od. You see, it
is for all my life and all my soul."

Montanelli turned away and stared into the dusky gloom of the magnolia
branches. The twilight was so dim that his figure had a shadowy look,
like a dark ghost among the darker boughs.

"And then?" he asked slowly.

"And then--she died. You know, I had been up the last three nights with
her----"

He broke off and paused a moment, but Montanelli did not move.

"All those two days before they buried her," Arthur went on in a lower
voice, "I couldn't think about anything. Then, after the funeral, I was
ill; you remember, I couldn't come to confession."

"Yes; I remember."

"Well, in the night I got up and went into mother's room. It was all
empty; there was only the great crucifix in the alcove. And I thought
perhaps God would help me. I knelt down and waited--all night. And in
the morning when I came to my senses--Padre, it isn't any use; I can't
explain. I can't tell you what I saw--I hardly know myself. But I know
that God has answered me, and that I dare not disobey Him."

For a moment they sat quite silent in the darkness. Then Montanelli
turned and laid his hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"My son," he said, "God forbid that I should say He has not spoken to
your soul. But remember your condition when this thing happened, and do
not take the fancies of grief or illness for His solemn call. And if,
indeed, it has been His will to answer you out of the shadow of death,
be sure that you put no false construction on His word. What is this
thing you have it in your heart to do?"

Arthur stood up and answered slowly, as though repeating a catechism:

"To give up my life to Italy, to help in freeing her from all this
slavery and wretchedness, and in driving out the Austrians, that she may
be a free republic, with no king but Christ."

"Arthur, think a moment what you are saying! You are not even an
Italian."

"That makes no difference; I am myself. I have seen this thing, and I
belong to it."

There was silence again.

"You spoke just now of what Christ would have said----" Montanelli began
slowly; but Arthur interrupted him:

"Christ said: 'He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.'"

Montanelli leaned his arm against a branch, and shaded his eyes with one
hand.

"Sit down a moment, my son," he said at last.

Arthur sat down, and the Padre took both his hands in a strong and
steady clasp.

"I cannot argue with you to-night," he said; "this