“Yes, madam; and my best friend. For dear Sister Martha, who has told me of my early life, could not resolve my doubts and fears, and the thousand anxieties that I should naturally feel, and I have been both relieved and enlightened by free conversation with Father Angelo. He must have suffered much himself, for his heart is so tender and his manner so soothing, and yet he always strengthens one’s spirit so much, with his calm views of another life, in this life of ours. Till he came to us I never knew fully what sympathy was. The Sisters but half understood me, and when I saw the excellence of their lives, when I watched their hardy activity and their daily devotion to duty, I used to feel sure that theirs must be the true thought that led directly to right action, and that my world of fancies and mysteries must be a morbid and unhealthy one. Still I felt constantly that ‘I heard a voice they could not hear,’ and never till last summer, when Father Angelo came to us, did I at all understand myself.” “And now that you do understand yourself, you are happy, my child?” I asked. “As happy as one with unoccupied affections can be, madam. I feel that I have much love that has never been called into action, and I fancy that my father when he comes will fill my heart. Meantime, I see why it is that there are depths in my soul that no plummet can sound, and where the voice of God alone calls forth an answer. Sometime or other, either in this world or a future one, these deep voices will find musical utterance, and the harmony of the affections, which alone is wanting to the harmony of nature, will make my being what God intended it to be.” “You are happy, my dear child, to have such a confidence; it comes sometimes after suffering and sorrowful experiences, but seldom in the bloom of life.” “And I should have wandered long and unhappily but for the guidance of Father Angelo,” said Claire, her eyes radiant with grateful affection whenever she spoke of this father of her best thoughts. I became curious to see Father Angelo. “When will he come here again?” I inquired. “To-morrow at furthest,” said Claire. “Then I hope I shall see him.” “Assuredly, if madam desires it,” said Claire, with a pleased look. “But apparently, madam is a Protestant?” “Oh, I do not want to confess to him,” said I, laughing. “Pardon me, madam. But have you never felt that it would be a great pleasure and privilege to confess?” “Assuredly not, Claire,” said I, more seriously. “Madam has had dear friends then, to whom she could express every thought—confess every fault—and to whom she could apply in every difficulty?” inquired she. “No—not always,” answered I, hesitatingly; “but, Claire, we believe that to God alone we should confess.” “God alone can absolve,” said Claire, devoutly, “by the mouth of his minister, the repenting heart. But there are so many things we wish to say to an earthly friend, and to which we must receive an answer—”