y of peace made her as lovely as an angel.

On her part, Hilda beheld a venerable figure with hair as white as snow,
and a face strikingly characterized by benevolence. It bore marks of
thought, however, and penetrative insight; although the keen glances of
the eyes were now somewhat bedimmed with tears, which the aged shed, or
almost shed, on lighter stress of emotion than would elicit them from
younger men.

"It has not escaped my observation, daughter," said the priest, "that
this is your first acquaintance with the confessional. How is this?"

"Father," replied Hilda, raising her eyes, and again letting them fall,
"I am of New Eng land birth, and was bred as what you call a heretic."

"From New England!" exclaimed the priest. "It was my own birthplace,
likewise; nor have fifty years of absence made me cease to love it. But
a heretic! And are you reconciled to the Church?"

"Never, father," said Hilda.

"And, that being the case," demanded the old man, "on what ground, my
daughter, have you sought to avail yourself of these blessed privileges,
confined exclusively to members of the one true Church, of confession
and absolution?"

"Absolution, father?" exclaimed Hilda, shrinking back. "O no, no! I
never dreamed of that! Only our Heavenly Father can forgive my sins; and
it is only by sincere repentance of whatever wrong I may have done, and
by my own best efforts towards a higher life, that I can hope for his
forgiveness! God forbid that I should ask absolution from mortal man!"

"Then wherefore," rejoined the priest, with somewhat less mildness in
his tone,--"wherefore, I ask again, have you taken possession, as I may
term it, of this holy ordinance; being a heretic, and neither seeking to
share, nor having faith in, the unspeakable advantages which the Church
offers to its penitents?"

"Father," answered Hilda, trying to tell the old man the simple truth,
"I am a motherless girl, and a stranger here in Italy. I had only God
to take care of me, and be my closest friend; and the terrible, terrible
crime, which I have revealed to you, thrust itself between him and me;
so that I groped for him in the darkness, as it were, and found him
not,--found nothing but a dreadful solitude, and this crime in the midst
of it! I could not bear it. It seemed as if I made the awful guilt my
own, by keeping it hidden in my heart. I grew a fearful thing to myself.
I was going mad!"

"It was a grievous trial, my poor child!" ob