It may be--yes, the idea seizes upon my mind--that what she revealed to you will suggest some clew to the mystery of her disappearance.'" "None, my son, none," answered the priest, shaking his head; "nevertheless, I bid you be of good cheer.

That young maiden is not doomed to die a heretic.

Who knows what the Blessed Virgin may at this moment be doing for her soul! Perhaps, when you next behold her, she will be clad in the shining white robe of the true faith." This latter suggestion did not convey all the comfort which the old priest possibly intended by it; but he imparted it to the sculptor, along with his blessing, as the two best things that he could bestow, and said nothing further, except to bid him farewell.
When they had parted, however, the idea of Hilda's conversion to Catholicism recurred to her lover's mind, bringing with it certain reflections, that gave a new turn to his surmises about the mystery into which she had vanished.

Not that he seriously apprehended--although the superabundance of her religious sentiment might mislead her for a moment--that the New England girl would permanently succumb to the scarlet superstitions which surrounded her in Italy.

But the incident of the confessional if known, as probably it was, to the eager propagandists who prowl about for souls, as cats to catch a mouse--would surely inspire the most confident expectations of bringing her over to the faith.