physician, and her aunt
and cousin. A little while after, as Mr. Hamilton's eye fell on the
weeping Mary, he extended his hand, and when she bent over him, drew
her face down, and imprinted a long kiss on her pale cheek. Even as he
did so, a dark form glided to the bedside. Another moment, the uncle
and niece were separated; none knew how, yet the Padre stood between,
whispering low in the sufferer's ear. Almost gasping for breath, the
latter intimated his desire to confess for the last time. And they
were left alone.

Nearly an hour after, the priest entered the apartment where Florence
and Mary sat. He trembled visibly, yet, in his usual tone, said that
he wished the family to be present at the last rites about to be
performed for the dying Papist. They immediately repaired to the sick
room, and the spectacle there presented made Mary quiver in every
limb. The sufferer had been placed for convenience on a low couch, and
was supported by pillows in an upright position. A dozen candles burnt
around him, and a cloud of incense wreathed slowly along the wall.
The room had been profusely sprinkled with holy water, and a chalice
containing the consecrated wafer, sat near. Gasping for breath, Mr.
Hamilton clasped a crucifix to his lips, though unable from weakness
to secure it there; for twice it fell from his fingers, and rolled to
the floor.

Father Mazzolin, attired in a surplice ornamented with the insignia of
his order, stood beside the bed, holding in one hand a superbly-bound
volume--in the other, a silver cup containing oil.

After a moment's pause he opened the book, and hurriedly read in
a low, muttering tone, a Latin service of several pages. At the
conclusion he carefully poured out a few drops of the oil, and just
touched the palms of the sufferer's hands and the soles of his feet,
bidding him at the same time cross himself. Perceiving that he was
utterly unable to do so, he hastily signed the figure and resumed his
reading. How long he would have gabbled on it is impossible to say,
but a gasping sound from the dying man declared that dissolution
was at hand, and, snatching the chalice, he hastily administered the
wafer, which was swallowed with difficulty. For the third time, Father
Mazzolin strove to replace the crucifix in his hand and bend it to
his lips. The cold fingers refused to clasp the consecrated wood, and
sank, stiffened and powerless, by his side.

Mary had gazed mournfully on as this mummery