“And I am here, dear Helen.  How can I aid you?”

“First go and close that door.  I have a most inconveniently zealous French waiting-maid, who pretends not to understand English, that she may gather as much information about one’s private affairs as possible.”

“I encountered her on the stairs,” said May, closing the door carefully.

“Now, lay off your things, little woman.  Sit here where I can see you, and tell me if you are not dazzled by all this splendor, and if you do not think I ought to be the happiest woman on earth?”

“No, dear Helen; it is very rich and beautiful, but it does not dazzle me.  And so far from thinking you ought to be the happiest woman on earth, I think you ought to be the most miserable, until contrition and repentance lead you back, humble and weeping, to the sacraments you have deserted,” said May, bravely.

“Just the same ridiculous little thing!” said Helen, with a faint smile.  “But, May, suppose even that I felt those dispositions, do you know what it would cost me to practice them?”

“A few worldly pleasures, perhaps, which are so fleeting that they are not worth a thought—­a few vain triumphs, full of envy—­heart-burnings and aspirations, which, while they waste the energies of an immortal soul, rise no higher than your head, and fall like black, misshapen lava at your feet.”

“Think you this is all, May Brooke?  If it were, I could fling them from me as I do these leaves,” said Helen, tearing to pieces a rich japonica, which she snatched from a vase near her, and scattering the soft, pure petals around her.  “No, May, these would be trifles.  I should have to tear up my heart with a burning ploughshare—­put it under foot to be spurned and crushed!  The storm it would raise would rage so wildly that I should become like a piece of drift-wood, at the mercy of wind and waves.”

“If your eternal interests are at stake, let the burning ploughshare go over it, Helen, for it is better to suffer here than where the fire of wrath is everlasting; but, indeed, dear Helen, all this sounds exaggerated and impassioned to me!  These obstacles which you dread must be temptations to deter you from the holiest duties.  If you anticipate any difficulties from Mr. Jerrold’s opposition, make your heart easy.  He is quite miserable about you, and declares that he has not the least objection to you practising your Faith.”

“Did he say that, May?”

“He did, indeed.  I suggested that your happiness might be involved in these momentous questions, when he expressed not only his willingness, but his anxiety for you to do whatever your conscience demanded.”

“Oh, May!  Oh, little woman! simple—­good soul!” cried Helen, bursting into tears.  “I cannot tell you all.  You do not understand.  There is a terrible mystery, which, like an incubus, is brooding day and night in my soul, and drives back all good angels who would enter.  I am its slave, May.”