Ever since I could think at all, I had felt a certain void in my heart which nothing seemed to supply. I had learned to fear the Father, as I said, as some far off Ruler, in whose hands I was a helpless, useless atom, and the Son, as my stern inexorable Judge; but I had never thought of loving them. All my love was for the Holy Virgin and the Saints. But no creature however exalted can satisfy the cravings of an awakened nature. I felt myself blindly groping in the dark, as it were, for some hand to lead me; some help to support me. I was haunted by the dread of death, and what should come after it—of that tremendous spectre of purgatory which the Roman church hath set up, to haunt the death-beds—not so much of impenitent as of penitent sinners. I longed to be good; but I found that when I would do good, evil was present with me. Even while in the convent, I had wearied desperately of the round of "good works" so-called, the endlessly repeated prayers, the fasts and vigils, and hour long "meditations," when I never could tell at the end of the hour what I had been thinking about. Since I had come to Newcastle, I had left off all these exercises to a great degree, but my conscience had never been easy under the omission. And there was another thing that haunted me. There was now no priest in Newcastle or very near; suppose I should die suddenly and without the sacraments. Suppose it should be a mortal sin after all, to read the Bible and listen to the English prayers, and I should die without the opportunity of confession. All these considerations made me very unhappy at times. But now I learned that the Father was indeed my Father—that he had loved me, even me, with a love such as no human creature could so much as understand—that he desired my salvation far more than I did, and that instead of making the way hard, he had made it easy—so easy indeed, that it was hard to take in, by one who had always been taught that salvation was a thing to be earned. But as Mr. Cheriton went on with his calm discourse, bringing text after text, passage after passage, to the support of his argument, I seemed to be assured that all was true. Yes, here was one I could—I did love and believe in—one to whom I could and did trust myself, for time and for eternity; and such a sweet peace descended upon my soul, as I have no words to describe. I glanced at Amabel. To my surprise I saw her color raised, and her lips compressed, while her eyes had that peculiar dilation, and raising of the eye-brow, which showed she was excited and displeased. The sermon being closed, Mr. Cheriton gave notice that he should preach again in the afternoon, and then after a slight pause, he said—