The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume], January 31, 1875, Morning, Page 2, Image 2

About The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881

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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.