t sleep," said the miscreant eagerly. "I go." And he
retired on tip-toe with a promise to come every day.

Gerard lay with his eyes closed: not asleep, but deeply pondering.

Saved from death, by an assassin

Was not this the finger of Heaven?

Of that Heaven he had insulted, cursed, and defied.

He shuddered at his blasphemies. He tried to pray.

He found he could utter prayers. But he could not pray.

"I am doomed eternally," he cried, "doomed, doomed."

The organ of the convent church burst on his ear in rich and solemn
harmony.

Then rose the voices of the choir chanting a full service.

Among them was one that seemed to hover above the others, and tower
towards heaven; a sweet boy's voice, full, pure, angelic.

He closed his eyes and listened. The days of his own boyhood flowed back
upon him in those sweet, pious harmonies. No earthly dross there, no
foul, fierce passions, rending and corrupting the soul.

Peace, peace; sweet, balmy peace.

"Ay," he sighed, "the Church is peace of mind. Till I left her bosom I
ne'er knew sorrow, nor sin."

And the poor torn, worn creature wept.

And even as he wept, there beamed on him the sweet and reverend face of
one he had never thought to see again. It was the face of Father Anselm.

The good father had only reached the convent the night before last.
Gerard recognized him in a moment, and cried to him, "Oh, Father Anselm,
you cured my wounded body in Juliers: now cure my hurt soul in Rome!
Alas, you cannot."

Anselm sat down by the bedside, and putting a gentle hand on his head,
first calmed him with a soothing word or two.

He then (for he had learned how Gerard came there) spoke to him kindly
but solemnly, and made him feel his crime, and urged him to repentance,
and gratitude to that Divine Power which had thwarted his will to save
his soul.

"Come, my son," said he, "first purge thy bosom of its load."

"Ah, father," said Gerard, "in Juliers I could; then I was innocent but
now, impious monster that I am, I dare not confess to you."

"Why not, my son? Thinkest thou I have not sinned against Heaven in my
time, and deeply? oh, how deeply! Come, poor laden soul, pour forth thy
grief, pour forth thy faults, hold back nought! Lie not oppressed and
crushed by hidden sins."

And soon Gerard was at Father Anselm's knees confessing his every sin
with sighs and groans of penitence.

"Thy sins are great," said Anselm. "Thy temptation also was great,
terri