n she was, and how odd in her notions about religion. Having
conducted him to her bedside, she made a polite bow, and retired, asking
if her services were further needed.

The priest answered, "No; that he believed all the requirements for this
holy but melancholy service were prepared, and that he supposed he had
to thank her for the nice arrangements he observed."

"Yes, mon pere," said old Judy, in half French, half English, "there is
the '_chandel_,' the '_eau-benite_,' the '_la croix_,' and the rest,
that I keep many year for my deathday."

It was only when she retired from the chamber that the priest caught a
full view of the fair Alia; and now

"A strange emotion worked within him, more
Than mere compassion ever worked before."

He saw in this interesting stranger the strongest resemblance to his own
sister Bridget. There were the same raven hair, the same candid and
large eyes, the same broad and well-set teeth so peculiar to the
O'Clerys, and the same form almost to a line. The groans and urgent call
of his penitent Judy, however, soon recalled his mind from its reveries,
and he banished all thoughts of Alia, as temptations, or, at least,
speculations, which it was for the present useless to entertain. He put
on his stole, and after a short aspiration for light and grace to
discharge his duty to the sick woman, was just in the act of repeating
the prayer, "_Dominus sit in corde tuo et in labiis_,"--"May the Lord be
in your heart and lips,"--when the creature, raising herself up in her
bed, prevented him, saying, "Mon pere, I vant, before I begin the
confession, to tell you a secret that burden my mind long time."

She then proceeded to tell how that young lady he had just seen had been
adopted, or rather kidnapped, by the family she now lived with; how her
name was changed from Aloysia to Alia; how this scheme was planned and
carried out by Miss Sillerman, Mrs. Goldrich's sister, who died not long
since; how, till of late, she was brought up as one of the family; how
carefully she was instructed in all the ways of the Presbyterians; and,
above all, how they endeavored to conceal her family name, for fear of
being claimed by her friends. "But, mon pere," said she, in
continuation, "though I forget the family name of this young, lubly
lady, I have an article here (loosing an old-fashioned workbag) which
may tell her family name."

With that she handed Father Paul a neat ruby necklace, with a rather