privilege of attending his master that he was installed in the sickroom. And truly no better choice could have been made, for he combined the physical strength of the man with the gentleness of woman, and every service was rendered with the tenderness of that love which Mr. Carlisle had the rare power of inspiring and retaining in dependents. But only Assunta was able to quiet his wandering mind, and control the wild vagaries of delirium. It was a painful duty to strive to still the ringing of those bells, once so full of harmony, now "jangled, out of tune, and harsh." But, once recognizing where her duty lay, she would have performed it at any cost to herself.

Her good and devoted friend, F. du Pont, came to see her the second day of the illness, and brought sympathy and consolation in his very presence. She had so longed for him that his coming seemed an echo of her earnest wish-his words of comfort answer to her prayers.

an

"Father," she said at length," you know all the past and the present circumstances. May I not, in the present necessity, and in spite of the past, forget all but the debt of gratitude I owe, and devote myself to my dear friend and guardian? You know," she added, as if there were pain in the remembrance, "it was Mr. Carlisle's care for me that exposed him to the fever. I would I would nurse him as a sister, if I might." "My dear child," replied the priest, "I do not see how you could do less. From my knowledge of Mrs. Grey, I should consider her entirely unfit for the services of a sick-room. It seems, therefore, your plain duty to perform this act of charity. I think, my child, that the possible near

ness of death will calm all merely human emotion. Give that obedient little heart of yours into God's keeping, and then go to your duty as in his sight, and I am not afraid. The world will probably look upon what it may consider a breach of propriety with much less leniency than the angels. But human respect, always bad enough as a motive, is never so wholly bad as when it destroys the purity of our intention, and consequently the merit of our charity, at a time when, bending beneath the burden of some heavy trial, we are the more closely surrounded by God's love and protection. Follow the pillar of the cloud, my child. It is leading you away from the world." "Father," said Assunta, and her voice trembled, while tears filled her eyes, "do you think he will die? Indeed, it is not for my own sake. that I plead for his life. He is not prepared to go. Will you not pray for him, father? Oh! how gladly would I give my life as the price of his soul, and trust myself to the mercy of God!"

"And it is to that mercy you must trust him, my poor child. Do you, then, think that his soul is dearer to you than to Him who died to save it? You must have more confidence. But I have not yet told you the condition I must impose upon your position as nurse. It is implicit obedience to the physician, and a faithful use of all the precautions he recommends. While charity does sometimes demand the risk or even the sacrifice of life, we have no right to take the matter into our own hands. I do not apprehend any danger for you, if you will follow the good doctor's directions. I will try to see him on my way home. Do you promise?"

"Yes, father," said Assunta, with a faint smile; "you leave me no alternative."

"But I have not yet put a limit to your obedience. You are excited and worn out this afternoon, and I will give you a prescription. It is a lovely day, almost springlike; and you are now, this very moment, to go down into the garden for half an hour-and the time must be measured by your watch, and not by your feelings. Take your rosary with you, and as you walk up and down the orange avenue let no more serious thoughts enter your mind than the sweet companionship of the Blessed Mother may suggest. You will come back stronger, I promise you."

"You are so kind, father," said Assunta gratefully. If you knew what a blessing you bring with you, you would take compassion on me, and come soon again."

"I shall come very soon, my child; and meanwhile I shall pray for you, and for all, most fervently. But, come, we will walk together as far as the garden. And summoning the priest who had accompanied him, and who had been looking at the books in the library during this conversation, they were. about to descend the stairs, when Mrs. Grey came forward to meet them.

"O F. du Pont!" she exclaimed impetuously, "will you not come and look at my poor brother, and tell me what you think of him? They say priests know so much." And then she burst into

tears.

F. Joseph tried to soothe her with hopeful words, and, when they reached the door of the darkened chamber, she was again calm. The good priest's face expressed the

sympathy he felt as they entered softly, and stood where they would not attract the attention of those restless eyes. Mr. Carlisle was wakeful and watchful, but comparatively quiet. It was pitiful to see with what rapid strides the fever was undermining that manly strength, and hurrying on towards the terrible moment of suspense when life and death confront each other in momentary combat. With an earnest prayer to God, the priest again raised the heavy damask curtain, and softly retired, followed by Mrs. Grey.

"Will he recover?" was her eager question.

"Dear madam," replied he, "I think there is much room for hope, though I cannot deny that he is a very sick man. For your encouragement, I can tell you that I have seen many patients recover in such cases when it seemed little short of miraculous. It will be many days yet before you must think of giving up good hope. And remember that all your strength will be needed."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Grey impulsively, "I could not live if it were not for Assunta. She is an angel."

"Yes, she is a good child," said the priest kindly; "and she is now going to obey some orders that I have given her, that she may return to you more angelic than ever. Dear madam, you have my deepest sympathy. I wish that I could serve you otherwise than by words."

of suffering to a soul like hers, he prayed-not that her chalice might be less bitter, but that strength might be given her to accept it as from the hand of a loving Father.

And so Assunta, putting aside every thought of self, took her place .n the sick-room. She had a double motive in hanging her picture of St. Catherine, from which she was never separated, at the foot of the bed. It was a favorite with Mr. Carlisle, and often in his delirium his eyes would rest upon it, in almost conscious recognition; while te Assunta it was a talisman-a constant reminder of her mother, and of those dying words which now seemed stamped in burning letters

on her heart and brain.

Mrs. Grey often visited the room; but she controlled her own agitaon so little, and was so unreasonable in the number of her suggestons, that she generally left the patient worse than she found him. Assunta recognized her right to come and go as she pleased, but she ould not regret her absence when ter presence was almost invariably productive of evil consequences. The first Sunday, Assunta thought he might venture to assist at Mass it the nearest church; it would be trength to her body as well as her ul. She was not absent from the use an hour, yet she was met on er return by Clara, in a state of eat excitement.

"Assunta, we have had a dreadtime," she said. "Severn woke just after you left, and literally reamed for help, because, he said, great black cross had fallen on

and you would be crushed to ith unless some one would assist in to raise it. In his efforts, he almost out of bed. I reasoned th him, and told him it was all sense; that there was no cross, VOL. XX.-5

and that you had gone to church. But the more I talked and explained, the worse he got; until I was perfectly disheartened, and came to meet you." And with the ready tears streaming down her pretty face, she did look the very picture of discouragement.

"Poor Clara," said Assunta, gently embracing her, "it is hard for you to bear all this, you are so little accustomed to sickness. But you ought not to contradict Mr. Carlisle, for it is all real to him, and opposition only excites him. I can never soothe him except by agreeing with him."

"But where does he get such strange ideas?" asked the sobbing

Clara.

"Where do our dreams come from?" said Assunta. "I think, however, that this fancy can be traced to the night when we visited the Colosseum, and sat for a long time on the steps of the cross in the centre. You know it is a black one," she added, smiling, to reassure her friend. And now, Clara, I really think you ought to order the close carriage, and take a drive this morning. It would do you

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good, and you will not be needed at all for the next two or three hours."

Mrs. Grey's face brightened perceptibly. It was the very thing for which she was longing, but she would not propose it herself for fear it would seem heartless. To seem, and not to be, was her motto.

"But would not people think it very strange," she asked, "and Severn so sick?"

"I do not believe that people will know or think anything about it," answered Assunta patiently. "You can take Amalie with you for company, and drive out on the Campagna.' And having lightened one