philosophy; but _you_, child, in your humility--in your patience and
long-suffering--in your cheerful docility, have taught me that it is
divine."

"Oh, uncle, not me--_not me_! I have done nothing but duty," said May,
covered with confusion. "It is the mysterious hand of Almighty God,
leading you, guiding you to the truth."

"It can never--never be now! It is too late. I have wasted the
hours--I have buried the talents--I have derided time--now the night
cometh when no man shall work," he said, with an expression of anguish.

"Shall I bring Father Fabian? _He_ can strengthen and cheer you with
the promises of Christ; _he_ has the power and authority from a divine
source to absolve and prepare you for your passage into eternity. Oh,
sir, let me go."

"Do with me what you please, strange--strong--wise little one! Only
never leave me. Send your cousin for him." Just then Helen made her
appearance, elaborately and beautifully dressed, as usual, and was
shocked at the change in her uncle's appearance, which a few hours had
made. She inquired "how he felt?"

"I believe I am ill. I wish you to take a note from May Brooke to her
confessor. She must remain with me," he said, in his old way.

"I will go instantly," she said, glad to escape from such a scene, and
wondering what the strange old man could have to do with a priest. May
scribbled a few lines on the blank leaf of a book, tore it out,
directed it to Father Fabian, and gave it to Helen.