pe he will not send
for me again. I never loved this harsh, bitter old man, nor do I
intend to risk my happiness by promising impossibilities. I'll go to
confession, and all that, when I am ready, and not before. Walter
detests Catholics; and if he thought I was still one, he'd never wed
me. But it cannot last long--I shall soon be free; and, once Jerrold's
wife, I can practise my religion if I choose. At any rate, I shall
_die a Catholic_!"

It was midnight. All was silent in the death-chamber. The night-taper
was placed behind a screen; and the fire-light flickered with a
tremulous motion on the richly-carved, antique furniture, black and
polished by age, and creeping upwards, threw long, wavering shadows on
the wall. Amidst this solemn twilight, a table spread with white,
which supported a crucifix, wax lights, and flowers, stood near the
sick man's bed. A guest was expected ere long--a divine and honored
guest was coming into the shadowy room where death held his awful
presence, to strengthen and console that penitent spirit on is passage
to eternity, when, like Elias, after his miraculous repast,
strengthened and courageous, it would walk with humble, but sure steps
towards its eternal Horeb!

May knelt by her uncle's side, with his hand clasped in hers, praying,
and whispering sweet words of cheer. A footstep sounded on the
pavement; it ascended the steps, and Father Fabian, accompanied by
Helen and Doctor Burrell, who had been waiting in the parlor below,
came in, bearing with him the Lord of Life. May lit the candles on the
temporary altar, and retired with the rest for a few moments, while
Father Fabian held a brief conversation with the penitent old man,
touching the affairs of his conscience; then he summoned them in; and
while they knelt, he arranged himself in surplice and stole, and in a
solemn, impressive manner, began the sacramental rite. "'_Behold
him--behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world_,'"
he said, holding up the sacred host. "'_He that eateth my flesh, and
drinketh my blood_,' says the Redeemer, '_hath ever-lasting life, and I
will raise him up on the last day_.' The day of life was almost spent,
when you came to him; night was coming on, but He, in the plenitude of
His divine compassion, turned you not away, but gives you a princely
reward--even Himself. Like the Prodigal, destitute and naked, you
return, and receiving you, He spreads a mystic feast, in wh