rest. About noon he was called into the presence of the father. His manner of the night before had undergone a change.

With a kind smile and mild tone the priest began.

"My son, thou dost know how well thou art loved and how thou art privileged as no other here. How it has grieved me to hear thy deliberate falsehood of last night. Why didst thou lie to me?"

"Perhaps because I have so well learned that art since coming here!" replied the young man in tones equally bland.

"I had thought last night to visit upon thee deserving punishment!" replied the priest, frowning. "But I have decided to leave thee with thine own conscience. But hereafter thou art not free to come and go as thou hast done. True, thou hast always been required to obtain the leave of absence from the building, but we have so far always trusted thee to such an extent that thy errand has never been asked. But hereafter remember, that whenever it becomes necessary to grant to thee permission for absence from the building, thy errand will also be required!"

The young man made no answer. "And one word more before thy departure!" The father was decidedly ill at ease, his

manner unlike the air of self-repose of the moment before.

"Dost thou know aught of the leader of the heretics? Hast thou communications with any of the sect?"

"I know naught of them," was the reply.

CHAPTER IX.

DECEIVED.

"And so the girl is quite stubborn, is she!" So said the man within the confessional to his penitent, the mother of Elena. "And hast thou done all in thy power, daughter?"

"Oh, yes, Father!" sobbed the woman. "Well," continued the man, "then it is time for thy priest to help. She refuses to come to mass, to come to the confessional, she insists on attendance upon the services of the heretics and she pretends to read her Bible alone, unaided by her priest. Her soul indeed is in great danger. But do not despair, daughter! I have a plan. She shall yet be saved! She must be removed at once from the pernicious influence of these heretics. This thou dost clearly see, daughter! But I know a safe retreat. In the school of the Sisters Angelina she will be sheltered, and in time the seeds of heresy sown in her heart will die for lack of nourishment.

"Now the stage leaves to-morrow morn for the school, and thou must be the one to carry her thence. I will give thee a

letter of introduction to the Sisters, that they may know how to meet the case. But, daughter, there must be all haste. Thou must surely go to-morrow, and there must be all secrecy lest the girl escape us. Tell her that thou art suddenly summoned to the dying bed of some old friend and that thou dost need her assistance. Tell her anything that will take her with thee. Of course the Holy Church does frown upon deceptions. But this is not deception. All means are fair that will save an immortal soul from destruction. Ι know it is a hard thing for thee to do, daughter, but thou wilt not fail! It will be worth the cost, the saving of thy child!"

The man paused to breathe. He did not add what was in his thoughts, that there had been brewing in his mind for some time a plan for the removal of this fair maid. For there had been whispers of late that there was danger that the Church would lose the young priest Rudolfo because of this same girl.

The mother tearfully promised and went her way. She, with a mother's heart, a mother's love. But before love, before honor even, must be obedience to the voice of her priest.

It was all over. The girl was safe

under lock and key in the "Sister's Refuge." Elena knew that she had been deceived by mother and by priest. She knew, too, that when father and mother forsook, the Lord would take her up. She had been searched. Her little Bible had been taken from her, but, ah! they could not search her heart and take from thence the treasure hid.

And

Solitude, cold, hunger, threats and punishment could not draw from that once timid girl the words "I recant." though the convent walls were thick and cold and dark, the heavenly hope filled her soul with warmth and light. And peace and courage, God's gifts to his children, were hers.

Months had passed. The mysterious disappearance of Elena, the beautiful daughter of Corona, had ceased to be a subject of public speculation. Her mother's face had grown sad, her steps slow. Did she know aught of her daughter that she would not reveal? And the young priest Rudolfo, what of him? When the girl had first disappeared, in his desperation he had boldly sought her. Little did he care, though men wondered and jeered. It was even rumored that Elena was secreted in the house of the Protestant priest, and thither he went in his