indistinct that it _seems_ like
a dream; and yet, how often at this hour does a vision come to my mind of
a dark-eyed, soft-voiced woman, holding kneeling child against her bosom,
to whom she taught a whispered prayer to the madonna! And the child
seems _me_--and the lady, my mother; but it flits away, and then I think
it is a dream of long ago."

"Angel mothers! Oh, how beautiful the thought--angel mothers!" said May,
in a low, earnest tone. "Do you know, I think with so much pleasure of
going to mine! Even when I was a little child, it was sufficient for my
old maummy to say, 'Ah, how grieved your poor mamma would be, if she was
here!'"

"Do you remember her?"

"Not at all. She died when I was a little wailing infant. Four months
afterwards, my father, who was an officer in the navy, died at Canton.
He never saw me."

"And you have been here ever since?"

"Ever since. A faithful servant of my mother's, who had been many years
in the family, brought me in my helplessness to my uncle for protection.
But he, unused to interruptions, would not have received me, only the
news which came of my father's death, left him no alternative; so my old
maummy remained to nurse me, and keep house for him. I can never express
how much I owe her. She was ignorant in worldly knowledge, and only a
poor slave; but in her simple and earnest faith, she knew much of the
science of the saints. With a mother's tenderness, she shielded me from
spiritual ignorance and error, and led my soul to the green pastures of
the fold of Christ."

"Had you no other instructor?" inquired Helen.

"Oh yes. Father Fabian. He instructed me in the divine mysteries of our
holy faith. He has been my director ever since I was a little child.
But how was it with you, dear Helen?"

"I have lived a great deal with Protestants, May," replied Helen, after a
short pause. "_My_ father was a major in the army--the only brother of
the old man here. He was a Catholic, but he was always so full of
official business that he had very little time to attend to religion, and
all that kind of thing. His official duties engrossed his time entirely.
But he always impressed it on my mind that it would be extremely
dishonorable not to avow myself a Catholic when occasions demanded it;
and I believe he would have been pleased to see me practise my faith. I
was sent to a convent school in Louisiana when I was ten years of age,
but was suddenly removed, to acco