May laughed.  “You think that, as we harmonize so exactly, we should be a mutual protection to each other?”

“Precisely.  Will you remain?”

“No.  It would be pleasant on some accounts, but would not be at all suitable on others.  A residence here would very materially interrupt the objects and aims of my life, in which pursuit I can alone be happy.”

“Dodona’s Cave!  How oracular!” said Mr. Jerrold, laughing outright.  “Explain, dear Sopho, your argument!”

“Will you understand?  But how can you, a Protestant, understand the motive power of a Catholic heart?” said May.

“Proceed.  I will give you oracle for oracle.  I am a Protestant in principle, but not in fact,” was the light reply.

“I have always felt that while I ate no idle bread I was of some use on earth.  I have always been accustomed to an active life.  Labor gives one an opportunity of learning many virtues;—­patience amongst them, and not the least, humility.  I should have nothing to do, here.  The necessity for exertion would be gone; and, really, I am too much afraid of myself, to trust to exigencies.  No, no!  I must have an aim which will require the exercise of my most active energies.  Dependence will not suit me.”

“That is it,” broke in Mr. Jerrold.  “Pride is at the bottom of the whole argument.  May! this moment you are as proud as the devil!”

“Oh, sir! pray do not think that.  I really feel extremely grateful for your kind intentions,” said May, looking distressed.  “I have other reasons, which I cannot very well explain, for choosing the way of life that I have.  Only please to understand this, that I should be very miserable, if I were placed, now, in a situation which would leave me without responsibility.”

“You are a paradox.  You ought to be ten feet high, May, with such a will as yours.  You won’t live with us, because we are so wicked that you’d have to preach to us about our sins; and you won’t live here, because you’re afraid you’ll get as bad as we are.  Well, well! be happy your own way, and come and see Helen when you can,” said Mr. Jerrold, laughing, as he got up to leave.

“I feel your kindness deeply, Mr. Jerrold.  I hope you are not hurt or offended?”

“Not in the least.  I think you are bearing your wrongs like a saint; and I wish I was only half as good,” replied Mr. Jerrold, shaking hands with her.

“Tell Helen that I am thankful for the flowers, and will offer them this evening, with a prayer for her conversion, to OUR MOTHER,” said May.

“I thought her mother was dead and buried!” thought Mr. Jerrold, as he walked down the street.  “What a curious little soul she is!”

After dinner, May went to inform Father Fabian that she had declined Mr. Fielding’s offer, and would remove to Mrs. Tabb’s in the course of a day or two.  But she saw him in the garden walk in the rear of the house, walking to and fro, reading his office, and went into the church, where she offered the rich bouquet Helen had sent her, on the shrine of Our Lady, the refuge; after which, she said, with great devotion, a decade of the rosary, for her conversion.  Father Fabian was standing in the door when she returned, and watched her, as she approached, with a grave, but quizzical, expression of countenance.