"Thank you, sir," said May, laughing, as he laid a large slice on her
plate, which, however she did not touch, but put it aside for Helen;
then observing that Mr. Stillinghast had finished his breakfast, she
wheeled his chair nearer the fire, handed him his pipe, and the
newspaper, and ran upstairs, to see if Helen was awake. But she still
slept, and looked so innocently beautiful, that May paused a few
moments by her pillow, to gaze at her. "She is like the descriptions
which the old writers give us of the Blessed Virgin," thought May;
"that high, beautifully chiseled nose; those waves of golden hair;
those calm finely cut lips, that high, snowy brow, and those long,
shadowy eyelashes, lying so softly on her fair cheeks, oh, how
beautiful! It seems almost like a vision, only--only I _know_ that
this is a poor frail child of earth; but, oh! immaculate Mother,
cherish, guard, and guide her, that her spirit may be conformed to
thine."

"I suppose," said Mr. Stillinghast, when May came down, "that you'll go
trotting presently through the snow and ice to church."

"No, sir; I fear I cannot go this morning," said May.

"Cannot go? well, really! I wonder if an earthquake will swallow me
before I get to the wharf today," said Mr. Stillinghast, drawing on his
boots.

"I trust not, sir; I'd be happier to go, but Helen is a stranger, and
she might awake when I am gone, and want something. To-morrow we will
go together."

"So, there's to be a regular popish league in my house, under my very