she knelt down before the picture of Our Lady of the Holy Heart, and
spoke to her by all the fanciful and poetic names of the Litany.

"O Rose of Sharon! O Tower of David! O Star of the Sea! have ye no
comfort for my sore heart? Am I for ever to hope? Grant me at least
despair!"--and so on she went, heedless of my presence. Her prayers
grew wilder and wilder, till they seemed to me to touch on the
borders of madness and blasphemy. Almost involuntarily, I spoke as
if to stop her.

"Have you any reason to think that your daughter is dead?

She rose from her knees, and came and stood before me.

"Mary Fitzgerald is dead," said she. "I shall never see her again in
the flesh. No tongue ever told me; but I know she is dead. I have
yearned so to see her, and my heart's will is fearful and strong: it
would have drawn her to me before now, if she had been a wanderer on
the other side of the world. I wonder often it has not drawn her out
of the grave to come and stand before me, and hear me tell her how I
loved her. For, sir, we parted unfriends."

I knew nothing but the dry particulars needed for my lawyer's quest,
but I could not help feeling for the desolate woman; and she must
have read the unusual sympathy with her wistful eyes.

"Yes, sir, we did. She never knew how I loved her; and we parted
unfriends; and I fear me that I wished her voyage might not turn out
well, only meaning,--O, blessed Virgin! you know I only meant that
she should come home to her mother's arms as to the happiest place on