strictly neutral ground. At dessert, Mr. Hilton, the steward, was sent for, and after the usual period for her remaining in the dining-room, Geraldine withdrew.

"Does he then intend to banish the subject altogether?" thought Geraldine. But, at the close of an hour's solicitude, she was joined by her father, and one glance at his countenance sufficed to shew her that he did not intend to banish the subject altogether. He advanced to her, as she rose, and perceiving that, notwithstanding every effort, her whole frame shook, and her lips moved convulsively from suppressed emotion, he drew her arm within his own, and walked with a determined, and, as it seemed, stern concentrated step, into the library, the doors of which he not only shut, but bolted. Geraldine's terror returned with double force at all these precautions for an uninterrupted, unwitnessed interview; and it was by an almost superhuman effort of mind that she retained her consciousness of what passed between them. General Carrington was visibly under the influence of emotion, at least as powerful, and checked by as strong a determination of self-control. The moment when either should give way would probably be the signal for the overflow of the other's pent up feelings, and each, intuitively conscious of this, kept at bay. He pointed to a chair. Geraldine obeyed, but, as her father remained standing, she arose, pressing both her hands upon the impetuous throbbings of her heart. During the past six months, she had unceasingly, and upon principle, acted over to herself this dreaded interview. She had, in imagination, exhausted every possible turn her father's feelings might take: she had to them adapted her manner, her expressions. She had by degrees sacrificed every thing to his possible demands: she had in heart renounced her home, her fortune, the countenance and respectability

of his protection, the endearments of his affection, the privilege of attending his dying bed. But, with all this preparation, little did she foresee the termination of this interview. The silence to her tortured mind seemed endless, yet every fibre of her frame quivered, when that silence was broken.

"Geraldine!" said the General, in a low smothered voice, "have you made your abjuration?" "No."

"You have waited my presence?"

"I have."

"For what purpose

?"

"To gain your consent, dear father." "And if you had it not?"

"I had then done all I could do, as your child." "What next?"

"I should act openly upon my inward convictions."

"Great God!" cried the General. His clasped hands partly concealed his face, but his daughter perceived the working of the muscles, and throbbing of the temple arteries. She now feared for him, and self was forgotten. Placing her hand gently on his arm, she murmured, "My dearest father!"

66

Stop!" cried he, and the wild expression of his countenance, as suddenly he grasped her arm, gave a new turn to her fears. She must have shrieked at the torture of his iron grasp, but that her utterance was choaked for that her father, in the delirium of disappointed pride and affection was about to curse the child, who would disgrace him, seemed to be now the certainty disclosed to her. Her slender form and woman's strength, utterly powerless beneath his grasp, stirred not. She felt as if she never could survive that hour, and "God alone in his eternity, she alone in her immortality," absorbed every faculty of her soul. How long an interval was thus passed

in suspension between two worlds, Geraldine never knew. She was apart from time. At length, recalled to earth by the voice she had ever instinctively obeyed," Geraldine!" cried General Carrington, in an altered tone, and releasing her from his hold; "Look up! fear nothing!" And, as she opened her eyes once more, and fixed them on her father, "Geraldine," said he at length, "this hour of deep humiliation I accept in penance for the moral cowardice of my past life; for having, during a life of fifty years, outwardly denied the faith I cherished. Come to my arms, my noble child! Your father is A CATHOLIC !"