s great Christian kindness,
coming to remind you of it, and thank you for it, in the Better Land."

The old priest shook his head. But, as he stretched out his hands at the
same moment, in the act of benediction, Hilda knelt down and received
the blessing with as devout a simplicity as any Catholic of them all.

CHAPTER XL

HILDA AND A FRIEND

When Hilda knelt to receive the priest's benediction, the act was
witnessed by a person who stood leaning against the marble balustrade
that surrounds the hundred golden lights, before the high altar. He had
stood there, indeed, from the moment of the girl's entrance into the
confessional. His start of surprise, at first beholding her, and
the anxious gloom that afterwards settled on his face, sufficiently
betokened that he felt a deep and sad interest in what was going
forward.

After Hilda had bidden the priest farewell, she came slowly towards the
high altar. The individual to whom we have alluded seemed irresolute
whether to advance or retire. His hesitation lasted so long that the
maiden, straying through a happy reverie, had crossed the wide extent
of the pavement between the confessional and the altar, before he had
decided whether to meet her. At last, when within a pace or two, she
raised her eyes and recognized Kenyon.

"It is you!" she exclaimed, with joyful surprise. "I am so happy."

In truth, the sculptor had never before seen, nor hardly imagined, such
a figure of peaceful beatitude as Hilda now presented. While coming
towards him in the solemn radiance which, at that period of the day, is
diffused through the transept, and showered down beneath the dome, she
seemed of the same substance as the atmosphere that enveloped her. He
could scarcely tell whether she was imbued with sunshine, or whether it
was a glow of happiness that shone out of her.

At all events, it was a marvellous change from the sad girl, who had
entered the confessional bewildered with anguish, to this bright, yet
softened image of religious consolation that emerged from it. It was
as if one of the throng of angelic people, who might be hovering in the
sunny depths of the dome, had alighted on the pavement. Indeed, this
capability of transfiguration, which we often see wrought by inward
delight on persons far less capable of it than Hilda, suggests how
angels come by their beauty, it grows out of their happiness, and lasts
forever only because that is immortal.

She held out