The next time Theresa met Millicent, the latter proposed to her a plan of leaving the convent. Theresa thanked her cordially for her kindness.

"Ah," said she, "if I could but escape, could I but see Ernest once-yes, once again—but it must not be; I am not, Millicent, always so calm as you lately have seen me ;-no, there are times of agony, bitter agony, when it seems as if I never should have another tranquil moment. Had it not been for religion, for a belief in the everlasting gospel of Jesus, I verily believe I should have lost my reason! O, I wish you would bestow more of your thoughts upon this subject; nothing but this, in this world, can give abiding happiness; no, it is but a passing scene; in a moment our joys can be withdrawn, and we left to look far out on the barren wild, with no gourd to shade us from the desolating blast of sorrow."

"I do not wonder you speak thus, my dear Theresa, but I trust that you may yet live to find it otherwise. I confess religion has but little charms for me, and I trust in God I may

not have the same need of devotion as you have had."

"Do not deceive yourself thus, my dear friend: you may think religion only suited to those in deep distress, but believe me, it is well fitted to every need, in joy as in sorrow. If we cannot look to an abiding scene, to a world beyond, at all times with comfort, believe me, the mind must be unsettled and perplexed, for conscience must tell us, if we have not made our peace with God, we are miserable."

"Is it so?" said Millicent, "and are you, can you say, you feel happy, even as you are?"

"Yes, I can say, that peace of God, which passeth all understanding, is mine ;-yes, at times wholly mine. Dark doubts often trouble my prospect, Satan and my own wicked heart league together to keep me from God; but at length, that Holy Spirit God has put into my heart is victorious, and I am enabled to suffer, remembering the great afflictions Jesus suffered, for transgressions not his own."

"I almost envy you; what would I give to

possess such tranquillity!" and then, as if she had said too much, Millicent changed the subject, at the same time thanking her for her good wishes.

The sister Allegra was long ill, and for some weeks Theresa enjoyed several visits to Millicent. Earnestly did the former set before her the invaluable truths of the gospel of peace, and much good advice did she give her; but Millicent still did not take any pleasure in those things which are eternal. She listened because Theresa spoke: ever ascribing her love of religion to sorrow, she never thought of it in reference to herself.

Still, the more she saw of Theresa, the more Millicent loved her, and the more did she pity her, for time seemed to bring no alleviation to her woe; still she looked borne down with grief. The years of her noviciate were nearly over, and the intense agony that she endured in the prospect of taking the veil, it is impossible to describe. It made a deep impression which nothing could efface. Her lover, her friends, her country, all separated

from her for ever, and against her will forced into the communion of a church which Theresa believed to be false, her situation was indeed deplorable.

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CHAPTER IV.

THE sister Allegra recovered, and was able to receive Millicent as usual. She was not long in perceiving a change in the manners of the latter towards her, nor was she slow to ascertain the cause, and essayed by every means to regain the place she had for the present, in a measure, lost in her affections. She gave her the same indulgence she always had done, she asked no questions which she knew might embarrass Millicent, and she behaved in every way so much to the satisfaction of this too credulous girl, that Theresa feared much for her. For some time, however, Millicent was surprised that Theresa discontinued her visits at a late hour; and once, when she accidentally met her, she asked her the reason of her absence.