"My daughter," he said, "little do the innocent lambs of the flock know of the dangers and conflicts through which the shepherds must pass who keep the Lord's fold. We have the labors of angels laid upon us, and we are but men. Often we stumble, often we faint, and Satan takes advantage of our weakness. I cannot confer with you now as I would; but, my child, listen to my directions. Shun this young man; let nothing ever lead you to listen to another word from him; you must not even look at him, should you meet, but turn away your head and repeat a prayer. I do not forbid you to practise the holy work of intercession for his soul, but it must be on these conditions. "My father," said Agnes, "you may rely on my obedience"; and, kneeling, she kissed his hand. He drew it suddenly away, with a gesture of pain and displeasure. "Pardon a sinful child this liberty," said Agnes. "You know not what you do," said the father, hastily. "Go, my daughter,--go, at once; I will confer with you some other time"; and hastily raising his hand in an attitude of benediction, he turned and went into the confessional. "Wretch! hypocrite! whited sepulchre!" he said to himself,--"to warn this innocent child against a sin that is all the while burning in my own bosom! Yes, I do love her,--I do! I, that warn her against earthly love, I would plunge into hell itself to win hers! And yet, when I know that the care of her soul is only a temptation and a snare to me, I cannot, will not give her up! No, I cannot!--no, I will not! Why should I _not_ love her? Is she not pure as Mary herself? Ah, blessed is he whom such a woman leads! And I--I--have condemned myself to the society of swinish, ignorant, stupid monks,--I must know no such divine souls, no such sweet communion! Help me, blessed Mary!--help a miserable sinner!" Agnes left the confessional perplexed and sorrowful. The pale, proud, serious face of the cavalier seemed to look at her imploringly, and she thought of him now with the pathetic interest we give to something noble and great exposed to some fatal danger. "Could the sacrifice of my whole life," she thought, "rescue this noble soul from perdition, then I shall not have lived in vain. I am a poor little girl; nobody knows whether I live or die. He is a strong and powerful man, and many must stand or fall with him. Blessed be the Lord that gives to his lowly ones a power to work in secret places! How blessed should I be to meet him in Paradise, all splendid as I saw him in my dream! Oh, that would be worth living for,--worth dying for!" * * * * * THE AQUARIUM.