t think proper to disclose. But
let us prepare for bed. Dear Helen; we shall have to rise early in the
morning, and you must get all the sleep you can."

"May, my firm impression is that this sort of life will extinguish me,"
said Helen, solemnly; "that horrid old man will certainly tear me to
pieces, or bite off my head. Indeed--indeed, I am more afraid of him
than any thing I ever saw."

"What nonsense! It will do you good. You will soon learn to have an aim
in life; it will drive you for comfort where only comfort can be found,
and you will learn patience, forbearance and meekness, long-suffering,
and charity."

"Like yourself, I presume!" said Helen, with a slight sneer.

"Oh, no! oh no, dear Helen; did I say any thing like that? I did not
mean it, for I am very often angered and impatient, and on the very eve
of breaking out; but I don't."

"And why don't you? Do you expect to inherit the old man's gold?"

"Helen, I never think of it. I have a higher motive, I trust. My
peculiar trials give me so many opportunities of learning the rudiments
of Christian virtue; therefore, after the first sting is over, I feel
thankful and happy."

"Help us all! I shall never attain such perfection."

"Nor do I ever expect to arrive at perfection. Oh, no! I am too
imperfect; too full of infirmities and faults!" said May, earnestly.
"But shall I read the night prayers, or do you prefer reading them alone?"

"Oh, read them by all means; but don't begin until I get on my cloak--it
is freezing cold here," said Helen, shivering.

May read the beautiful prayers and litany of our Blessed Lady with such
fervor and piety that Helen was touched in spite of herself, and
responded with heartfelt earnestness; and at the _De Profundis_, she
thought of her dead father, and wept bitterly.

"I am very, very sad, May," said Helen, when May kissed her good-night.

"To-morrow, dear Helen, we will seek a heavenly physician; He who comes
to the lowly and repentant, and dispenses healing and divine gifts from
his throne--the altar!" whispered May.

Helen sighed deeply, but made no reply.

CHAPTER VI.

HELEN.

The great bell of the cathedral was just tolling the _Angelus_, when
May, laying her hand softly on Helen, awoke her.

"Rise, dear Helen; it is six o'clock."

"It is not daylight yet, and I shan't rise, I assure you," she said, in
a fretful tone.

"Yes you will, I am sure. Uncle Stillinghast will be quite di