He was writing, but gave his attention, and heard,
with ill-disguised chagrin, that Florence distrusted his promised
protection.

"Does she doubt in matters of faith, think you?" he eagerly inquired.

"Indeed, Padre, I cannot say. All I know is, that she and Mary sat
till midnight, reading and talking, and she has not seemed like
herself since."

"Where shall I find Florence?" said he, taking his hat.

"In the churchyard, I think, beside her father's grave."

"Say nothing to her, but apparently acquiesce in her plans; and, above
all, do not let her dream that you have told me these things."

Ah, Florence! who may presume to analyze the anguish of your tortured
heart as you throw yourself, in such abandonment of grief, on the tomb
of your lost parent? The luxuriant grass, swaying to and fro in the
chill October blast, well-nigh concealed the bent and drooping form,
as she knelt and laid her head on the cold granite.

"My father! oh, my father!" and tears, which she had not shed before,
fell fast, and somewhat eased the desolate, aching heart. Florence had
not wept before in many years; and now that the fountain was unsealed,
she strove not to repress the tears which seemed to lift and bear away
the heavy weight which had so long crushed her spirits.

What a blessing it is to be able to weep; and happy are they who can
readily give vent to tears, and thus exhaust their grief! Such
can never realize the intensity of anguish which other natures
suffer--natures to whom this great relief is denied, and who must keep
the withering, scorching agony pent up within the secret chambers of
their desolate, aching hearts. Sobs and tears are not for these. No,
no; alone and in darkness they must wrestle with their grief, crush it
down into their inmost soul, and with a calm exterior go forth to meet
the world. But ah! the flitting, wintry smile, the short, constrained
laugh, the pale brow marked with lines of mental anguish, will
ofttimes, tell of the smoldering ruin....

"My daughter, God has appointed me in place of the parent he has taken
hence; turn to me, and our most holy church, and you will find comfort
such as naught else can afford."

Florence sprung to her feet, and shuddered at the sound of his low,
soft voice. The Padre marked the shudder, and the uneasy look which
accompanied it: "Padre, I have confessed, and I have prayed to almost
every saint in the Calendar, and I have had your prayers in addition
to my ow