appal our weak human nature, and almost overcome our charity by terror.
This affair was truly heart-rending. When I arrived at the spot, I found
the poor man lying on the sidewalk, crushed, and almost speechless. A
crowd, collected together by curiosity, surrounded him. I asked a
physician, who was examining the extent of his injuries, 'whether or not
he could be removed?' 'He has not fifteen minutes to live, poor fellow,'
was his reply! I threw on my stole, requested the crowd to stand back a
little, and knelt on the bricks beside him, and bowed my ear close to his
lips. He had recognized me, and his eyes already dim, lit up with joy;
and in faltering and whispered words, he made his short confession.
Happily, his conscience was not burdened with mortal sin. He was one of
my penitents, and I knew how regular and pious his daily life had been.
Quickly I gave him absolution, after which I administered the Holy
Viaticum, which he received with great fervor. 'I am resigned; but,
sweet Jesus, pity my little ones,' he whispered. Then, in a little
while, with our dear Lord to conduct him, he passed into eternity. I
doubt not that his sentence was full of mercy." There was a pause of
several moments, during which May dashed more than one tear from her
cheek.

"But who, think you, I saw, when I lifted my eyes from that dying
countenance?"

"I cannot imagine, father."

"Your uncle. Yes, indeed! he stood watching the scene with a most intent
and singular expression of countenance," said Father Fabian.

"It is, I believe, one of the first _practical_ fruits of the Catholic
faith he ever saw," said May, quite forgetting her own humble, patient