“And now?  Now, tell me truly, does not the passion that has such wonderful power over you prompt and urge your inmost soul to yield—­to fly to the embrace of the man you love—­to give all up for him and say:  ’Here I am—­I am yours!  Call a priest to bless our union!—­Is it not so—­am I not right?’”

Paula, deeply blushing, bowed assent; but the old woman drew her head on to her motherly bosom, and went on thoughtfully: 

“I saw him drive past in his quadriga, and was reminded of many a noble statue of the heathen Greeks.  Beauty, rank, wealth, aye—­and talents and intellect—­all that could ruin the heart of a Paula are his, and she—­I see it plainly—­will give it to him gladly.”

And again the maiden bowed her head.  The abbess sighed, and went on as though she had with difficulty succeeded in submitting to the inevitable “Then all warning would be in vain.—­Still, he is not of our confession, he. . . .”

“But how highly he esteems it!” cried Paula.  “That he proves by risking his freedom and life for you and your household.”

“Say rather for you whom he loves,” replied the other.  “But putting that out of the question, it pains me deeply to think of Thomas’ daughter as the wife of a Jacobite.  You will not, I know, give him up; and the Father of Love often leads true love to good ends by wonderful ways, even though they are ways of error, passing through pitfalls and abysses.”

Paula fell on her neck to kiss her gratefully:  but the abbess could only allow the girl a few minutes to enjoy her happiness.  She desired her to sit down by her side, and holding Paula’s hand in both her own, she spoke to her in a tone of calm deliberation.  She and her sisterhood, she began by saying, were deeply indebted to Orion.  She had no dearer wish than that Paula should find the greatest earthly happiness in her marriage; still, it was her part to tender advice, and she dared not blind herself to the dangers which threatened this happiness.  She herself had a long life behind her of varied experience, in which she had seen hundreds of young men who had been given up as lost sinners by father and mother—­lost to the Church and to all goodness—­and among these many a one, like Saul, had had his journey to Damascus.  A turning point had come to them, and the outcast sons had become excellent and pious men.

Paula, as she listened, had drawn closer to the speaker, and her eyes beamed with joy; but the elder woman shook her head, and her gaze grew more devout and rapt, as she went on with deep solemnity: 

“But then, my child, in all of these Grace had done its perfect work; the miracle was accomplished which we term regeneration.  They were still the same men in the flesh and in the elements of their sensible nature, but their relation to the world and to life was altogether new.  All that they had formerly thought desirable they could now hate; what they had deemed important was now worthless, and the