gets -b o in ta wda, witheru yjelag getby. That t wellow leter or - oerm was wars t an aoe -- ll oZ t l glaid seon tozalapise iatesilmes We aoses, wht fallow thought he-had got lag an you the k ow aeon do yoe inted to be aI off g , .inf t I "NBotfr a while yet," I mswe "I think Ide 1 hall remain at home nw. By tlh way, how r i Minss FP tear t-rI -a4 ibe M Foster yet- o l and badr gratdmteaer P I "The old lady died the winter fSe r oo left aMt New York; but Heles Iainang stthe Homes in stead yet. A married slter of mine is does i olled there too, at preasnt-Lsdra; you've id hbeard me speak of her. She was living in 'a Baltimore whoen you were one of us. Helen is I not married; not for the warent e ultor, though; abe has refused etweean ten and ffty rae splendid oafer, to my certain knowledge. of "Of course she makes you her confident f' I re said qissaingly. td "Pes do tst -a fine-one I'd be; but I gnes a, all these things. She is an odd girL Not too ae pins, although a devout Catholi4 but hard to If please. By the way, I am due at Helen's to k, night; won't yo come You ean't expect her 1e to call on yone I made some mexose, and pred went of with Sout me, promising, however, to report me "afe r- and sound." Although I hknew that, sooner id or later, I should meet her, I oold not face the I Sordeal as yet, and preferred that, when it did a take place, the meeting should e aidemnta l The next week I attugded a coneert at the SAcademyof Music. Diretly in fronat of me h two seats remained noccuapied until thpis Sdossan had el har Bat bow to the audience, and was preluding her song with a few prao fatory trills. - 1 I trned my eyes from the stage to meet those of a lady who passe to one of the vaeant Schairs; - ad the next moment Fred Armitage Swas saying, " ou here, Moray , I am glad we are near you. He has changed, Nellie, don't you think e" as his companion extended her t hand in silence. Then, as I greeted her, a single " welcome home" fell from her lips, and t that was all. ti No change in her. The same pare, trathfinl eyes; the old-time sweetnes in her voice and y smile; the old-time ebarm about her still. As Ilooked at her, and heard her speak, I realised P how vain had been the delusion that prompted me to seek peace and disenchantment within the sphere of her influence. Once, during a pause in the musio, she asked my opinion of the singer. I must have appeared constrained and awkward; for I have a half recollection of gl muttering some indistinct answer. I left be fore the performance was over. I did notgea H to court misery-my present conditilo was a deplorable enough-and I was anxious to get f away from Fred's pertinacity, which I knew hr would assert itself if we went in company so from the musioc-hall. so Afterward I steadily resisted all solicitations f' from Armitage to call at his sister's; although AI he often expressed a desire to introduce me. Ol1 However, having met him one day in company en with his brother in-law, I promised the latter gentleman to call at his residence. Not to a have doneso would have made my conduct "t appear eccentric and ridiculous. About dusk to the next evening Fred came in. "Come to Anvergndee with me to-night,n" he said. " Walter has gone to Baltimore on busi- co ness, and Helen with him. She intends spend inog the winter with some relatives there. sl Laura is alone, and may be we could cheer her lo up. I am sorry Walter and NellIe are absent; m but you'll get acquainted with the best little le woman in the world." There was no help for it. The present, too, I affor$d the best opportunity. I went, and to received a cordial welcome fromMrs. Auvergne, 11 who was all that her brother had described her, and more. - be " So this is Mr. Moray," she said, as Fred in. e trodooed me. "I have heard of you so fte. at quently that I know you already. And Helen on has sometimee mentioned you." le The evening passed pleasantly. As we were about leaving, our hostess warmly invited me at to renew the visit. " Come soon, sad as often to as you like," she said; " we shall be always pleased to see you." in Inconsistently enough, I departed from my a proposed line of conduct in so fars to soaccept be her invitation. It was lonely sitting in my bachelor abode those long winter evenings; we and, after five or six weeks' acquaintance, I of had called so frequently at Mrs. Auvergne's as to feel more at home there than anywhere else eel in New York. I did not think much of the future, of the difficultlie that must arise when oas another member of the family should resume th her place in the elrole; or, if I did, I was wise so or foolish enough not to anticipate them. pe Meeting Mr. Auvergne near home one even. ing, he brought me nolen, role,, in to tea. We kn found his wife in the parlor, with her three eharming little girls, who had become great tit friends of mine, and who knew me under the an title of "Unocle Fred's brother." ma 'Something for you, Laura"' said Pater-, to famllis, as be threw a letter into her lap. it, "' From Helen, is it not I" " Yes; excuse me, Mr. Moray, while I glance Fe over it. I always give Helen's letters two or three readlings. She is growing quite dis- thi sipated. 'I have been to three parties this soc week,' she writes; ' meh-ageet-m leli tion, yon will imagine. But Maud sad Alise WI lead such gay llyes that one is kept in a wo perpetual round of slght-seeing and enjoymentD th -as the world goes. I could never be content to live this way; and feel dubions as to aIb whether I can find it compatible with real doties as home to remain the promised time. yot You reproached me before I went away with wb being low-spirited, Lsursa Your paeMee has I n not proved benefolial. I am, if not melancholy, to not halt so cheerful in my mind, as Fred would doc say, as when I lefryou. So don't be surprised ka to see me any morning about breakfast time pal Tell the children cousn Helen is glad tahey Lan foend a nOew ~iad; but a '-hers the e usP posad Ian,J1 fer a hurr~e'.a eq .1 tedse replaed the ani. Sa-tis esa "Foollh Beflg0' be.sald, au though talking Ms to hersel; tbot- ,mle being announged, h there was nthi~nh on'the eugeeot. oee On Ohrlstmas tl v with msae presents ce- for th aose s.h--I 4 r tesd then to pt enlist Sena tsQia is stbiS evor, wantSe be until I thought tho woa!iep to bring what t s nd trinkets the yitdle me oon ink identialiy would be accsptbeia, r ed into ow the pafrr, I dinot at frt 0i in the I- dim light that me one was tandlhggae the adow. The nois of the doom-elagessied Lt o the ocoupant of the room to look rosad, and, e- r sahe did so, I recognised Mis Foster. - aml "Ezoxes me," I managed to articulate in my 've sorprise; "I dIidaot know you-had-eturad, in or that yu were erpeted." S "I wasaotezpeeted,"lheanaweredsmllingly. is, "BjtIgrew homesickasChristmasapproached, by and astonished them all this morning at day light. Will you sit down, Mr. Moray " AqdI ' I she drew a chair forward. "Thank you," I replied, "not tfi g. es I have merely brought some trfles for the o little ones. We are great friends. I have be to eome quits at home with them daring your - absence." er "So Laura tells me," she answered; "and they have not been silent either. They are h- very lovable children." fe "I have found them so," I rejoined "I sop. ar pose they are all thrbe dreaming of Santa OClas 1 is atthlimoement. Rtlmust.begolng. Beaind I enough to present my compliments to Mrs. SAuvergue, who is probably busy this evening. I And allow me to wish you a very metry Christ sass." As I oesmed speaking, the parlor door opened d and the miatress of the house entered, bonneed and shawled for a walk, sand accompanied by i F-red,--who announced himself a complete d Swreck from a frolico in tho'numery. I Ut Good eiinlug, Mr. $6ray," mid the little h e lady eordially. "These for the ebildren t e Thank you; you are very kind; they will b Sso delighted. You -e our wanderer has re" r turned. Is she not looking'well f Sit down, a you must notgo yet. Rather late fora lady I to go shopping, is it not f But I weat some. thing down town, and Fred has volunteered to acI company me. We shall not be absent long ; you must stay till we return. You and Helen a are old friends, I know, and can manage to pass an hour pleasantly together." I fancied Helen looked at me imploringly, as though to say, " Do go away," and I ventured di to remonstrate. L "I am inexorable," was the reply. "You are to remain till we come back. Fred, take his gloves; and Helen, ring for lights." ki There was no wlithstanding such importunity. P3 Reluctantly, but with as good grace as I could sui mon, I allowed myself to succumb to the fIs of liroumstances. Seeing there was no heap for it, my companion in distrees took some tanoy knitting from a table near her, and a soon appeared lost in its ntricacies. For fully live minutes atAr the door closed on Mrs. Auvergne and her brother we sat in embarras sing silence-e-silence that at length grew un endurable. n "You are sitting too far from the fre," I said, by way of endeavor to mend matters; m "there must be some draught from that window l too." al "I prefer being near the light," she anawered, r without looking op; "and I am not at all cold." Another five minutes of silence. What ye should I say next f Could I sit there much mi longer I did not think so. I felt as though I must make a desperate move and take my f leave. Suddenly, pealing out upon the silent night, Ci I beaMd the sound of bells., She heard them too, I knew, for I saw her lift her head to listen. "The Christmas chimes," I said; "how beautifully they sound. I have heard them In Rome and Naples; last year I was in England t at this season; but home music has charms pe- of onllar to Itself, and dearer than all other-at least o it seems to me." ?C "You believe in Christmas, then, as an in-. stitution f" she answered mlliqgly, andwith of touch of the old sareasm in her voice. he "Surely," I replied gravely, Paince I believe in Christ. Inasmuch as a Catholic believes and reverences all that his church teaches and believes." P9 I looked at her face to see what effect my a words would have, but it evinced no emotion of surprise. She answered quietly and b assuredly, as though our ways had never been separate. an "Yes, we who are Catholics enjoy the Capacity of feeling and appreciating these an things as none beside. Especially converts such as you and I, who have known the ex perience of doubt and fear." "I was not aware," I rejoined, " that you knew of my conversion." "No " she replied. "I have known it some time, having seen you several times at Mass is and Benediction. I do not believe you would me make the sign of the crase unless you held it Ian to be the sign of salvation. And you do make the it, I think." an. " No doubt the discovery surprised you, Miss ml Foster," I continued. thi "No, it did not," she answered. "I did not pes think the change would be accomplished so wit soon, but I hoped great things for you." sbh "Even when you accusoed me most bitterly " I Why tread on dangerous ground; but the the words were spoken, and I could not recall my them. ' sha "Even when I aoonsed you most bitterly," brl she said, in a low tone. g "You are far-sighted, I pereelve. Perhapse eye you may also have some idea of the manner in A which tbhis change was brought about. Perhape bus I may have felt, may stillyel, an indebtednems td tosome one, to whom it has been a matter of life donbt with me as to whether I should ao- ma knowledge the obligation, or sufer it to go un. T "I amy have an idean ahe replied, "yet not 0 "abJe Mak -. what she e t, s.mas 5eam ats "sh L 'I open tb. weoad to s hf Will is M esiy ld new i I' tlb t her wbat'w ns be*a 7 cad il.*. to a 1*** he between her da del he had a task to do. iry aswýeek a' ii there was dot tLh ihmeirs off a * , ad, soul when epoke. omethgJ pel . esething, I know not what; a BY spirit, I thought it the; my good d, know now. •. 'uR is a debt and an obilgt ly. began, "sad an aohnowlsdgmet wh lh d, proad to" ab* although the fot of ihe t 7- enoe be lnmogs death to me. A litu k Id ithan two e tpn,, ` s.t ledts g - ation of that rbh ý Oresa. ~ces a nte bee unreveaol h offered you a love thbatha grown _ myir e- until it Interpenetrated evers bre of ar You rejected it; and thatyoun did so, r Snd no fault or blaime -The w l -m--. id alone have borne the coaequenese But wi re you disabused ,my mitof any wild hope it might have bcherished in momeets quits a P' wild, you told ae rome uspelstdbl tr 8 Until I bhad met eou I had lived a selfsh,. - ld I. Itfe. Alter I se you the amo ems. Sthing better in me tired now ad hm, ai r Impulses thatI mre than em so. u-ig Sknoked at seret doears wre th dt t b cobwebs of the werld bad gathee. Them the d uwest serame, anater it tho en samh Sl s lkntlmtl, Ithee wed dolew tagh her finger fester and hster, - though she bede defane tomy moan. She didnotlook up I paused, but her lips were compressed ad Sher oheek brightly fashed. "I went away loving yon. Far away from your visible inluenoe, the thought of you blleowed me through all my Journeyhg.. I passed through new scenes and ezpeusmae loving you; I some back loving you still. I am here to-night with no lntet of pleading a lost cause, with nohope ofdriftng from desolt seas into pleasant waters, with no dream of Lethsan drasghts to be taken from your hands As in the former instance, cireumstanoes bare forced it all upon me, To-morrow I shall won der at the folly which prompts me to say what ram saying. But to-nigft, before I close the book for ever, let me thank you for what yes have done for me; let me leave you with tin knowledge that, while I bare been rash se presumptuous, I have not offended you or case ed you pain." She had risen from her chair while I was speaking. Standing for a moment irresolute, with lipe h~lf parted and eyes downcast, sbs made a passionate gesture with her elasped hands, as though impatient with herselt "I do not forget," she said, "any partof what I told you that night two years ago. I wee haoah--unneoesarly so. But it all eomee me so suddenly that I hardly knew what I did say. I remember there was something shebout misused talents and a wasted life, of what yeo might be and were not, of great poseibiliti' slighted and contemned. But," bere her voles faltered and the words came slowly, "I do not remember telling you then or at any other time that I did not, could not love you. De you remember it f' Looking up; her gaze met mine half smilingly, half tearfully. "No, I do not remember itI" I said ; "bt you sent me away from you, and I hive not forgotten that there was nothing of enoourage ment for the future in your dismissal of as, Can it be-dare I hope that-that- I" Somehow two warm, soft hands were clasp ed In mine, and the Christmas bells pealed out' a tuneful chime now softly low, now mult cally olear. And then shabe told me what I ha never even fancied in my dreams: of the los that had dwelt in her heart of hearts so long; of fears that had assailed her when she grew conscious of It; of a hope in the future and ifs unborn possibilities that bad filled her soal when she seemed most indifferent and cold; of prayers that from their fervency had been heard and answered. "I knew you would come back to me," she said; "I knew that God would do great things f9r you. And even if you had ;not some; if some one else had taken my pluse, or some ambition occupied your heart, it would have been the same in the end, or nearly so. I think I could be contented to love yon silently Jli my life long, f I knew you to be [in thought and purpose what I had so longed to have yeo, if I felt that my prayers for you were heard and answered." Oh wonderful nuselfishness of woman's love I O marvellous constancy of woman's faith How often do ye born and die away unheeded and unprized on hollow altars I Threeshort bright years have passed, andJ is Christmas eve. Outside I hear a group f merry boys, battling with the bitter wind and laughing at ite fierceness. Frost glitters on the window-panes and obills the air to-night; and blazing fires roar up the ohimneys, pour ing forth a welcome as they go. Here, in this quiet room, there is an atmosphere 51 peace and calm eontent that almost lll U' with a reverential fear lest the sweet spl bshould float away and leave me desolate. I can watch her all unnoticed as she sits 0' the deep shadow of the fre-light, the tngeld my hearth and home. The face is perhas * shade more thoughtfal than of old; bet t , bright head, golden brown, has stillthoe -s graefal poise ad movement; the tr,tl eyes are still as kind and tender as ofyor And as she sits there mlusing, I lay dowsr busy pen, and my full heart throbs wit t~ i tude and thankfllunees as I think how l0lS liferworldbe without her this happy Ci mas Eve. The beet trusse, supporters sad b3rasi' Amerles r aseps are mde asd sAetsd by EP'. man, s remou surne.