“I am glad to see you, my child, in your long dresses yet,” he said, holding out his hand, kindly.

“Sir,” said May, looking perplexed.

“I did not feel sure but that you had adopted the new school so much in favor with your sex, judging from all that I have heard,” he replied, laughing.

“What new school?  What have you heard, Father?” she asked, anxiously.

“The strong-minded women’s-school!”

“I see that you have some jest at my expense, and I must be patient until it is explained,” said May, sitting down.

“Yes, yes; be patient.”

“Will you not tell me, Father, what I have done?”

“May, do you believe that you burned the will the night your uncle lay dying?” asked Father Fabian, abruptly.

“I do not think I did.  I may, however, have done so.”

“Mr. Fielding intends to endeavor to set aside the will which was found.  He had good legal reasons to expect that he can secure you an equal share of your uncle’s estate with your cousin.”

“I hope he will do no such thing, sir.  I am quite satisfied.”

“But he and the witnesses to the other will are not, because there are very important public and religious interests involved in its loss.”

“If that is the case, I can only object so far as I am individually concerned,” said May; “but I hope most earnestly that Mr. Fielding will let the matter rest a short time longer—­a few months, for the longer I think of it that I did not burn the will, and I feel a presentiment that it will come to light,” said May, earnestly.

“And you will not give your consent, as one of the heirs, to go to law?”

“Not yet—­not yet, Father.  Let us wait a little.  If it is mislaid, it may be found; if any one has wronged me by secreting it, they may repent.”

“Was there ever such a wild goose on earth?” said Father Fabian, laughing.  “You know as much about the world now, May, as you did eighteen years ago, when you were just two months old.”

“But, Father, you have always taught me to have faith in God, and told me in all difficulties to have recourse to him and the Blessed Virgin.  If it is for his glory, and the good of his creatures, the lost will will be found,” she said, earnestly.

“You are right, my child.  God’s holy will be done,” said Father Fabian, lifting his bounet-carre from his brow.  “But, having turned a theological point against me, can you explain your most obstinate refusal to accept of Mr. Fielding’s and Mr. Jerrold’s kind offers of a home, where ease, luxury, and elegance would attend you?  You seem determined to take a stand against your interests in every way.  What rational objection can you oppose to their offers?”

“Dear Father, are you displeased with your poor child?” asked May, with humility.

“To be frank, my dear child, I consider your conduct a little unusual,” said Father Fabian, looking down to conceal the smile that brightened his eyes.  “How could you act so?”