The cousins stood up, and each gazed full upon the other.  Mary’s face was colorless as marble, and her hands were tightly clasped as she bent forward with a longing, searching, eager look.  A crimson glow rushed to Florence’s very temples; then receded, leaving an ashy paleness.

“I am a member of the Church of Rome.”

Mary groaned and sank back into her chair, at this confirmation of her fears.  Florence leaned against the chimney, and continued in a low, but clear voice—­“I have little to say in defense of what you may consider a deception.  I deny the right of any on earth to question my motives of actions; yet I would not that you, Mary, who have loved me so long and truly, should be alienated, without hearing the reasons which I have to allege in favor of my conduct.  Mary, think well when I ask you what prospect of happiness there was for me a month since?  Alone in the wide world, with ruined hopes, and a long, long, joyless future stretching gloomily before me.  I was weary of life.  I longed for death, not as a passport to the joys of heaven (for I had never sought or deserved them), but as bringing rest, peace, and oblivion of the past I viewed it only as a long, last, dreamless sleep.  Mary, I was groping my way in what seemed endless night, when suddenly there came a glimmer of light, faint as the first trembling rays of the evening star, and just pierced the darkness in which I wandered.  The Padre came to me, and pointed to the long-forgotten God, and bade me seek him who hath said, come unto me all ye who are weary, and I will give you rest.  Mary, do you wonder that I clasped the hand outstretched to save me, and besought him to lead me to the outraged and insulted God?  My eyes were opened, and looking down the long, dark vista of the past.  I saw how, worshiping a creature, I built a great barrier between myself and heaven.  I saw my danger, and resolved, ere it was too late, to dedicate the remainder of my life to him who gave it.  The door of the church was opened, and Father Mazzolin pointed out the way by which I might be saved.  The paths seem flowery, and he tells me the ways are those of pleasantness and peace, and I have resolved to try them.  Once, and once only, I met him at confession, hoping, by unveiling my sufferings to a man of God, to receive comfort of a higher order than I might otherwise expect.  He has granted me absolution for the past, and I doubt not that in future the intercession of the blessed saints in heaven will avail with my offended Maker.”

“Florry, my own dear Florry! hear me, for none on earth love you as I do.  Do you not believe the Bible—­God’s written word?  Has he not said, ‘there is one mediator between God and man—­the man Christ Jesus?’ Has not Christ made propitiation for our sin, and assured us there is but one way whereby we may be saved, repentance for our past sins and faith in the sufficiency of his atonement?  Do you doubt the efficacy of Christ’s suffering and death?  Tell me, Florry, by what authority you invoke your saints?  Surely you do so in opposition to the express declaration of the Bible already quoted—­’there is one mediator between God and man.’”