flock, I went occasionally to visit her, in the hope that I might
possibly discover the cause of her strange disorder (which I suspected
had its origin in some calamity of her earlier days), and so qualify
myself to afford her the advice and comfort she might need. During
the first two or three visits I paid her I could elicit nothing.
She sat still as a statue, and watched me sullenly while I spoke
to her of the mysteries and consolations of our faith, exhorting
her vainly to make confession and obtain that peace of heart and
mind which the sacrament of penance could alone bestow. Well, it
chanced that on the occasion of one of these visits I took with me,
besides my prayerbook, a small sheet of paper, on which I had written
a few passages of Scripture, such as I conjectured to be most suited
to her soul's necessity. I found her, as usual, moody and reserved,
until I drew from my missal the sheet of transcribed texts and put
it into her hand. In an instant her manner changed. The madness
gleamed in her eyes, and she began searching nervously for a pencil.
`I can do it!' she cried. `My writing was always like hers, for
we learnt together when we were children. He will never know I
wrote it; we shall dupe him easily. Already I have practised her
signature many times--soon I shall be able to make it exactly like
her own hand. And I shall tell her, my lady, that he would have
deceived her, that I overheard him love-making to another girl--
that I discovered his falsehood--his baseness--and that he fled
in his shame from the county. Yes, yes, we will dupe them both.'

"In this fashion she chattered and muttered feverishly for some
minutes, till I grew alarmed, and taking her by the shoulders,
tried to shake back the senses into her distracted brain. `What
ails you, foolish old woman? cried I `I am not "miladi;" I am
your parish pastor. Say your Pater Noster, or your Ave, and drive