onfessor, I claim, then, thine
obedience."

"Oh, yes," sobbed the penitent.

"Leave this pilgrimage, and instant return to Rome. Penitence abroad is
little worth. There where we live lie the temptations we must defeat, or
perish; not fly in search of others more showy, but less lethal. Easy to
wash the feet of strangers, masked ourselves, Hard to be merely meek and
charitable with those about us."

"I'll never, never lay finger on her again."

"Nay, I speak not of servants only, but of dependents, kinsmen, friends.
This be thy penance; the last thing at night, and the first thing after
matins, call to mind thy sin, and God His goodness; and so be humble and
gentle to the faults of those around thee. The world it courts the rich;
but seek thou the poor: not beggars; these for the most are neither
honest nor truly poor. But rather find out those who blush to seek thee,
yet need thee sore. Giving to them shalt lend to Heaven. Marry a good
son of the Church."

"Me? I will never marry."

"Thou wilt marry within the year. I do entreat and command thee to marry
one that feareth God. For thou art very clay. Mated ill thou shalt be
naught. But wedding a worthy husband thou mayest, Dei gratia, live a
pious princess; ay, and die a saint."

"I?"

"Thou."

He then desired her to rise and go about the good work he had set her.

She rose to her knees, and removing her mask, cast an eloquent look upon
him, then lowered her eyes meekly.

"I will obey you as I would an angel. How happy I am, yet unhappy; for
oh, my heart tells me I shall never look on you again. I will not go
till I have dried your feet."

"It needs not. I have excused thee this bootless penance."

"'Tis no penance to me. Ah! you do not forgive me, if you will not let
me dry your poor feet."

"So be it then," said Clement resignedly; and thought to himself,
"Levius quid foemina."

But these weak creatures, that gravitate towards the small, as heavenly
bodies towards the great, have yet their own flashes of angelic
intelligence.

When the princess had dried the friar's feet, she looked at him with
tears in her beautiful eyes, and murmured with singular tenderness and
goodness--

"I will have masses said for her soul. May I?" she added timidly.

This brought a faint blush into the monk's cheek, and moistened his cold
blue eye. It came so suddenly from one he was just rating so low.

"It is a gracious thought," he said. "Do as thou wilt: often such