pirits, my child."

"She hardly will be punished for following the creed of her fathers,
living where she did, where no other creed was known?" replied Amine,
indignantly. "If the good on earth are blessed in the next world--if
she had, as you assert she had, a soul to be saved--an immortal
spirit--He who made that spirit will not destroy it because she
worshipped as her fathers did.--Her life was good: why should she
be punished for ignorance of that creed which she never had an
opportunity of rejecting?"

"Who shall dispute the will of Heaven, my child? Be thankful that you
are permitted to be instructed, and to be received into the bosom of
the holy church."

"I am thankful for many things, father; but I am weary, and must wish
you a good-night."

Amine retired to her room--but not to sleep. Once more did she attempt
the ceremonies used by her mother, changing them each time, as
doubtful of her success. Again the censer was lighted--the charm
essayed; again the room was filled with smoke as she threw in the
various herbs which she had knowledge of, for all the papers thrown
aside at her father's death had been carefully collected, and on many
were directions found as to the use of those herbs. "The word! the
word! I have the first--the second word! Help me, mother!" cried
Amine, as she sat by the side of the bed, in the room, which was now
so full of smoke that nothing could be distinguished. "It is of no
use," thought she at last, letting her hands fall at her side; "I have
forgotten the art. Mother! mother! help me in my dreams this night."

The smoke gradually cleared away, and, when Amine lifted up her eyes,
she perceived a figure standing before her. At first she thought she
had been successful in her charm; but, as the figure became more
distinct, she perceived that it was Father Mathias, who was looking at
her with a severe frown and contracted brow, his arms folded before
him.

"Unholy child! what dost thou?"

Amine had roused the suspicions of the priests, not only by her
conversation, but by several attempts which she had before made to
recover her lost art; and on one occasion, in which she had defended
it, both Father Mathias and Father Seysen had poured out the bitterest
anathemas upon her, or anyone who had resort to such practices. The
smell of the fragrant herbs thrown into the censer, and the smoke,
which afterwards had escaped through the door and ascended the stairs,
had awakened the susp