May, all this time, was cheerfully climbing step by step; sometimes fainting—­sometimes stumbling—­sometimes falling, but ever rising with renewed strength up the steep and narrow way of Calvary.  Her uncle’s distrustful manner—­his harsh language—­his angry looks, with Helen’s apparent apostasy, and haughty demeanor, were trials which required the constant replenishing of grace in her soul, to bear with patience.  But Father Fabian bid her to be of good cheer; the divine sacraments of the Church strengthened and consoled her by their sweet and mighty power; and like waters returning cool and purified to their source, or dews gently falling to the earth from which they had risen, in blessing and refreshment, her daily visits to old Mabel, so full of charity and good-will, filled her with indescribable happiness.

Mrs. Jerrold insisted on furnishing Helen’s trousseau, while she was occupied every day in selecting expensive furniture for a house her uncle had settled on her, with permission to furnish it without regard to cost, on condition that she was married by a Protestant minister.  She was telling May, with great glee and pride, about her purchases, when she suddenly paused, and exclaimed,

“You need not look so grave, May.  I presume my marriage will be as legal and respectable as if the ceremony was performed by a priest.”

“As legal as any other civil rite.  But, Helen, you know that the Church acknowledges no such marriages amongst her children.  Her precepts teach that marriage, to be legal, must also be sacramental.  It is a sacrament; one which is held in high esteem and respect by the Church, and no Catholic can contract it otherwise, without censure.  In case you persist, your marriage will not be recognized by the Church as valid, or your offspring legitimate.”

“I shall have a great many to keep me in countenance,” replied Helen, coldly.  “I have no idea of submitting to every thing; Jerrold would not, I am sure, consent to being married by a Catholic priest, and I do not intend to thwart him, as I consider it a matter of very little importance.”

“Helen, listen to me.  You must listen to me.  It shall be the last time, if you will only be patient.  There is an hour coming, if you persist in your present course, when you will wish you had never been born; an hour when all human aid must fail, and all human interests and splendor drop away from you like rotten rags; when your soul, affrighted and shrinking, will go forth, obeying the inexorable laws, of the Creator, to meet its Almighty Judge.  When the shadows will fall darkly around your way, Helen, and phantoms of darkness lie in wait, until the irrevocable sentence is spoken, which will consign you to utter woe; when, stripped of all, you will stand shivering and alone before an awful tribunal, to give evidence against yourself.  Oh, Helen! dear Helen! how will it be with you then? how will you escape, oh faithless daughter of the Church!”