seen the manuscript.

The Countess, in the Earl's absence, readily granted his request, and
Doucebelle's fear of hurting the feelings of her kind-hearted though
careless old friend were no longer a bar in the way of consulting Father
Bruno.

Father Warner, who was confessing the other half of the household,
growled his disapprobation when Doucebelle begged to be included in the
penitents of Father Bruno.

"Something new always catches a silly girl's fancy!" said he.

But Doucebelle had no scruple about hurting his feelings, since she did
not believe in their existence. So when her turn came, she knelt down
in Bruno's confessional.

At first she wondered if he were about to prove like Father Nicholas,
for he did not ask her a single question till she stopped of herself.
Then, instead of referring to any thing which she had said, he put one
of weighty import.

"Daughter, what dost thou know of Jesus Christ?"

"I know," said Doucebelle, "that He came to take away the sins of the
world, and I humbly trust that He will take away mine."

"That He will?" repeated Bruno. "Is it not done already?"

"I thought, Father, that it would be done when I die."

"What has thy dying to do with that? If it be done at all, it was done
when He died."

"Then where are my sins, Father?" asked Doucebelle, feeling very much
astonished. This was a new doctrine to her. But Bruno was an
Augustinian, and well read in the writings of the Founder of his Order.

"They are where God cannot find them, my child. Therefore there is
little fear of thy finding them. Understand me,--if thou hast laid them
upon Christ our Lord."

"I know I have," said Doucebelle in a low voice.

"Then on His own authority I assure thee that He has taken them."

"Father I may I really believe that?"

"May! Thou must, if thou wouldst not make God a liar."

"But what, then, have I to do?"

"What wouldst thou do for me, if I had rescued thee from a burning
house, and lost my own life in the doing of it?"

"I could do nothing," said Doucebelle, feeling rather puzzled.

"Wouldst thou love or hate me?"

"O Father! can there be any question?"

"And supposing there were some thing left in the world for which thou
knewest I had cared--a favourite dog or cat--wouldst thou leave it to
starve, or take some care of it?"

"I think," was Doucebelle's earnest answer, "I should care for it as
though it were my own child."

"Then, daughter, see thou dost th