Poor Mary’s heart was sad indeed; yet there was no bitterness in her soul, no rebellious feelings toward Almighty God, who had thus afflicted her so sorely.  She wiped away her tears, and calming herself as much as possible, repeated, in a faltering voice, the beautiful hymn commencing “I would not live always.”  She paused at the conclusion of the second verse; but Florence did not lift her head, and hoping to cheer her, she finished the hymn.

Twilight had fallen on the earth, and the blue vault of heaven was studded with its myriad lamps.  The new moon glittered like a golden thread—­low in the west—­and seemed almost to rest upon the bosom of the stream, as it curved in the distance to meet the horizon.

“Come, Florry, you must not stay out so late; I am afraid you will take cold!”

Florence rose mechanically and accompanied her.

“Oh, Florry, do try and trust in God, and believe that in every trial and affliction he will comfort and assist us.”

Her cousin sighed heavily, but made no reply.

As they reached the gate it was quickly opened, and the Padre met them:  he bowed coldly to Mary, but shook hands with Florence, and promised to come again the ensuing day.  It was so late that Mary could not distinguish his features; but just as he turned to go, Aunt Fanny threw open the kitchen door, and the light streamed full on his face; their eyes met, and she started at the smile of triumph that irradiated his dark countenance:  he bowed, and passed on.

Mary hastened down the walk, and entered the sick room, fearing she scarcely knew what.  The invalid Was tossing restlessly from side to side, and on the pillow lay a rosary and crucifix.  For an instant she stood motionless; then sprang forward, and clasped his burning hand in hers.  “Uncle! dear uncle! tell me who has been with you!  Aunt Lizzy promised she would not leave you till we came back You have been excited:  your hands are burning with fever!”

“I was not alone, Mary; the Padre sat and talked with me;” as the sufferer spoke, he shuddered and closed his eyes.

“And did he leave these here!” said she, taking up the crucifix and rosary.

“No, no! they are mine!” and he snatched them from her.

Mary turned pale, and leaned against the bed for support.  Florence, now bending over her father, motioned to her cousin to be silent; without effect, however; for, passing round the bed, she knelt beside him.  “Uncle, was it by your desire that the Padre came here this evening?”

He did not seem to hear her question; she repeated it.

“Yes; that is, this is not his first visit.”

“Uncle, why do you evade me?  Tell me, I entreat you, if he did not force himself here in my absence!”

“Mary, will you drive my father delirious with your interference with his wishes?”

“No, Florry, not when I am convinced that such are his wishes.  I know that in health he is no more a Papist than you or I; yet, now I see him clinging to that rosary and crucifix, what am I to think?  If you can explain this mystery, do so, Florry.”