If I am on
the brink of perdition, _I_ alone am responsible for my acts--not you."
"I will try to obey you, Helen, so far; but I _will_ pray for you--I
_will_ do penance for you--I _will_ offer frequent communions for
you--I _will_ intercede with our tender and Immaculate Mother for you.
I will fly to Calvary, and at the foot of the cross beseech our
suffering Jesus, by his bitter passion and death to have mercy on you.
You cannot stop me--you cannot hinder me in this, for, oh Helen! it is
an awful thing to see a soul tearing off its baptismal robe, trampling
underfoot the seals of the Church, and rushing away from her fold of
safety to eternal--eternal woe!" cried May, wringing her hands, while
big tears rolled over her face.
Helen turned away to brush off a single tear that moistened her eyes,
but through it she saw the glitter of a diamond bracelet, which Walter
Jerrold had just sent her, with a bouquet of hot-house flowers--all
rare and costly, and the poor tear was dashed off with impatience, and
a haughty curl of the lip.
"You act finely, May, but drop all this, and tell me what you will wear
at my bridal," said Helen, clasping the bracelet on her arm, to try its
effect.
"I shall not be there, Helen. I cannot even wish you joy, for there
can no joy ever come in disobeying the Church, whose voice is the voice
of God himself."
"As you please," she replied, coldly; "but croak no more to-night. You
are like a bird of ill-omen to me.
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