"Yes, all that, and more—ten thousand times more. But now, Aunt Mabel, you must begin to examine carefully your past life; to remember the sins which have blotted it, and beg of Almighty God the grace of true repentance, sincere, humble repentance, that you may make a good general confession. And here," continued May, taking off her own medal, and hanging it around Aunt Mabel's neck, "say the little prayer on this a hundred times a day, if you can remember it: 'Oh, Mary, conceived without sin, pity me, a poor sinner, who have recourse to thee.' It is a medal of our Blessed Lady, who will obtain from her divine Son, for you, all that you may need. Can you say the prayer?"
"Oh, Mary, conceived without sin, pity me, a poor sinner, who have recourse to thee," repeated the old woman.
"Say it over and over again, until you know it perfectly," said May.
"I got it in here, honey, fast," replied the old woman, pointing to her heart.
"That is right. Now, can I do any thing for you?"
"No, my misses, only call my grandchild as you go 'long. I let her go out to have a run in the sunshine this morning."
"I will send her to you; and to-morrow I think you will see Father Fabian," said May, before she closed the door. And she went away, wrapped as with a royal mantle, in the blessings of the poor.
CHAPTER VII.
THINGS OF TIME AND ETERNITY.
In a small and elegant boudoir, which opened into a conservatory, and was crowded with articles of taste and vertu,—the gleanings of a tour through Europe,—a lady, somewhat past the prime of life, leaned over an Or-molu table, arranging with exquisite touches, a quantity of splendid flowers in a basket of variegated mosses which stood on it. There was a look of high-bred indolence about her, and an expression of pride on her countenance so earthly, that even the passing stranger shrunk from it. And, while with a fine eye for the harmony of colors, she blended the gorgeous flowers together, weaving the dark mosses amidst them, until they looked like a rare Flemish painting, the door opened, and a distinguished-looking young gentleman came in—called her mother—kissed her on the cheek, and threw himself with an easy air into a fauteuil.