ship of the priest and people ascending
heavenward, purified from its alloy of earth, and acquiring celestial
substance in the golden atmosphere to which it aspired, She wondered if
angels did not sometimes hover within the dome, and show themselves, in
brief glimpses, floating amid the sunshine and the glorified vapor, to
those who devoutly worshipped on the pavement.

She had now come into the southern transept. Around this portion of the
church are ranged a number of confessionals. They are small tabernacles
of carved wood, with a closet for the priest in the centre; and, on
either side, a space for a penitent to kneel, and breathe his confession
through a perforated auricle into the good father's ear. Observing this
arrangement, though already familiar to her, our poor Hilda was anew
impressed with the infinite convenience--if we may use so poor a
phrase--of the Catholic religion to its devout believers.

Who, in truth, that considers the matter, can resist a similar
impression! In the hottest fever-fit of life, they can always find,
ready for their need, a cool, quiet, beautiful place of worship. They
may enter its sacred precincts at any hour, leaving the fret and trouble
of the world behind them, and purifying themselves with a touch of
holy water at the threshold. In the calm interior, fragrant of rich and
soothing incense, they may hold converse with some saint, their awful,
kindly friend. And, most precious privilege of all, whatever perplexity,
sorrow, guilt, may weigh upon their souls, they can fling down the dark
burden at the foot of the cross, and go forth--to sin no more, nor be
any longer disquieted; but to live again in the freshness and elasticity
of innocence.

"Do not these inestimable advantages," thought Hilda, "or some of them
at least, belong to Christianity itself? Are they not a part of the
blessings which the system was meant to bestow upon mankind? Can the
faith in which I was born and bred be perfect, if it leave a weak girl
like me to wander, desolate, with this great trouble crushing me down?"

A poignant anguish thrilled within her breast; it was like a thing that
had life, and was struggling to get out.

"O help! O help!" cried Hilda; "I cannot, cannot bear it!"

Only by the reverberations that followed--arch echoing the sound to
arch, and a pope of bronze repeating it to a pope of marble, as each
sat enthroned over his tomb--did Hilda become aware that she had really
spoken above