n again.

In passing the chapel she could and would not resist its strong power
of attraction. With bowed head she entered the quiet little sanctuary,
repeated a paternoster, and prayed fervently to the Mother of God
to restore the clearness of her voice once more. While doing so, she
imagined that the gracious intercessor gazed down upon her sometimes
compassionately, sometimes reproachfully, and, in the consciousness of
her guilt, she raised her hands, imploring forgiveness, to the friendly,
familiar figure.

How tenderly the Christ-child nestled to the pure, exalted mother!
Heaven intended to bestow a similar exquisite gift upon her also, and
already insolent hands were outstretched to tear it from her. True, she
was determined to defend herself bravely, yet her best friend advised
her to yield without resistance to this unprecedented demand.

What should she do?

With her brow pressed against the priedieu, she strove to attain calm
reflection in the presence of the powerful and gracious Queen of
Heaven. If she yielded the child to its cruel father, she would thereby
surrender to him the only happiness to which she still possessed a
claim; if she succeeded in keeping it for herself, she would deprive it
of the favour of the mighty sovereign, who possessed the power to bestow
upon it everything which the human heart craves. Should she persist in
resistance or yield to the person to whom she had already sacrificed so
much the great blessing which had the ability to console her for every
other loss, even the most cruel?

Then her refractory heart again rebelled. This was too much; Heaven
itself could not require it of her, the divine Mother who, before her
eyes, was pressing her child so tenderly to her bosom, least of all.
Hers, too, would be a gift of God, and, while repeating this to herself,
it seemed as though a voice cried out: "It is the Lord himself who
intends to confide this child to you, and if you give it up you deprive
it of its mother and rob it--you have learned that yourself--of its
best possession. What was given to you to cherish tenderly, you can not
confide to another without angering him who bestowed the guerdon upon
you."

Just at that moment she thought of the star, her lover's first memento,
with which she had parted from weakness, though with a good intention.

The misfortune which she was now enduring had grown out of this
lamentable yielding. No! She would not, ought not to allow herse