as the commencement of that saintly career which they had
always predicted for her, crowded around her, kissing her hands and her
robe, and entreating her prayers at different shrines of especial
sanctity that she might visit.

The Mother Theresa took her to her cell, and there hung round her neck,
by a golden chain, the relic which she designed for her, and of whose
genuineness she appeared to possess no manner of doubt.

"But how pale you are, my sweet child!" she said. "What has happened to
alter you so much? Your cheeks look so thin, and there are deep, dark
circles round your eyes."

"Ah, my mother, it is because of my sins."

"Your sins, dear little one! What sins can you be guilty of?"

"Ah, my dear mother, I have been false to my Lord, and let the love of
an earthly creature into my heart."

"What can you mean?" said the mother.

"Alas, dear mother, the cavalier who sent that ring!" said Agnes,
covering her face with her hands.

Now the Mother Theresa had never left the walls of that convent since
she was ten years old,--had seen no men except her father and uncle, who
once or twice made her a short call, and an old hunch-back who took care
of their garden, safe in his armor of deformity. Her ideas on the
subject of masculine attractions were, therefore, as vague as might be
the conceptions of the eyeless fishes in the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky
with regard to the fruits and flowers above-ground. All that portion of
her womanly nature which might have throbbed lay in a dead calm. Still
there was a faint flutter of curiosity, as she pressed Agnes to tell her
story, which she did with many pauses and sobs and blushes.

"And is he so very handsome, my little heart?" she said, after
listening. "What makes you love him so much in so little time?"

"Yes,--he is beautiful as an angel."

"I never saw a young man, really," said the Mother Theresa. "Uncle
Angelo was lame, and had gray hair; and papa was very fat, and had a red
face. Perhaps he looks like our picture of Saint Sebastian;--I have
often thought that I might be in danger of loving a young man that
looked like him."

"Oh, he is more beautiful than that picture or any picture!" said Agnes,
fervently; "and, mother, though he is excommunicated, I can't help
feeling that he is as good as he is beautiful. My uncle had strong hopes
that he should restore him to the True Church; and to pray for his soul
I am going on this pilgrimage. Father Francesco says,