den; others regard it as an
indifferently useless institution, in which they desire no share, and
concerning which they never trouble themselves; others, again, look upon
it as the mainstay of their lives.

It is natural to suppose that the mode of thought and the habits acquired
by young girls in a religious institution will not disappear without a
trace when they first go into the world, and it may even be expected that
some memory of the early disposition thus cultivated will cling to them
throughout their lives. But the multifarious interests of social
existence do much to shake that young edifice of faith. The driving
strength of stormy passions of all kinds undermines the walls of the
fabric, and when at last the bolt of adversity strikes full upon the
keystone of the arch, upon the self of man or woman, weakened and
loosened by the tempests of years, the whole palace of the soul falls in,
a hopeless wreck, wherein not even the memory of outline can be traced,
nor the faint shadow of a beauty which is destroyed for ever.

But there are some whose interests in this world are not strong enough to
shake their faith in the next; whose passions do not get the mastery, and
whose self is sheltered from danger by something more than the feeble
defence of an accomplished egotism. Corona was one of these, for her lot
had not been happy, nor her path strewn with roses.

She was a friendless woman, destined to suffer much, and her suffering
was the more intense that she seemed always upon the point of finding
friends in the world where she played so conspicuous a part. There can be
little happiness when a whole life has been placed upon a false
foundation, even though so dire a mistake may have been committed
willingly and from a sense of duty and obligation, such as drove Corona
to marry old Astrardente. Consolation is not satisfaction; and though,
when she reflected on what she had done, she knew that from her point of
view she had done her best, she knew also that she had closed upon
herself the gates of the earthly paradise, and that for her the prospect
of happiness had been removed from the now to the hereafter--the dim and
shadowy glass in which we love to see any reflection save that of our
present lives. And to her, thus living in submission to the consequences
of her choice, that faith in things better which had inspired her to
sacrifice was the chief remaining source of consolation. There was a good
man to whom s