conduce to the comfort of the now diminished family circle. No words
of repining or regret were uttered--no tear dimmed the large dark
eyes. She moved and lived as it were mechanically, without the agency
of feeling or sympathy; yet though she obtruded her grief on none,
it was equally true that no gleam of returning cheerfulness ever
lightened the gloom which enveloped her. A something there was in the
hopeless, joyless expression of her beautiful face, which made the
heart ache; yet none offered sympathy, or strove to console her, for
she seemed unapproachable, with the cold, haughty glance of other
days. Painfully perceptible was the difference between Christian
fortitude and perfect hopelessness--gentle, humble resignation and
despair. There was no peace in her soul, for her future was shrouded
in gloom: she had no joys in anticipation. The sun of hope had set
forever to her vision, and she lived and bore her grief like one who
had counted the cost, and knew that for a little while longer she must
struggle on; and that oblivion of the past was dispensed only by
the angel of death. She acquiesced in Mary's plan of opening a small
school, and unfalteringly performed her allotted task as assistant
teacher. Unexpected success had crowned their efforts, and fifteen
pupils daily assembled in the room set apart for the purpose. Mary
had feared opposition on the part of the Padre, and was agreeably
surprised at the number of Catholic children committed to her care.

One morning early in October, having finished her household duties,
she repaired to the schoolroom for the day. Florence was already at
her post, though suffering from violent nervous headache. Mary seated
herself with her back to the door, and called one of her classes.
Arithmetic it proved; and if the spirits of the departed were
ever allowed to return in vindication of their works, the ghost
of Pythagoras would certainly have disturbed the equanimity of