But Louisa could not witness the beloved companion of her childhood in suffering without attempting to mitigate it; and the heart of Helen was often cheered by her look of sympathy and affection. A whispered word, too, would frequently reveal her compassion; and Helen's surprise was excited on seeing, early one morning, a note in her cousin's handwriting thrust under the door of her apartment. Opening it hastily, she read as follows:

"Dear, dear Helen,

"Assure yourself of one who sympathizes with you, and who would, if possible, console and relieve. Forgive me, however, if I say you are yourself the cause of your sufferings. O, Helen, why do you persist in such dangerous error? Why will you not listen to our spiritual instructer? Father Basil waitslongs to receive you into the true Church; and mamma-you know not how it would delight her! Do, do, be persuaded.

"Your affectionate cousin,

"LOUISA."

Helen could not help shedding tears at this proof of her cousin's regard; but, endeavouring to collect her thoughts, she wrote the following:

"Dearest Louisa,

"Your kindness I appreciate fully, but I cannot retract. My eternal interests are suspended on my present conduct; and dearly as I love, and highly as I esteem, both you, and my kind aunt, yet I cannot, I dare not, violate the dictates of my conscience. You think me foolish, Louisa: did you but know the anguish I have experienced, the almost insupportable agony I have endured, since witnessing my aunt's alienated affection; did you but know the struggle I had with my well-nigh wavering heart, ere I came to my present decision, you would neither accuse me of ingratitude nor inconsiderateness. I have but one source of consolation, and it is derived from that religion you would fain persuade me to abjure; but one place of refuge, and it is the throne of a covenant-keeping God. There, when sad, and depressed, and weary, I turn,

'And this poor trembling spirit shroud

In heaven-born thoughts of better things.' “Dear Louisa, read the Bible. It is God's own word, and alone can make you 'wise unto salvation.' I am not unhappy, though I grieve to lose the good opinion of those I love. I have a peace that the world, and outward things, can neither give nor take away.

"Ever your attached

G

"HELEN."

Helen slipped this note into her cousin's hand, as she passed her room on retiring to rest; and Louisa, after perusing it, lay awake the greater part of the night, endeavouring to devise some scheme by which she might prevail upon her mamma, and Father Basil, to restore Helen to their favour.

CHAPTER VIII.

"Grace doth not destroy the life of nature, but adds to it a life more excellent."-ABP. LEIGHTON.

THE Continual excitement in which the mind of Helen was kept by the unceasing expostulations, entreaties, and threats of her aunt and Father Basil, was too much for a frame naturally delicate; and her pale cheek, and colourless lip, gave token of secret suffering. Ardent and sensitive as she was, it could not but be à source of sorrow to witness the altered looks, and endure the cold taunts, of those whom she had ever been taught to love and revere; and the bursting tear could not be repressed, nor the sigh of anguish stifled, when her affectionate heart, thirsting for the sweet waters of kindred regard, was met only by the glance of indifference.

But Mrs. Llewellyn saw not, or would not perceive, the change. It seemed as though every emotion were absorbed in the one feeling of indignation, aroused more strongly by the firmness and decision of her niece, and the failure of every attempt suggested by either Father Basil or herself. In Helen, she saw

only the heretic. There were moments indeed, though moments only, when the remembrance of departed days would rush upon her spirit, bringing with it in fearful vividness the recollection of him she had loved; and when she thought of the parting scenes of his life, and the events that characterized their close, a thrill of compunction would reach her heart: but these better feelings of her nature were overpowered by bigotry and error; and Louisa's attempts to intercede for her cousin were generally silenced with, "Hush, my dear! it is a most painful subject, but we must do our duty."

"You look poorly, this morning, my dear Helen," said Mrs. Somers; an opportunity having been allowed Helen of visiting her friends at the Lodge: "even this lovely morning has not been able to paint one rose on your cheek."

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Except the death-rose," said Helen, with a faint smile. "I sometimes think, my dear

Mrs. Somers, that the grave is soon to be my resting-place."

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"O, you must not think so, my love!" returned Mrs. Somers, kissing her pale cheek: "this is certainly a season of trial; but is not your strength proportioned to your day?"

"It is," said Helen; "for I am sure I could not once have endured the thought of such a change in the affections of those I love, as I am compelled now to experience. I feel it is, indeed, 'leaving all; and this rebellious heart would sometimes fain whisper it is too much."

"But remember the sweet declaration, 'If we suffer with Him, we shall also reign with Him;' and they who stand before the throne are they who have come out of 'great

tribulation.'"

"O yes, my dear Mrs. Somers were it not for the blessed promises and consolations of the Gospel, I should at once sink; but they are my stay, my shield, my support. Those have, indeed, 'strong consolation who have fled for refuge to lay hold on the hope set before them.'

"Is your aunt still unreconciled?" asked Mrs. Somers.

"Still the same," returned Helen. "I do not