"Oh, no, no!" sobbed Helen, quite overcome by the scene. "I am very
young, and love the world. I have never intended to forsake my
religion entirely. I intend, at some early day, to go to confession.
I have only procrastinated."

"Of course, my dear child, you will return to your duty," said Father
Fabian; "you cannot do otherwise, unless you wish to seal deliberately
your eternal perdition."

"You will marry--marry Jerrold," gasped Mr. Stillinghast; "but
do--not--forget--that your prevarications--may ruin his soul--with your
own. Are--you willing--to assume the responsibility?"

"Oh, sir, this is horrible!" exclaimed Helen, falling on her knees
beside the bed.

"But true," added Father Fabian, at a sign from Mr. Stillinghast, who
leaned back exhausted. "It is a perilous thing, under the most
favorable circumstances, for a Catholic to wed with a Protestant. If
the Catholic has not the patience of a saint, and the constancy of a
martyr, scandal must come. Concessions must be made--vital principles
too often yielded, and at last the unbeliever triumphs--not over the
mere human will, and the weak nature of his victim, but over
religion--and exultingly thinks how frail are the defences of this
faith, which is called divine. Then, _confirmed_ in his errors by your
betrayal, his whole life is a scoff at Eternal Truth; while you,
bringing forth children, who, instead of becoming heirs of Christ,
become aliens from His fold, while _your_ sin--_your_ treachery--_your_
apostasy will, like an onward billow, roll through future generations,
until it dashes itself, with its black abominations, at the feet of the
Eternal Judge. But, my dear child, through the mercy of God, and your
own example, you may win this wandering soul to embrace the truth: at
any rate, you may, by your pious constancy, plant the seeds of a better
life in his soul, which may bear the fruits of salvation."

"It was--my act. I would undo it--but--it is too late--too late.
Helen--forgive me."

"Dear uncle, do not say so.--I have nothing to forgive," she sobbed.

"Time will come, I fear--when--you will not think so. Go, now--I--have
provided--for you--see--that you provide--for the eternal future," he
said, with difficulty.

Helen kissed the hand already shadowed by the approach of death, and
left the room, weeping.

"It is horrible!" she exclaimed, almost shrieking, as she threw herself
on the bed, after she reached her apartment. "I ho