ul seminary. I, the recipient
of the master's favors, an ingrate and a wretch! My mother would know
this--my gentle, pale-faced mother.

Our little cottage was now visible, with its low walls of grayish white,
and vine-encircled windows.

"Richard," said I, walking as slowly as possible, though it was growing
darker every moment, "I feel very unhappy. I will go and see the master
in the morning and ask him to punish me for both. I will humble myself
for your sake, for you have been my champion, and I never will forget it
as long as I live. I was wrong to rush out of school as I did,--wrong to
tear the paper from his hands,--and I am willing to tell him so now. It
shall all be right yet, Richard,--indeed it shall."

"You shall not humble yourself for me, Gabriella; I like a girl of
spirit."

We had now reached the little gate that opened into our own green yard.
I could see my mother looking from the window for her truant child. My
heart began to palpitate, for no Catholic ever made more faithful
confessions to his absolving priest, than I to my only parent. Were I
capable of concealing any thing from her, I should have thought myself
false and deceitful. With feelings of love and reverence kindred to
those with which I regarded my Heavenly Father, I looked up to her, the
incarnate angel of my life. This expression has been so often used it
does not seem to mean much; but when I say it, I mean all the filial
heart is capable of feeling. I was poor in fortune, but in her goodness
rich. I was a lonely child, but sad and pensive as she was, she was a
fountain of social joy to me. Then, she was so beautiful--so very, very
lovely!

I caught the light of her pensive smile through the dimness of the hour.
She was so accustomed to my roaming in the woods, she had suffered no
alarm.

"If my mother thinks it right, you will not object to my going to see
Mr. Regulus," said I, as Richard lifted the gate-latch for me to enter.

"For yourself, no; but not for me. I can take care of myself,
Gabriella."

He spoke proudly. He did not quite come up to my childish idea of a boy
hero, but I admired his self-reliance and bravery. I did not want him to
despise me or my lack of spirit. I began to waver in my good resolution.

My mother called me, in that soft, gentle tone, so full of music and of
love.

In ten minutes I had told her all.

CHAPTER III.

If I thought any language of mine could do justice to her character,