bent her way to the kitchen with the bread. Mr. Somers took advantage of the moment, and, hastily darting down the darkest passage, he hurried on, he knew not in what direction.

He had not gone far, however, before he saw a little girl advancing from an opposite direction. She started back with terror at his appearance; but he had recognized Ellen Wilton, and called her by her name. She also recollected him, for he was a friend of her father's, and, coming up to him, answered his earnest inquiries, by leading him to the room where his daughter lay. They, very fortunately, encountered none of the nuns in their progress, and the father had the satisfaction of finding Clara better than his fears had led him to expect. She sprang to his embrace, with a scream of joy, and, with tears and sobs, entreated him to take her from the convent, enforcing her request by a hurried recital of the vexations and persecutions she had endured. Mr. Somers listened with indignation, and this feeling was further increased by his observations on the disordered state of his daughter's nerves, which, he perceived, was the effect of the treatment to which she had been subjected.

It was not long, however, before their conversation was interrupted. The supérieure, not finding him in the parlor, as she had been led to expect, and supposing he was gone, hastened to the apartment of Clara, in pursuance of her new system of conciliation, and was not a little startled at finding Mr. Somers there. Her anger and resentment, at this unaccountable intrusion into the very heart of her hitherto uninvaded sanctuary, were met by his indignant reproaches, on the subject of the violence offered to his child's principles. Clara, terrified by the presence of the supérieure, clung trembling to her father's arm, and implored him not to leave her. The altercation was violent, though short; the lady requested him, in the most haughty and dignified manner, instantly to quit her house; and Mr. Somers, directing his daughter to wrap herself up in her warmest clothing, supported her tottering steps out of the convent, and, having procured a carriage, drove with her to the hotel where he then resided.

Thus unceremoniously was Miss Somers withdrawn from the establishment, and it was not long before another was also plucked from "the net which had been spread for her feet." Mr. Somers, as soon as he had seen his daughter somewhat recovered from her agitation, and comfortably installed in her new lodging, immediately wrote to his friend Captain Wilton, representing the danger to which his daughter was exposed, and urging him to rescue her from it as soon as possible. The result was exactly what might have been anticipated. Captain Wilton hastened to S, and took his daughter back with him, though without as signing the reasons which induced him to remove her.

Emily and Lydia were truly glad that these two little girls

were, at last, rescued from the snares to which they had been so unreflectingly exposed by their parents; and much and fervently did they wish that those most dear to them were also removed from the fatal influence which was every day becoming more apparent. But, alas! there was as yet no intelligence of Mr. Howard; Caroline was daily more estranged from them, and more devoted to the society of the nuns; and Henrietta and Julia, who were only ten and twelve years old, were as completely under her influence, as she herself was under that of Sophie.

They both felt it a great mercy, that they were permitted to enjoy the society and support of each other;—that they could advise, comfort, and cheer each other on, in the path of humble and consistent obedience, while they strove to exercise a simple trust in the faithfulness of God, and endeavored to "live by faith," looking "not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen."

They were now but seldom annoyed, either by the nuns or Miss Smithson, on the subject of religion; they had found them determined to admit no authority but the word of God, and as that "sword of the Spirit" was a weapon they were unacquainted with, they had gradually relinquished the contest. Emily and Lydia had often wished they could hear or know something more of sister Adelaide, the interesting novice whose case had excited such lively interest, such deep and heart-felt compassion; but they were now never invited to walk with the sisterhood in the garden, and, without a special invitation, no boarder could intrude. They saw her, indeed, at meals, but always at a distance; they could also see her in the garden, from the window of their bedroom; but they observed that she always walked alone, and as much apart from the others as possible. She seemed fond of solitary musing; her countenance wore an unvarying expression of settled melancholy; and as her cheek became every day more pale, and her aspect more wan, it was evident that her health was rapidly sinking under the depression of her mind. But nothing ever transpired, to throw any light on the mystery of her fate; Miss Smithson, when the subject was referred to, insisted that her evident agony, on the day of her profession, was nothing more than the natural agitation produced by the publicity of the ceremony, and her own conspicuous part in it; and though Emily made several attempts to speak to her, on their leaving the dinner or supper table, such was the system of continual surveillance exercised in the house, the vigilance of which seemed even increased with regard to her, that she never could come near the object that so deeply interested her.

Emily and Lydia often noticed the different nuns who were absent from table; some of them remained secluded for two or three weeks together, and, on their return, seemed to have endured

severe penance, if any judgment could be formed from their pale, worn, and haggard looks. Lydia could never notice the absence of one without shuddering; for it was in vain that she tried to forget that an unhappy nun was said to have been starved in the dungeons, not long before the present supérieure assumed the reins of government. Whether true or false, the report had been communicated to them both by Clara Somers and Mrs. Brownlow, and it seemed to be generally believed in the house; and they felt that such things were not only possible, but probable, under a system which bestowed such unlimited power.

But a crisis was now at hand, which they were very far from foreseeing. One morning, a messenger arrived early at the convent, with letters for the supérieure, which seemed to be of no little importance, for she called together a council of the elder nuns, among whom were la mère Sainte Hélène, and la mère Sainte Euphrasie. The intelligence contained in these letters did not seem to be of an agreeable nature, for it made even sister St. Anne look melancholy, and the sweet countenance of sister Constance was overcast with a deeper shade of sadness. Many looks of tender regret were directed towards Emily and Lydia; and they could not help fancying that they were, in some way, concerned in what was going forward, whatever it might be. was an idea not at all calculated to tranquillize their minds; and they could not altogether suppress the feelings of undefined apprehension to which it gave rise. They, however, endeavored to await with patience the development of the mystery.

This

Their suspense was at length terminated. After dinner, in the refectory, the supérieure thus addressed the boarders, in the presence of all the nuns.

It is my duty, ladies, to inform you, that I have this morning been honored with an epistle from our right reverend father the bishop of this diocese, and that this communication concerns you in a particular manner. His Lordship observes, that, from various circumstances which have come to his knowledge, he is convinced of the general inexpediency, and frequent danger of admitting Protestant boarders into religious houses, inhabited by Catholic communities.' He, therefore, in his tender love, and fatherly care for his children, has issued a request, which, of course, coming from such a quarter, is as forcible as the most positive command, 'that no more Protestants be received into the convents of this diocese, and that those who are already inmates in them, be forthwith requested to depart,-unless, indeed, they will consent to listen to the voice of truth, and become members of the only true and apostolic church.""

"Such being the case, ladies, it is my painful office to apprise you, that it is absolutely necessary that you should, as soon as possible, withdraw from this house, if you are determined still to

persist in your errors. But it also becomes me to entreat you with the most tender and affectionate earnestness, to renounce the fatal ways of heresy, in which you have walked but too long, and to embrace the holy faith of that church whose arms are open to receive you. Oh! reflect, I beseech you, and do not hastily reject the offers of everlasting happiness! Let there be joy in heaven, over, not one, but several, repenting sinners! Consider, that, if you remain obstinate, not only will the doors of this sanctuary be closed against you, but, at the great day of judgment, you will be inevitably excluded from heaven, with these most awful words, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels!'"

"I will not hear your answer now," continued the supérieure, observing that both Mrs. Brownlow and Emily were about to speak," I entreat you to pause, before you decide, and will receive your decision to-morrow. In the meantime, my daughters and myself will importune heaven with prayers, that the Holy Virgin may give you grace to decide aright."

The lady waved her hand majestically, as she concluded, as if to prevent a reply, and the boarders, as well as the nuns, retired to their separate apartments. Caroline would have escaped, but Emily and Lydia, each seizing an arm, forcibly detained her, and at length succeeded in leading her to their room.

แ Now, then," exclaimed Lydia, "now is the time to confess Christ. A crisis is come, and it becomes us to act with fearless candor, and to show that we are not ashamed of that holy religion which we know to be founded on the pure Word of God. If we are Protestants, now is the time to prove it, by openly and boldly protesting against the soul-destroying errors of Popery."

The eyes of the animated girl sparkled with enthusiasm as, with her usual impetuosity, she pronounced these words. Caroline was pale and agitated, and evidently the prey of conflicting feelings. Emily could not speak, for she dreaded the result, and her cheek was almost as colorless as that of Caroline. Lydia, however was resolved to obtain an answer to the question, which she saw her cousin durst not, or rather had not the power to ask. She stood before her sister, in an attitude expressive of the most intense earnestness, and holding her hands with an unconscious grasp, exclaimed, as Caroline remained silent.

"Dearest Caroline, speak, I entreat,-I implore you,-speak, and relieve our hearts of the load of anxiety which has long weighed them down,-speak, and say that you will leave this house with us,-that you will not forsake the religion of the Bible!"

Caroline withdrew her hands, and falteringly replied, " You are too vehement, Lydia ; you must give me time to reflect ; you know we are not to give our answer till to-morrow."

"Oh ! but I cannot bear this suspense," exclaimed Lydia, falling on her sister's neck, and bursting into tears. "I cannot bear to doubt your decision, or to contemplate the possibility of your apostasy! Caroline !" she continued, sinking on her knees, "you will not forsake us, and break our hearts!-you will not bring down my father's head with sorrow to the grave!—you will not endanger your own soul, by embracing a system which is founded on the authority of men, and directly opposed to the sure Word of God!"

Emily supported Caroline, who seemed ready to faint, and with tears endeavored to second the arguments of Lydia. The unhappy girl sobbed with almost convulsive emotion; but at that instant Sister Sainte Anne entered the room, and led her into the garden to enable her to recover herself. There was evidently a contrivance in this well-timed interruption, and Caroline seemed glad to avail herself of it. It was in vain that her sister and cousin sought another opportunity of conversing with her; she was all the day with Sophie, and they therefore resolved to await the hour of retiring to rest, and then use their utmost efforts to recall her to a sense of her duty.

They visited Mrs. Brownlow in the afternoon, to inquire what her intentions were for the morrow, and found her busily employed in packing up her wardrobe, books, and other articles. She told them she intended to leave the house on the following day, and that she had written to a friend, to secure her accommodation in another convent near Paris.

"You, I suppose," she said, "will also leave as soon as you can; but I am not sure that you will take Miss Caroline with you. She seems wonderfully captivated with the nuns, who are not likely to forego any advantage they may have gained. I would, also, advise you to look well to the two little girls; for, if I mistake not, there will be a struggle for them."

Emily and Lydia felt alarmed, and thanked Mrs. Brownlow for her caution. They went in search of Henrietta and Julia ; but so constantly did the nuns keep them employed, that they had no opportunity of speaking to them in private."

Thus passed the day, in alternate fears and hopes, tears and prayers. They anxiously watched the progress of the advancing hours, and thankfully hailed the approach of night. The supper hour came, and, after it, the wearisome round of idolatrous wor. ship. The nuns had been in the chapel the greater part of the day, having had a long extra service, for the conversion of the heretics, and they looked fatigued and worn out. The boarders were dispirited, and all gladly retired to rest.

It was eleven o'clock, and every sound had long ceased in the convent, when Emily and Lydia entered the apartment of Caroline. She was not there, and the removal of some of her clothes