"Helen," said May, fixing those clear luminous eyes on the shifting
countenance of her cousin, "your offer is, no doubt, kindly meant--but
I cannot accept it. I _would not_, Helen, if you offered me half your
fortune, live in a house so unblessed, as I _fear_--as I fear yours
will be."

"And why such predictions?" asked Helen, haughtily.

"Can one who defies the spirit of God by disobedience--and--yes, I must
say it--_apostasy_, expect blessings? And could I, who daily implore
Heavenly Father to save me from temptation, thrust myself under its
influence? Oh, no! no, Helen. Enjoy life after your fashion--whirl
through its giddy circles, if such is your choice--but leave me in
obscurity, to follow out the path which leads to something beyond the
grave. But, dear Helen, let us part in peace--my prayers shall follow
you; and I do beseech you, by the memory of the bitter passion and
death of Jesus Christ, and the Dolors of His Immaculate Mother, to
reflect, _sometimes_, on what should be the aims of an immortal soul!"

"You are a strange creature, May," said Helen, with a quivering lip,
and a momentary impulse to throw herself at May's feet, and confess her
guilt, which flitted away. "You will visit me sometimes, May?"

"_If you are sick, or sorrowful, or repentant_, send for me."

"But you will come and see how very happy I am.--Just once?"

"I cannot promise, Helen. Events will determine me," replied May, in a
gentle tone.