"Perhaps so; I do not meddle with these matters," replied the lady. "I think everyone had better let everybody alone; it must be bad to quarrel about religion; and as to saving the soul, we know so little about it that it is quite presumptuous for one person to dictate to another on that subject. I hope we shall all meet in heaven at last, though we go there by different roads; for my part, I keep nobody out."
The entrance Euphrasie prevent its the necessity of a reply. Euphrasie's greeting was that of one who appreciates high principal. There were respect and kindness in her manner, but no familiarity, no approach to intimacy. Eugene felt disappointed, though certainly there was nothing of which he felt he had a right to complain.
Eugene's visits to his aunt were now frequent, but never could he see Euphrasie alone; whether from design or accident she avoided receiving him, save in her mother's presence. Yet daily did his reverence for her increase. To see the young French girl now, the supporter of the household, the caterer for its wants, the tender minister to her mother's manifold demands, none would have dreamed that heretofore contemplation had absorbed her faculties, and that she was making to duty the greatest sacrifice she could make in thus exchanging the cherished practices of devotion for the active employments of life. She was so cheerful, so almost gay, so unusually animated when the state of her mother's spirits required it; a stranger might have concluded that all her life she had been accustomed to this manner of living.
Suddenly Eugene received a missive which had traced him to many places, requesting him to meet his father in London.
TO BE CONTINUED.
ORIGINAL.
ON ST. PETER'S DENIAL.
"And the Lord, turning, looked on Peter."
Lord! wilt thou that I also should deny
That I am thine?
Behold, my longing soul cries upward to the sky
For sight divine!
All through the silent night in livelong day—
O grievous lot!—
I seek to know thee more, and yet am forced to say
"I know thee not".
With Peter let these bitter tears confess
My treachery:
Yet, Lord, to know thee as thou art I need no less
A look from thee!