But ah! the flitting, wintry smile, the short, constrained laugh, the pale brow marked with lines of mental anguish, will ofttimes, tell of the smoldering ruin....
"My daughter, God has appointed me in place of the parent he has taken hence; turn to me, and our most holy church, and you will find comfort such as naught else can afford." Florence sprung to her feet, and shuddered at the sound of his low, soft voice.

The Padre marked the shudder, and the uneasy look which accompanied it: "Padre, I have confessed, and I have prayed to almost every saint in the Calendar, and I have had your prayers in addition to my own; yet I find no comfort.

No joy has stolen to my heart, as you promised it inevitably would." "My daughter, if peace has not descended on thy spirit, I fear you have not been devout.

Tell me truly if you have not doubted in matters of faith, for our most holy Mother ever grants the prayers of her faithful and loving children ?" "I have searched the Bible, and I nowhere find authority for invoking saints or the Virgin." "I can convince you, without doubt, that there is such authority--nay, command." "'Tis useless, you may save yourself the trouble; for my mind is clearly made up that we have not even the sanction of the Fathers." "Holy Mary, pardon her unbelief, and send down light into her darkened soul!" Florence fixed her eyes full upon him, and replied--"Christ expressly declares 'I am the light, I am the life.'" "Daughter, your heretic cousin has done you a great injury.

May God protect you, and forgive her blasphemy." "She needs no forgiveness, for she is pure in heart before God, and truthful in all things." The swarthy cheek of the Italian flushed--"Florence, you and your aunt must come and stay at my house till it is safe here; and, I doubt not when you are at leisure to hear me, you will duly repent your hasty speeches.