issed her more than ever, in
this trying time. Do you remember Hermine Lacheur, Miss Danton?"

"That pretty, gentle girl, with the great dark eyes, and black ringlets?
Oh, yes, very well."

"The same. She was rather a pet of yours, I think. You taught her to
sing some little hymns in the choir. You will be sorry to hear she has
gone."

"Dead!" Kate cried, struck and thrilled.

"Dead," Father Francis said, a little tremor in his voice. "A most
estimable girl, beloved by every one. Like Pierre, she talked a great
deal of you in her last illness, and sang the hymns you taught her.
'Give my dear love to Miss Danton,' were almost her last words to me;
'she has been very kind to me. Tell her I will pray for her in Heaven.'"

There was silence.

"Oh," Kate thought, with unutterable bitterness of sorrow; "how happy I
might have been--how happy I might have made others, if I had given my
heart to God, instead of to His creatures. The bountiful blessings I
have wasted--youth, health, opulence--how many poor souls I might have
gladdened and helped!"

She rose from the table, and walked over to the window. The blackness of
darkness had settled down over the earth, but she never saw it. Was it
too late yet? Had she found her mission on earth? Had she still
something to live for? Was she worthy of so great a charge? A few hours
before, and life was all a blank, without an object. Had Father Francis
been sent to point out the object for which she must henceforth live?
The poor and suffering were around her. It was in her power to alleviate
their poverty and soothe their suffering. The great Master of Earth and
Heaven had spent His life ministering to the afflicted and
humble--surely it was a great and glorious thing to be able to follow
afar off in His footsteps. The thoughts of that hour changed the whole
tenor of her mind--perhaps the whole course of her life. She had found
her place in the world, and her work to do. She might never be happy
herself, but she might make others happy. She might never have a home of
her own, but she might brighten and cheer other homes. As an unprofessed
Sister of Charity, she might go among those poor ones doing good; and
dimly in the future she could see the cloistered, grateful walls
shutting her from the troubles of this feverish life. Standing there by
the curtained window, her eyes fixed on the pitchy darkness, a new era
in her existence seemed to dawn.

Miss Danton said nothing to any