n he expressed not only his willingness,
but his anxiety for you to do whatever your conscience demanded."

"Oh, May! Oh, little woman! simple--good soul!" cried Helen, bursting
into tears. "I cannot tell you _all_. You do not understand. There
is a terrible mystery, which, like an incubus, is brooding day and
night in my soul, and drives back all good angels who would enter. I
am its slave, May."

"What is it, Helen?" asked May, while the color faded from her cheeks,
and she looked with mingled sorrow and dread on the miserable one.

"Hush! there is Walter's footsteps!" she exclaimed, starting. "Oh,
May, I could not bear to lose my husband's affection--to be spurned by
him."

"How are you now, Helle? Better, I hope, now that May is with you?"
said her husband, coming in. "And ready to pardon me for my
insensibility to your happiness?"

"Oh, Walter!" said Helen, covering her face with her hands.

"I had hoped that these clouds would all be dispelled by the time I
returned home. May and I were talking about you as we came along, and
if she had not succeeded in making you believe that I wish you to be
happy your own way, let this be a _gage_ between us," said Mr. Jerrold,
unfolding a small parcel he held in his hand, and handing her a
Catholic prayer-book. It was bound in ivory, with an exquisite
miniature painting of "_Ecce Homo_" on one back and "_Mater Dolorosa_"
on the other. The paintings were covered with crystals, and set with a
rim of gold and pearls. The edges and clasps were of the same
exquisite finish. "If you will only promise to be happy, dear Helen, I
will buy a pew in the cathedral for you, and escort you thither
whenever you wish to go."

"Dear Walter, why bring me so costly a gift?" said Helen, looking at
the sorrowful and sacred faces on the covers of the book, with a
shudder. "Indeed, I am not worthy of such tender and restless
affection."

"Look up, Helen--look up, my love! I am prouder of you this day than
any king could be of his crown, but if religion is going to make you
abject and tame, and mistrustful, I will have none of it," said the
worldly man, in an impatient tone.

"Religion gives birth to nothing gloomy. Even in her penitential
tears, there are rainbows," cried May, "She is the mother of all that
is lovely, cheerful, amiable, and perfect. Even our tribulations must
be borne with joy, because the divine hope which sanctifies them leads
the soul up to God its F