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they snt, and after n moment's silence began to cheer and comfort
him.
'win, my own dear brother," she commenced, "I am
both > Try to hear your story. I ani sorry, my
she continued, seeing that he was about to speak
.
" because I cannot conceal from myself how much suf-
fering there is in store for you, and if for you, for me too, without
you forsake these opinions, which I know you too well to
suppose that you will do. I am sorry, of course, that you
should deem it necessary to take this step and become a Catho-
lic, because I necessarily think it a false one, and one which is
not required. Why cannot we be as we have been ? However,
Edwin, I pity you, but I do not blame you. I have heard your
story, and I could as soon question the fact of my own existence
as your sincerity ; and whatever you may do, I, at least, shall
never blame you. You little know, my own darling, darling
brother, how dear you are to me, and how proud I have ever
been of you ; and believe me," she continued, weeping as she
spoke, " you never can be less dear to me than you are at this
moment. Others may forsake you I never can. Others may
cast you off I never can. You may become less dear to others,
but to me you can never be anything but my own dear, darling
boy, my pride, my love, my joy." And again the pitying an-
gels looked gently on as she sealed the promise of her fidelity.
"I am very much afraid of papa's anger," she continued, " for
I know it to be dreadful. He knows that you are ill, for he
Bees the doctor as he calls every day ; but he has never been to
your room, and he has never mentioned your name since that
dreadful night. You know, dear, that he had a fit on the same
night, but he soon recovered; but I know, we all know
and see, how deeply he feels this. He looks much older,
and his face is so deadly pale and wan, that it is
painful to behold. Several times when I have been
sitting with him during your illness, I have watched him and
marked the workings of his features, and I know, oh ! how
well, that he was thinking of you and I ; have waited until I
saw his features soften, and the tears begin to trickle down his
pale face, and then I have gone over to him, and putting my
arms around his neck, I have taken courage to whisper your
name, but, oh ! Edwin, he has always turned upon me a look
BO cold, so stern, so unforgiving, and so wild, that I could not
utter another word, but only throw myself upon a couch and
weep, as I saw him rush hurriedly from the room. Several
nights he has never gone to rest at all, for I have heard him
pacing his room during the live-long night, and once, when
you were asleep, I stole down to his room, and I laid my face
against his door and listened, and I heard him sigh and groan
BO deeply and so bitterly, that my poor heart was almost broken
as I listened. I hope he will relent, but, dearest, we must
be prepared for the worst and ; you know how stern and in-
flexible he is. Mr. Grant, too, has been here several times,
and I know that he has advised papa to be very firm firm is
the word he used ; but, oh ! I know that it means something
more severe. But, my own dear," she continued, as Edwin began
to weep and sob afresh, " do be comforted. We will throw
ourselves at his feet, and I will plead for you ; he cannot re-
ject me ;
and we "
shall all be happy yet. She tried to speak
in a gay and cheerful voice, but, poor girl, it was a sad failure,
and so she only clasped the weeping boy nearer and closer to
rt, and bent over him to kiss his wounded brow ;
her golden hair, as it fell about him, seeming to shine with a
: ion of the glory that was shed around them by the pitying
angels who were gazing on the scene.
CHAPTEB XIL
CHEISTMAS DAY, AND NOT A " MEBKY ONE."
IT was Christmas Eve again, and Edwin, who was stronger
and -nore composed, after many trembling and anxious consul-
: with
Maria, hnd come to the determination of: going
'lay, in hopes .
of me*,
THE TWO VICTORIES.
iuer,
whom
he had not Been since the night they hail parted in so painful
and dreadful a manner. He was full of anxiety as to ti
ing, and during his recovery il had forme d the subject of ma
conversations between himself :uid his R ; s ter. Maria was, or
ied to be, very sanguine as to its results. She tried to p
suade Edwin that when his papa saw him again, and saw t !
his mind was made up, he would relent and forgive him, and
that everything would be as it had been before this unhappy
disagreement. Poor Edwin was less sanguine ; but encourai
by Father Eustace, to whom, as soon as he was sufficiently
recovered, he had sent a detailed account of all that had happened,
he determined to meet his father as if nothing had
occurred between them.
Christmas Day came, and a dark rainy day it was. From
the window of his room Edwin watched his father descend
with the old haughty tread the steps of the house, and enter
his carriage.
He saw the servant place the large prayer-book
upon the cushion, and as his father bent forward, for a moment,
to give some trifling direction to the attendants, Edwin
peered anxiously into his face, to see whether, perehauee, i
Christmas time might not have left some mark of softening
pity and forgiveness on it but he ; turned away with a sickening
heart. Much paler, much more wan and careworn, but
colder, sterner, prouder than ever. He saw his father's eye
fall, for a moment, on the empty seat which he had alw,
been accustomed to occupy on those occasions, and as he
marked the cloud which immediately passed over his face, it
seemed to fall like a pall upon the newly-formed hopes of a
reconciliation. When the carriage had driven away, and he
was sitting in his silent room, listening to the rain that was
beating with such a wailing sound Against the casement, and
with the events of the last twelvemonths all crowding upon his
mind at once with a fearful distinctness, one figure, however,
always being foremost in the picture a cold, stern face, which
suddenly changed and became livid witli passion, as it uttered
a fearful curse that froze his blood as he did but think of it,
poor Edwin grew so melancholy and so sad that he was fain to
leave the companionship of his own bitter thoughts. He wasfain
to think about the smiling church and its cheerful lights,
the fragrant incense, and the swelling strain, and sweeter,
holier, and fuller of consolation than all the rest, the lowly
crib that seemed to beckon him to draw near and look upon
the smiling babe who raised His little hands with such a look of
pitying love, and as he gazed he felt his heart grow light and
strong. He felt that the good Jesus had, indeed, sought out
His wandering lamb, and when he arose from his knees he felt
that now he could leave all beside to follow the Good Shepherd,
whom he had sought for so long, but was about to find
at last ; and as the dinner hour drew- nigh, it was with com-
parative calmness that he descended to the drawing-room.
Maria rose to meet him as he entered, and greeted him cheerfully
as she led him to a chair. They sat counting the minutes
with palpitating hearts, though they tried hard to seem
cheerful and unconcerned. The happiness of two young
hearts is now depending on a father's word, and surely at this
Christmas time the icy heart will melt, the iron will unbend,
and recording angels shall gladly write the words that will
bring comfort and joy to those that so much need it. He was
at church this morning; he heard the sacred words, "Glory be
to God on high, and on earth peace to men of good will ;" and
he cannot steel his heart and close the bowels of compassion
against his own offspring. There has been too much of rigor
and of suffering already, and on this day of universal love and
happiness, he, too, will relent, and give the kiss of peace, and
there shall be merry Christmas at the hearth which is now so
lone and desolate and the ;
gratitude of two young hearts shall
amply pay him for his conquered pride and vanquished will.
A step is heard approaching; it must be he. Poor Edwin
turns deadly pale, and rises, as the hand in already upon the
latch of the door. He faintly approaches to meet him as he
enters, with the kiss upon his lips, ano r for par.
upon his tongue, and his eyes looking more than ton;
express. Auoi. at, and oh! let the n