turn it; although it was no acknowledged Jesuit that stood before him. Real sympathy between human beings (and this mysterious link exists as surely as the equally mysterious one of contagion) may be safely left to itself; it can walk alone without any danger of stumbling, and sometimes really seems able to find its way blindfold.

But it is not so with the counterfeit article; it requires a vast deal of watchfulness and care to make it pass current at all.

Mr. Mills had hitherto bestowed all this watchfulness and care upon his look, voice, and manner, when in communion with Mr. Curtis; and we have seen that his skill and pains were not thrown away. But he now perhaps felt that his work was done in that quarter; and though he by no means intended to undo it, there was something, either present, or absent, in his manner of taking his leave, which (joined to the foregone knitting of the brows) both chilled and puzzled Mr. Curtis.

He felt that he did not like him so well as he used to do, but could not tell why. Had he known that his new acquaintance was a Jesuit monk, he would have understood the whole affair perfectly.

CHAPTER IX.

THE state of mind of the worthy Mrs. Hardwood, after receiving her young mistress's confidence on the subject of Father Eustace, was really pitiable. A more truly worthy woman than the Roman-catholic housekeeeper of Cuthbert Castle never lived. Her attachment to Juliana was not only most completely disinterested-for the old housekeeper possessed an income amply sufficient for all her wantsbut it partook strongly of that most sublime species of affection, which has more of constancy in it than any merely mortal attachment can have, for it flings its loving watchfulness forward to an existence that shall have no end.

The moment of her life which she considered to be, beyond all comparison, the happiest she had ever known, was that in which she had

first seen the Huguenot heiress of Cuthbert kneel as a convert to the Roman church, before the altar of her father.

How joyously did she light tapers, from her own honest treasury of atoning and thanksgiving wax, and place them before the Cuthbert image of the Virgin, on that blessed night. How fervently did she mutter over all her litanies before she closed her eyes in sleep! And how punctually did she again enter the little chapel at the "sweet hour of prime," to breathe anew her thankfulness, while kneeling on the self-same spot on which she had seen the young and dearly-loved representative of all the De Morleys kneel before!

In exact proportion to all this heartfelt joy, was the depth of her sorrow-let me rather say her despair-now that she had lived to hear that same thrice precious offspring of De Morley utter a blasphemy, which, to the best of poor Mrs. Hardwood's knowledge and belief, was as bad and as soul-destroying as the most deeply-Protestant prayer that ever was prayed could possibly have been.

In simple truth, the agony of her spirit, when she had left Juliana, and retired to her own room, was dreadful. She scarcely dared to

pray. The subject was too sacrilegious, too profane for her to permit her thoughts to embody it in words. Gracious Heaven!-love a vowed priest, and talk of marriage with him!

It was not till she had wept for a long bitter hour in solitude and contrite suffering, that she recovered sufficient command of her intellect to feel that it was her bounden duty to communicate the dreadful intelligence to Father Eustace.

It is impossible to describe the sort of holy horror which the poor woman felt at the thought of making such a communication to the consecrated young man. She felt this the more acutely, because she was aware that she should have to do it first, and confess the having done it afterwards. She scarcely knew which would be the most terrible!

Since the arrival of Father Edgar at Langley Knoll, he had twice condescended to pronounce absolution on the sins of the housekeeper, in consideration of the high esteem which Father Ambrose had expressed for her, and of the particular request which had been forwarded to him from Rome, when his visit to Cuthbert had been made known there, that he would condescend to perform this office to

one who had proved herself so faithful a servant, not only to her master but to the church.

This high favour had accordingly been granted; and proud indeed, but of course with the properly humble ecclesiastical sort of pride, was the good housekeeper of this honour, (for the real station of Father Edgar was a high one.) But let any one imagine what the good woman must have felt, at the idea of confessing to this distinguished individual, that she had communicated to a young priest the horrible fact, that he was suspected by her young mistress of being in love with her! and, moreover (surely it must be a deadly sin to speak it!)-moreover, that her young mistress had explicitly declared it was her intention to marry him!

Yet all this, horrible as it was, must be done; for the sin of concealing the dreadful secret thus confided to her would be of a nature almost beyond the reach of penance to atone.

Should she wait for the next visit of Father Eustace, in order to announce to him the appalling news, which she knew it would be so terrible for him to hear? Alas, she now re