another; but he believed that they had all escaped in various directions, with the exception of one, whose remains had been found in the cimetière on the morning following the calamity. "The body lay," said the young man," at the foot of the cross, in the centre of the graves, and was that of an exceedingly old woman." "Ah!" we exclaimed, "the poor Mère Aymée: she was perhaps the happiest of the whole household;" and we could not restrain our tears, in thinking of the calamities to which the rest of the sisters might even then be exposed.

But

But Madame d'Ivannois had promised us that we should see Clarice this day, and she assured us also that we should find her greatly amended, the rest which she had enjoyed having greatly restored her health, and the pure and perfect principles which had supported her through many scenes, such as I tremble to think of, not having been inefficient in restoring that composure of mind for which she had before been so remarkable. perhaps I am now expressing myself too much after the manner of the world, and attributing to causes such as we can comprehend those effects which were produced by the direct influences of the Lord the Spirit. For although I cannot agree with those excellent persons who, in the present day, have admitted the idea that palpable and visible miracles may yet be expected in the church under the existing dispensation, an expectation for which I have never yet been able to discover any grounds in Scripture; yet I think there is no question but that the indwelling operations of the Holy Spirit in the chosen of the Father are at this time almost altogether overlooked, and his healing, strengthening, and life-giving influences too often attributed to the ministry of man, or other visible second causes: but I must leave these reflections, not knowing whither they might carry me.

My next interview with Clarice, during which Pauline was present, was far more tranquil than my first had been; still, however, we feared to make her brother known to her, though his anxiety for the meeting was such that Madame d'Ivannois could not find arguments to protract it longer than the next Sunday, at which time she proposed to introduce him as one of her family.

Clarice was to be taken up after breakfast; and when Madame d'Ivannois, who had great delight in attending

upon her, had dressed her and arranged her in the neatest order, she led her into the gallery, and there set her in an easy-chair, in view of the mountains seen across a valley such as few countries on earth besides Switzerland can show. Being thus seated, Madame d'Ivannois proposed to introduce her friends to her, and we, that is William and Edward, Pauline and I, were brought We had been entreated to be calm, and the sweet composure of the lovely sister, now much recovered, and beautiful even in that reduced and feeble state, was a perpetual admonition to us to command ourselves. Accordingly, when Pauline had embraced her we all sat down around her,-while Madame d'Ivannois endeavoured to lead the conversation to ordinary subjects.

up.

Clarice replied to her remarks with deference and politeness; but presently recurred to those things which were uppermost in her mind, and, addressing her brother, on whom she had been looking intently, "It is one of my first duties, sir," she said, "as it is a particular pleasure to me, to express my sense of what I owe to you. You have been the means, under Almighty God, of saving me from horrors of which I dare not now even think, and in a manner so extraordinary, that I can look upon the circumstance by which I was thrown into your hands only as an immediate interference of Divine Providence."

Cla

Edward was evidently unable to answer her; for his eyes filled with tears, and he seemed to use a strong effort, as he stood leaning against the inner wall of the gallery, to prevent himself from rushing forward, and catching his dear and long-lost sister in his arms. rice, I saw, gazed steadily upon him in the mean time, and the colour rose in her cheeks. Madame d'Ivannois was about to speak, with a view to divert the attention of the sister from the brother, fearing a too sudden discovery of their mutual relationship; when Clarice interrupted, or rather prevented her, by saying, with a startling earnestness, "That young gentleman is your son, madame, is it not so?"

"The son of my affections, my love," returned Madame d'Ivannois.

"I thought," replied Clarice, "that once I heard-but perhaps it was a dream-when I was in that litter, that they called him Edward. But I have had many dreams, and I have also experienced many dream-like realities. VOL. VII.-H

Indeed I have been trying for some days past to sepa rate the real events of my life from those which are illusions. It cannot be," she added, and she rubbed her hand across her eyes, "that I am dreaming now, and that all this pleasant vision will pass away, as others of a very different nature have done that would indeed be a refinement of cruelty." And she looked again towards her brother, a beautiful glow at the same time mantling in her cheeks, and said, “Kind sir, you will pardon me; but I am confused, troubled, uneasy. I have strange thoughts-you should not look so steadfastly at me;" and she turned to Madame d'Ivannois, saying, "Might he sit down by me? I fear that he will pass away, as other things have done. Surely he does not mean to deceive me.

It was evident now that the confusion of ideas under which she had laboured some days past was returning, attended with that which always accompanied it, namely, a sense of dread; and it was therefore necessary to manage her with great caution.

"Dear lady!" said Mr. Beaumont, as he obeyed her summons, and placed himself by her, though without daring to trust his voice any farther.

"May I touch your hand?" said Clarice. He gave her his hand; she laid it between her own for a moment, and then letting it go, she added, "No, it is not a phantom! Not such as I have seen or dreamed I saw-I know not which. But, dear Pauline," she added, “you may understand these things better than I do; did you not attend my obsequies?"

"I did attend that ceremony," replied Pauline, "which was supposed to be your obsequies. But all that may be explained-we shall understand it very soon; so think no more of it at present."

"I will not," she replied. "But tell me, Pauline, who is this? Am I mistaken? Can it possibly be that he is only deceiving me, and that he will pass away like those dim images of horror in that terrible place? Oh, Pauline, Pauline !" she added, throwing her arms round her, and clinging closely to her with a sort of convulsive grasp, save me-save me from my own imaginations! They are terrible."

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"No, no," said Pauline, "he will not pass away. Look at him-his eyes are full of tears! And see with what love he regards you."

"I love him too," she answered; "he has been the means of saving me from a very horrible fate. But, Pauline, why do I remember him, and not remember him ?"

"Because," replied Pauline, "you perhaps knew him when he was a child, and have not seen him since."

"He is not Edward," she exclaimed, drawing back from Pauline; "not my own Edward-my own dear brother? No, that cannot be !" and I never shall forget the ardent earnest look which she fixed upon him for one moment; but this fixed gaze of suspense endured only for that moment, for the next she was caught in the arms of her brother, and had sunk almost lifeless on his breast. We would have administered restoratives as soon as we could recover ourselves sufficiently to think of them; but the gentle soothings of the faithful brother had more effect in restoring sweet Clarice to herself than any cordial which we could have used; and I do not hesitate to say, that this last exhibition of the divine love towards her, in restoring her to the arms of her brother, had more effect in rendering back her strength and firmness of mind than all else besides which we could have done.

One of the most cruel principles of the Roman Catholic religion is that of requiring the sacrifice of all natural ties. It is certain, as our Saviour himself says, that religion frequently causes divisions in families. "Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came, not to send peace, but a sword." Matt. x. 34. Yet how does it contribute to these divisions? Not by any means through the abandonment of these natural ties by the child of God; but by the forcible ejectment of the believer from his unbelieving family, by which he is no longer permitted to partake of any social intercourse with those to whom he is attached by natural affinity. But the motto of the papist is, "Stand by, I am holier than thou;" and under this principle, he insists that every sentiment of natural affection shall be sacrificed, when the church commands it to be so.

And now the full tide of the long-repressed natural affections of Clarice seemed to flow towards her noble, her pious, her magnanimous brother. Not that she was cold or thankless to the rest of her friends. No, she was, on the contrary, all that was kind, grateful, tender, and, inasmuch as she continually referred every

present enjoyment to the infinite bounty of her heavenly Father, it was not long before her mind recovered all its peace; and as her health was rapidly restored, under the Divine blessing on the care of Madame d'Ivannois, we soon had the pleasure to see her restored to a degree of bloom and beauty such as we had only known as attributed to her by report. It was much in her favour that she was still so young, being little more than twenty-one years of age when she was taken from St. Siffren. Nevertheless, had not her constitution been naturally uncommonly good, she could not have recovered so entirely as she did; insomuch, that after a year or two every trace of suffering had passed away from her delicate frame.

It was not, however, till some weeks after the scene related above, that she was permitted to give us the detail of what shall be related in the following pages.

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CHAPTER X.

THE TRIALS OF CLARICE.

"I WILL not enter, my beloved friends," said Clarice, on the transactions of the early part of my residence in the convent of Notre Dame de Misericorde; during which period I had experienced the common fate of favourites, having been at one time high in the favour of the superieure, and at another regarded with extreme coldness. I early lost the affections of poor Annunciata, indeed so early, and so immediately after I had taken the veil, that I was almost led to doubt whether I had ever possessed them; especially when that apparent affection suddenly turned into determined hatred, through a suspicion of my having betrayed the unhappy sister, in the affair of a few words from a friend being conveyed to her in a dried sweetmeat, with which circumstance I became acquainted through accident. The little transaction had been discovered by la Mère Ursule, and by her revealed to madame. It was in itself an affair which would soon have been overlooked, could the unhappy sister have forgotten the