That night, when Mr. Stillinghast came in, Helen officiously placed his chair in its usual corner, and handed him his slippers.  May made two or three observations to him in her own cheerful way, but he barely replied, and desired her not to interrupt him again.  Her heart swelled, and her cheeks flushed, but she remembered the aim of her life, and was silent.

“Do you play on the piano?” said Mr. Stillinghast, abruptly, to Helen.

“No, sir; I play on the harp,” she replied, amazed.

“Do you play well?”

“My master thought so, sir.”

“I will order one for you to-morrow.  I expect company to tea to-morrow evening, so put on any fandangos you have got.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, while her face sparkled with delight; “I can never thank you, sir.”

“I don’t want you to, so be quiet, and do as I bid you,” he replied, roughly.

“Poor Helen!” thought May; “poor—­poor Helen! ’they seek after her soul,’ and she, oh, weak one! how will she resist without the sacraments?”

After Mr. Stillinghast retired, and they were left alone, Helen again opened a French novel to resume her reading, without exchanging a word with her cousin.  Thoughts and emotions were flooding May’s soul with impulses she dared not resist.  She must warn her.  She must stretch out her arm, weak though it was, to save her.

“Helen! dear Helen, listen to me!” she said, kneeling before her, and throwing an arm around her neck, while she laid her hand on her cousin’s.  Helen, astonished, dropped her book, and remained passive, while May besought her by her hopes of heaven to accompany her the next morning to confession, or go alone, as both could not leave home together; then set before her in eloquent and soul-touching language the peril into which her prevarications were leading her.

“You are mad, May.—­decidedly mad; I intend to better my condition if I can, and be a Catholic too.  I am only conciliating this crusty old wretch, who has us both in his power; then, you know, we may bring him around after awhile,” she said, carelessly.

“Oh, Helen! we cannot serve two masters, even for a season; nor can we handle pitch without becoming defiled.  Believe me, this kind of conciliation, as it is called, is fraught with evil,” said May, earnestly.

“You are right about the pitch, May.  He is truly as disagreeable as pitch; but, indeed, I will endeavor to handle him with gloves on,” said Helen, laughing; “and I won’t go to confession until I am ready.”

“I alluded to my uncle’s opinions and principles, for, Helen, he is an unbeliever!” said May, sighing, as she turned away to go up to bed.

“Don’t make any more scenes, little dear; really, you startle one almost into spasms,” continued the heartless and beautiful one.  “I have a very strong, high spirit, and a will; no iron or rock is harder.”