to manage; she may inherit her mother's traits." "Poor little thing! I will find out whether she has been baptized. If not, it shall be done at once. My greatest doubt has been about you, papa. The child may disturb you, her childish noise and restlessness may break in upon your hours of study and quiet." "Never fear for me, my daughter. My own children were never checked in their childish noises or pleasures for my comfort. They never interfered with it, so let that point rest." "Then you consent?" "Most heartily, pet, only I hope my brave daughter has not overtaxed her strength.' "He was strangely agitated, and told me he seemed impelled after leaving the church to return and speak to me. He told me all, my child, and asked me how he might approach you, what proposition he might make." "You hardly sent him, the husband of one woman, to ask another to marry him?" asked Marion. "No: you know I could not do that, but he told me his wife was probably dead, it had been so long since he had heard of her, and she was naturally quite delicate, and that he wished you to accept the care of his little girl, for he knew you were neither married nor engaged. I told him he must not leave you one moment in ignorance of his wife's existence." "He did not," said Marion. "He promised me he would not, and on that condition I told him there could be no impropriety in his seeking you." Marion smiled, but said nothing. "He told me of the trifling disagreement which had separated you, of his marriage in a fit of resentment, that he still regarded you as worthy of all esteem and regard, that he had found out too late his mistake, but that he would bear the consequences with what strength he could, and begged me to add my entreaties to his that you would consent to assume the care of his child while he went on his painful search for the erring mother. "I have decided to accept the charge, Father, and papa is willing that I should," replied Marion. "I am glad you have, my child, and may God give you strength to do your duty by her and to bear your burden yet a little longer." Strange and tumultuous thoughts coursed through Marion's brain during the two hours the service lasted. All the weary waiting, the sad and lonely days of the long seven years seemed but as a dream, dispelled at the sound of his voice, at the touch of his hand. And yet, what a gulf lay between them! She longed for and yet dreaded the interview which was to follow, and prayed with all her soul for strength to go through it properly. The dreaded hour arrived, and Marion Raynor and Ernest Graham were once more face to face in the very room where, seven years before, they had parted with stern, cruel words on his part, a proud silence on hers. And why? Because the next day being Easter Sunday, she had carried a basket of lilies which he had brought her to the church for the altar, and he had expressed his displeasure. She had replied by say ing that nothing was too precious or too beautiful for an offering thereand he had retaliated with some sneer at her "idolatrous faith ;"'one word had led to another on his part, until he had lost all command of himself, and the interview had ended in her drawing a diamond ring off her finger and handing it to him as she swept past him up the staircase to her own room. The next day a cold formal note of apology from him had accompanied all her little billets and trifling presents-even to a few dried violets and a tuberose which had dropped from her dress one evening at a party. From that day to the previous one she had never seen him, and the time had been seven weary years! Ah, how cruel men can be to hearts that trust and love them sometimes! as Marion was spared any renewal of the scene at the church. He was calm and composed. The conversation was confined to the business in hand and a few commonplaces, which sounded so strangely from his lips. Then Mr. Raynor came in, and the two gentlemen met though it had been but yesterday they had parted. The next morning May was installed in her new home, and in a day or so became perfectly happy. As soon as he was satisfied that the child would not pine for him, her father bade his friends farewell, and promising to write to Mr. Raynor, who also, it was arranged, was to keep him posted about his little girl, and who had given him a letter of introduction to his son in Rome, started upon his sad strange journey. III. EIGHT months had passed since Ernest Graham started on his sad search. The summer months were spent by Marion and her little charge up among the mountains of New Hampshire. Mr. Raynor was with them part of the time, and re ceived several letters from the traveller, letters which Marion did not read. The last was written in Rome, about the first of September, in which he spoke of the kindness which he had received from Paul Raynor, and the assistance which he had given him. To-day a letter from Paul himself tells them that since the first week in September he has seen nothing of Mr. Graham, and he is writing on the 15th of November. His letter was full of interest, for it is the first they have had since the "Italian occupation,” as is the euphonious way of mentioning the bold robbery of the Sardinian king, and he gives them a thrilling account of the events of that momentous September. He pointed out to them how truly prophetic were Thiers's words that, "He who eats Pope dies of him;" for was ever so marked a series of coincidences shown before? On August 4th the French troops evacuate Rome, and on the same day the Germans are victorious at Wissembourg. On August 5th, while the French leave Viterbo, the Germans pass the French frontier. o'clock the French flag is lowered from the ramparts of Civita Vecchia, on the 6th, and at the same hour, the French flag fell into the hands of the Prussians after the terrible battle of Woerth. August 7th, the last 4000 French troops leave the Papal States; the same day 4000 French soldiers are made prisoners by the Germans! September 16th, the troops of Victor Emanuel seize Civita Vecchia; the same day the Prussians take Versailles. On September 19th, the Piedmontese invest Rome; on the same day Paris is invested by the Prussians. On the next day they open fire upon the walls of Rome, and at the same time the imperial palace of St. Cloud is burned. The Papal army quits Rome on the 21st, and the same day Toul capitulates. On September 28th, the Piedmontese general At five asserts himself master of Rome, and the same day 17,000 prisoners are taken, and Strasbourg capitulates. On October 11th, the grand force of the plebiscite gives Rome to Victor Emanuel, while Orleans is taken by assault, and on the same day, October 22d, that the Italian ministers answer the congratulatory letter of the French ambassador on the capture of Rome, St. Quentin is taken, shelled, and fined two millions of francs, and five days afterwards Metz capitulates and 173,000 prisoners are taken. And the list was to be extended far into the new year, showing how the vengeance of God followed step by step the treachery of Louis Napoleon towards the Sovereign Pontiff. In his letter Paul Raynor spoke also of the grand dignity displayed by Pius IX during these terrible days, described how, while telegrams were lying to the world about the Roman revolution, and the robber king's army was marching across the Campagna from Civita Vecchia, and the cuirassiers were even then descending the Janiculun hill, the Holy Father, on the 16th of September, accompanied by his private secretary and chaplain and one or two cardinals, and followed at some distance by two or three of the Swiss guards, had walked the whole length of the Corso, from the foot of the Capitol to the Piazza di Spagna and back again, and how the people flocked out to kneel for his blessing, and how little children ran to kiss his hand! This was his last public appearance. The next day he took up his abode in the Vatican, and who shall describe his agony? A few days afterwards the Guard a Nobile at Porta Pia proved their devotion to him, and it was only at his order that they capitulated. He had done all that was necessary to show the world that he yielded to force from an alien, not the revolution of his own children. sad, as were all Catholic hearts during those dark days, but added to that sorrow for the Holy Father was an anxiety, which she tried to smother, for tidings of the wanderer, in Marion's breast. A postscript to her brother's letter did not attract her attention at first. It was as follows: I have just been sent for by Mgr. Chatard, the rector of the American College, with reference to a poor woman who came into the city with the Italian troops, and who is dying. He says she wishes to make a written confession, and as I was with him this afternoon he naturally remembered me as being able to take it. So I must go." Meantime little May was perfectly happy and content, though of course sometimes questioning when papa would come to see her. In a few days, by the next mail, came a package from Paul Raynor, with intelligence which shook Marion's soul to the centre. May's mother was found, and dead and buried! The unfortunate woman to whose bedside he had been led by a passing remembrance of Mgr. Chatard, was no other than the forlorn sinner for whom Ernest Graham had been seeking. Paul Raynor had been able to console her dying hours by an account of the happy home her child had found, and of the quest her betrayed husband was making for her, for the purpose of rescuing her from want, and, if possible, finding for her a place of safety. She died after an earnest confession of her sins and baptism in articulo mortis, leaving a letter imploring pardon of her husband and some legacies for May if he should see fit to give them to her. But the unhappy husband had disappeared as completely and suddenly as if the earth had opened and closed over him. So the months grew weary for Marion. She had not known how much she had allowed herself to The hearts of the Raynors were dream of what might be in the far dim future, because she had striven conscientiously to keep all such thoughts out of her mind. But she found that they had crept in in spite of her. Strive as she would a melancholy settled down over her, against which she was powerless. This last sorrow was worse than the first. Mr. Raynor noticed the troubled change in his daughter,and could only grieve with her. The Christmas times were made merry for little May,and except her "papa" the child missed nothing from her life. IV. Ar last with the New Year came a letter from Paul Raynor. Ernest Graham was found! He was very ill, and had, on hearing all that Raynor had to tell him, expressed his thanks and an ardent wish that he could see Marion. His long absence had been caused by illness and imprisonment. He had gone out to walk on the Campagna one day and been captured by a set of banditti, who, anticipating the march of their king, had impudently and boldly made their way almost to the gates of Rome. He had been held for ransom,and allowed to communicate with the American minister at Rome, but that functionary was too busy throwing up his hat for Victor Emanuel and entwining his country's flag with the arch robber's own colors to attend to his proper duties, and so the letter had been neglected until the writer was too ill to care what the result was. Perhaps he would never have emerged from the hiding-place of his captors, a rocky promontory between Rome and Naples, had not the chief of the band, assuming the dress of a Franciscan friar, made his way into the Eternal City and visited the American legation in person. As soon as arrangements could be made the Raynors started for this unexpected journey, and made their way at once to Rome. On their arrival Paul met them with the intelli gence that Ernest Graham had been very much better, but that nervous anxiety as to whether Marion would really come had brought on a relapse, and at present his life was despaired of. It was several days before he was conscious of anything. Marion took her place at his bedside, and devoted herself to him. Rome, with its glories and its shames, had no place in her mind. As soon as he was well, she said, she would have time to see all. She had been inexpressibly shocked at the first sight of that fever-stricken form and sad face; he was in delirium when she first stood at his bedside, but at sight of her called her Marion, and so continued to do all the time. The physician said if sleep could not be brought about he could not outlive the attack. He had not slept for three days and nights previous to Marion's arrival. She saw the prescription administered which was to induce the sleep of cure, and seating herself by the bedside she laid one cool soft hand on the restless ones of the patient, and the other on his forehead, and gently, but firmly, passed it over the temples with an even, light pressure. In a very short time the muttering lips were silent, the staring eyes were closed, and presently a gentle, regular respiration told that sleep had come. For two hours Marion sat there, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. Then she had been looking out of the window, for from her seat at the bedside she could do so, down the Aventine hill to where the marvellous dome told her lay St. Peter's, and beyond that she could see a mass of bricks and stone which she knew was the palace and prison of the grand old man whose non possumus had confounded all the plans of kings and cabinets, when their machinations had threatened to trench upon his God-given prerogatives, or the rights and liberties of religion. Her thoughts had gone out of that fever-stricken room over the free hills to the palace, and back over the years during which this glorious Pontiff had, as it seemed, gathered into his reign all the glories and all the sufferings of his one hundred and sixty predecessors. For a few moments she had forgotten where she was, then a slight tremor in the hands that lay beneath hers brought her wandering thoughts back, and looking at her patient she was met by the dark eyes of Ernest fixed upon her intelligently. He smiled a sad smile of satisfaction, and turning his head slightly on the pillow, fell off into a sleep as natural and as calm as an infant's. that year there was a profusion of them strewn in front of the statue of Our Lady in one of the chapels of Santa Maria supra-Minerva; and one day, at the early hour of seven in the morning, during the Easter week, a young priest, just consecrated, baptized a tall dark man, who walked as though he were just recovering from a long illness, and who leaned on the arm of a young lady who wore the traditional robes of a bride, and who was supported on the other side by a dignified whitehaired gentleman of about sixty. As soon as the baptismal ceremony was over, the newly baptized and the white-robed woman knelt before the altar and were made man and wife. Behind them knelt a servant and a little girl. Then the nuptial mass was said,-only the day before Paul Raynor had said his first,-and when all religious rites were over, no happier group paid their first visit to St. Peter's than Mr. and Mrs. Graham and Mr. Raynor, with Paul as a cicerone. Ernest's wedding present to his bride was a bunch of Easter lilies in Roman mosaic, set as a locket in a frame of diamonds and pearls. SONNET OF LOVE. Is love the passion that the poets feign, A rosy day's eternity of pain? If we love God, we know what loving is, Half human, half divine, but wholly his, |