le behind one of the large pillars. Like the dew that freshens
and vivifies the vegetation that has been dried up by the parching
sun, the exhilarating breathings of the divine Spirit spread over
her soul that peace which surpasseth all understanding. In the fervor
of her first real moments of prayer, the hours passed as seconds;
unmindful of food, of the duties incumbent on her military profession,
and of the busy world around, she was not roused from her reverie
until the golden floods of the setting sunlight fell in tinted splendor
through the stained-glass windows of the old Gothic church.

As the church bells were merrily chiming the Ave Maria, a gentle tap
on her shoulder called her attention. It was Father Francis. He had
watched her all the day with a secret joy; he knew the value of moments
like these in maturing the resolutions of the converted soul, and, as
he had not yet completed his arrangements, he was afraid his penitent
might slip from him in the crowd and be exposed to temptations that
might discourage her; the cold blast of the world might shake to the
ground the fabric he had commenced to build. He bent his venerable
countenance to her ear, whispered a word of consolation, and bade her
not leave till he came for her.

The father moved silently and thoughtfully through the sombre aisles;
now and then he would stop to converse with some child of grace, for
he had many awaiting his spiritual aid. With smiles of holy joy, he
imparted consolation to each, and sent them to their homes accompanied
by those spirits that rejoice in the conversion of the sinner.

A few moments, and the lights were extinguished, the crowd is gone.
The cough and suppressed sigh are no longer heard from the deep aisles,
and the footsteps of the ever-changing crowd have ceased to clatter
on the marble pavement. The solitary lamp in the sanctuary cast a
fitful shadow through the silent and abandoned church, and was the
only indication of the presence of Him who rules in the vast spheres
of the heavens. Alvira felt happier in this lonely moment before the
Most Holy Sacrament. The fruit of years of penance, and the conquest
of turbulent, rebellious passions, have often been gained in moments
of fervor before the alter. Like sand, changed to transparent crystal
glass under the blow-pipe, the heart is melted and purified under the
fire of love that darts in invisible streams from the loving Victim
of the tabernacle.

The