nting of the _Mater
Dolorosa_. I always fancied there was a look of my mother,
particularly about the eyes, in the countenance. I should like to have
it copied by some first-rate artist to hang up in my chamber."

"Certainly, dear Helen. I would offer you the picture as a keep-sake,
only it was highly prized by my father; and there are so many
associations connected with it, which makes it very precious to me.
Whenever you wish it, let me know, and I will go with it myself to the
artist."

The next day they parted. Helen, arrayed in costly silks, laces, and
jewelry, went forth a bride, and pronounced irrevocable vows, which
made her the wife of a man, who, highly honorable in a worldly sense,
was the professed enemy of the creed she professed.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE DEATH DREAM.

While the splendid festivities which succeeded Helen's marriage
afforded a topic of conversation for the _bon ton_ of three cities, May
was quietly preparing to leave the old house, beneath whose roof she
had learned so many lessons of self-denial, patience, and constancy;
while she found time, each day, to pay her accustomed visit to old
Mabel, who was approaching nearer and nearer her eternal rest. In
serving her, May felt richly rewarded by the edification she derived
from her simple piety, and the perfect resignation and joyful
submission she evinced to the Divine Will. She was frequently
astonished at the untaught eloquence of her expressions, and the
beautiful humility of her language, when she spoke of the mercy of
Almighty God, and lifted up her heart in joyful aspirations and
effusions of love, to JESUS and MARY. The sacred and crucified,
Humanity of ONE, and the suffering and anguish of the Humanity of the
OTHER, seemed to condescend so entirely to her low estate, that the
divinity of JESUS, and the measureless love of MARY, His Mother, were
folded like a garment around her, and strengthened, and consoled, and
brightened her path, as she approached the shadow through which she was
to pass. And while May's inmost heart united its pure emotions in
harmony with the mysteries of faith and grace, the words of an old
English poet rippled through her mind in sweet accord with them.

"If bliss had lay in art or strength,
None but the wise or strong had gained it;
Where now by faith, all arms are of a length,
One size doth all conditions fit.
A peasant may believe as much
As a great clerk, and reach the hi