Was it not so Helen?"
"Dear Walter--dear May!" said Helen, lifting her white face up from the
pillows, "the struggle is over. I must now, or never, yield to these
impulses and warnings. Oh, Mother--oh, Mother!" she exclaimed, turning
a look of agony towards the picture; "aid me in this mortal struggle!
I can bear this no longer--this mystery and burden--this mantle of
hypocrisy must be torn off, if it costs me your love, Walter, and my
life! _I must be free_. I thought I was strong; I thought I could
walk steadily along the way I have hewn out, but I have been haunted by
a remorse which is inexorable, and that--that sacred, sorrowful face
over which my sins forced so many bitter torrents. It has never left
me day or night. In my revels and worldliness--in my dreams--in my
solitude, it has followed me. I believe if my heart were opened, it
would be found graven there," she gasped out.
"Oh, dear Helen, respond at once to that tender love which has so
patiently pursued you. Remember that no one was ever lost who had
recourse to her. She has placed herself between you and divine
justice, by adopting--taking possession, as it were, of your heart; and
uniting her dolors with those of her Divine Son, has given you no rest,
until you seek it at the foot of the cross!" broke out May, with ardor.
"Oh, Mother of Sorrows! pity this, thy poor child, who flies wounded
and weeping to thy bosom."
Helen wept convulsively. A dark cloud had gathered on her husband's
face.
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