THE second year of Geraldine's widowhood was now drawing to its close. The convent, to the erection of which, all the Catholics, but especially a pious lady of rank, of the neighbourhood, had contributed, was nearly completed, when the supposed visionary scheme of an order, such as she had described to Isabel, was made known to her by Mr. Bernard, not only as the one chosen by the Bishop of the diocese for the sisters of the abbey, but also as that to which he believed her called by Almighty God, for his glory, her own sanctification, and the spiritual and temporal benefit of her suffering fellow-creatures. This was the order of our blessed Lady of Mercy, founded under this ancient religious title by an Irish lady, who had become at the same time the mother-superior of the first convent of the order.

Geraldine received this intelligence with joy and gratitude, and when she had listened to every detail which Mr. Bernard could give her, said, smiling, "I am happy to imitate that holy man who for years had been endeavouring to form a congrega. tion of religious men who should be missionaries,

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teachers, and divines, but when he heard that Saint Ignatius had founded the Society of Jesus,' blessed God that another had been found more worthy to accomplish that good work for the greater glory of God! And now," added she, "let there be no more delay, but, during my father's visit to his Yorkshire estates, let me at once take the step he is aware I contemplate, and let me save both him and myself a parting which is inevitable."

To this Mr. Bernard consented, provided our heroine would write soon enough to enable her father see, or at least to write to, her before her departure.

From the real joy with which Geraldine had at length heard from her spiritual director the words, "Your hour is come," she anticipated not the conflict which was still in store for her. Yet, when the letter was written to General Carrington, the closing expression of filial love and gratitude caused her so much emotion, that having sealed and despatched it, she left the house unseen by Isabel, to wander alone through the grounds. It was the season and the time of evening described in our opening chapter, and as our heroine stood on the high terrace, and looked over the river, valley, and distant hills, her heart swelled as though it must break. Her early childhood arose before her, as she turned to each familiar scene, when loving and beloved, soft words and sweet caresses nurtured the cherished object of a mother's love. O! pure unequalled love, if aught on earth can be thus termed, this-this alone can claim it and yet there have been souls, who, feeling thus in tenderest gratitude, have yet been called to break this fondest tie, by that mysterious voice, unheard by all save her who fain would hear it not, yet cannot resist to follow it. This agony was spared to Geraldine: her mother slept in Christ, ere her young heart had known a love beyond, or

she had learned to say, "Eternal rest give unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her." In this hour it was, her father caused the struggle she had believed was passed, and as she continued gazing on the inheritance which lay in rich yet placid beauty before her, the desertion of his only child seemed doubly cruel, and an inward conflict arose, so far more violent than any she had yet experienced, that in agony she groaned aloud, and partly roused by the sounds, fled from the terrace, and unconsciously took one of the walks which led to the avenue of entrance from the park. In this avenue appeared, advancing from the house, the boy and pony whose office was to convey the letters to and from the post; and directly her eye caught the leather bag, she resolved to secure the letter which had thus by seeming accident been returned to her. The boy alighted, and unstrapped the bag; but Geraldine had forgotten that the key was in the charge of the steward, and its duplicate at the postoffice. The pony, however, required no spur to urge bis return, and our heroine remained with the bag lying at his feet. A considerable time elapsed before she again saw the young messenger, for the steward had gone forth for his evening walk. He, however, had been found, the key was produced, and our heroine, unlocking the bag, regained the letter. She looked long and earnestly at the seal, then at the address,-again placed her finger on the seal, when at length, hastily replacing the letter in the bag, which she locked, she bid the boy make what speed he could, and turned from the avenue into another part of the pleasure-grounds. "Oh God, I thank thee," cried she, "that thou wert present with me during this temptation, when having 'put my hand to the plough,' I was looking backwas leaving thee sorrowfully, because I had large possessions;' was returning to'bury my father,' re

membering not, that every one that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for thy name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall possess life everlasting." Geraldine resolved, as she slowly pursued her walk, to banish from her mind all solicitude respecting the inheritance she was about to renounce, casting all her care on God, who would provide; and she also resolved to hasten the time for her departure to the convent in - where she and two of her friends and sister penitents of Father Bernard were to make their noviciate. She had regained the terrace at a part whence the view was almost panoramic, but which was now veiled in the deepest shadows of evening. "Rest ever thus in shade," cried she, "to my weaned eyes, ye scenes of earth,-farewell! farewell!" And now, turning to the side where the Abbey hill intercepted the boundless view, she bent her steps slowly towards the house, when she perceived along the pathway which led from the Abbey, a figure advancing towards the terrace. Why did our heroine, in that hour of deepening gloom, remain to watch that form? Why did her heart throb, with mingled terror and joy? Her feet were rooted to the earth, as in a dream; her brain reeled. "What! had he indeed returned from the land of spirits, and for what purpose? was it to direct her future path?" The figure ascended the turf steps of the terrace, and Geraldine had just, by an expiring effort of strength, made the sign of the cross, when she was addressed by the stranger, in tones which spoke to her of years gone by, but which remained but vaguely in her memory. She scarcely knew what was said to her, but her previous emotion being calmed, by the presence of a person indifferent to her, she regained all the calm dignity of her man

ner, and requested to know the motive for the present visit of a stranger.

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Lady De Grey," spoke this once-familiar voice, "I perceive that I am forgotten, but my memory has been more retentive, and enables me to recognize, after a lapse of years, the Geraldine of my early dreams."""

The peculiar pronunciation of her name, left Geraldine no longer in doubt. "Don Carlos Duago," replied she, "I do remember you, and much regret, that my father, General Carrington, is from home, for he would have welcomed you with his wonted hospitality."

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"I am aware of his absence," said Don Carlos, "in fact, I have seen him, and have his sanction for paying my respects to you."

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"I regret," said Geraldine, "that I cannot supply his place in bidding you welcome to the Hall. I am on the eve of an important journey, and full of thoughts respecting it."

"You are proud, Lady De Grey," said Don Carlos, "so am I; nevertheless, having your father's wishes on my side, I may, without intrusion, enter this once hospitable door, and for half an hour, madam, for I ask no more, speak to you on a subject which will interest you far more than you are at present disposed to believe possible."

"To-morrow," replied Geraldine, "I will take care to be at leisure at whatever hour you may appoint, but to-night I can receive no visitor."

"It is later than I intended," said Don Carlos, "but I was detained on my journey, and again wasted time in being my own guide from the town; I had not calculated on the alterations that would occur in these well-remembered grounds during thirteen years of absence. To-morrow, then-but name your hour, madam.”