who steal into the soul like a pleasant, beneficent idea, and satisfy its longings with something calmer and holier than mere worldly friendship; for there was that within May’s soul—­the hidden mystery of faith and religion—­which, like a lamp in a vase of alabaster, shone out from her countenance with an influence which none could withstand; it won—­it led—­it blessed those who yielded to its power.  She presided at the head of the table that evening with quiet grace, and attempted once or twice to converse with her uncle, but his looks and replies were so harsh that she turned to Helen and Mr. Jerrold, and in a short time found herself amused at his persiflage and Helen’s repartees.

“I have writing to do, Jerrold,” said Mr. Stillinghast, after tea; “and if you will excuse me, I will go up to my room.  You can drop in, and look over those papers before you go.  However, stay as late as it is agreeable for you to do so.”  Walter Jerrold understood him.  Already captivated by Helen’s beauty and worldliness, his decision was made.

Very soon was heard through the silent mansion strains of music, which startled the echoes in its silent and deserted rooms, accompanied by a voice of such thrilling sweetness and volume of tone, that the solitary old man, in his cold and cheerless apartment, threw down his pen, and sprung to his feet, to listen.  It was Helen singing wild cavatinas from Norma, and solos from Der Freischutz, and looking so splendidly beautiful the while, that Walter Jerrold thought with pride and exultation of introducing so much loveliness to the world as his bride.  May was silent, and wondered at it all, and felt, rather than reasoned that somehow Helen was bartering away her eternal interests for gain, and that these scenes were integral parts of the ruinous scheme.

So she was not much surprised when Mr. Jerrold, on taking leave, asked permission to call the next day with his mother; to which Helen assented graciously, and May, having no decided reason to do otherwise, said, “they would be pleased to see Mrs. Jerrold.”

“Where shall I find Mr. Stillinghast, Miss Brooke?”

“In the room, sir, just at the head of the staircase.  It is the first door, a little to the left.”

“Thank you.  Good night, again, fair ladies,” he said, bounding up the steps.

“Come in,” said the voice of Mr. Stillinghast, in answer to his low tapping.

“Aha! well?”

“Have you the necessary papers ready, sir?” inquired the young man, eagerly.

“Here they are.  Are you ready to sign them?”

“This moment, sir.  Give me the pen.”

“No, sir; read them first.  I’ll have no such head-over-heels doings in any transactions in which I am concerned.  Here they are!” said Mr. Stillinghast, in his saturnine, rough way.

Walter Jerrold read the papers, which were worded according to the strictest legal forms, slowly and attentively, and felt more than satisfied.