of Eugenia, and it only increased her obstinacy. It delighted her, besides, to set the opinions and usages of the world at defiance. While she kept the consciousness of a pure life, hadn't she a right to do as she pleased? Meanwhile, she was far from being happy. Her two familiars and philosophical aids were as miserable as herself, for though they might move heaven and earth to do her pleasure, scouring the country with her in all directions, not a single word would she vouchsafe to either of them, but remained irritable and silent. One fine day, however, she determined to visit one of her estates, and prepared herself for the drive with more interest than usual. She herself drove her car, and was soon in a very affable humor. It was a lovely spring morning; the air was embalmed with a thousand perfumes, and the Hyacinths were delighted to see her so gay. They drove through a rustic suburb where the Christians were licensed to hold their worship. They were just engaged in their Sunday service, and from the chapel door of a convent, the sweet sounds of sacred music stole out. Eugenia was enchanted. She stopped her horses to listen, while the words of the beautiful psalm, "As the hart panteth after the waterbrooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God! My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God," divinely chanted, rose on the air like the songs of angels.

Atter it had ceased, the vibrations of the chant still filled her heart. She grew strangely silent. All that was vain and artificial seemed suddenly to die within her. She felt herself no longer the same. Slowly and thoughtfully she resumed her drive, and began to revolve a great plan in her mind. On reaching her villa, she shut herself in an apartment, where throwing off her female robes she draped herself in the toga of a Roman senator from whom she had inherited the villa, then with the two Hyacinths left the house again without having been observed by any of her people. Proceeding at once to the convent, she obtained admittance, and with her two companions presented herslf before the Abbot. The latter received them without

difficulty, kindly demanding their wishes. Eugenia informed him that having a desire to renounce the world and consecrate themselves to the service of the Saviour, they wished to be received among his monks. Having put a number of questions to which Eugenia, educated as she was, found no difficulty in replying, and judging by their appearance that they were young men of good family, the abbot easily consented to receive them into his monastery, where they immediately assumed the ecclesiastical habit.

Eugenia made a handsome monk, whom they named Brother Eugenius. The Hyacinths saw themselves obliged to follow her example and don the frock, without having been consulted at all on the subject; but they had long been accustomed to live only as their feminine model willed, and now made no difficulty; especially as the monastic life was an easy one. Their days ran by more tranquilly than ever before. They were no longer obliged to labor, and their only duty was passive obedience. Brother Eugenius, on the contrary, allowed himself no repose; he became a celebrated monk, with a face white as marble, eyes of fire and the bearing of an archangel. His success in converting pagans was miraculous. He took care of the sick and miserable; he was everywhere where help was needed; he searched the sacred scriptures, preached with a voice of silver, and on the death of the Abbot was elected his successor. So the gentle and lovely Eugenia became an Abbott, and reigned over seventy monks.

Meanwhile her father, after the inexplicable disappearance of his daughter and her two companions, consulted an oracle, which in:ormed him that Eugenia had been carried away by the gods and transformed into a constellation. The heathen priests were not sorry to show the Christians that miracles were still wrought by the gods. They even pointed out in the heavens, as the new constellation, a certain star flanked by two little satellites. The Alexandrians paused in the streets, and climbed upon the terraces of their house to contemplate the new constellation; and more than one

who remembered the fair Eugenia, followed her star with moistened eyes, vowing never ceasing worship.

Aquilinus alone shook his head and remained sceptical. On the other hand, the father of the vanished girl, believing firmly in the miracle which had been announced, was proud of the prestige it lent him, and with the aid of the priests obtained permission to erect a statue to Eugenia to which divine honors should be rendered. Aquilinus, whose legal authority they were obliged to ask, accorded it on condition that the image should be made a likeness of the original. This was easy, for a multitude of busts and medallions of Eugenia existed. Her statue in marble was completed and placed in the vestibule of the temple of Minerva. It defied criticism, for notwithstanding its striking resemblance, it was in every respect, an ideal work.

The seventy monks of the monastery, when they heard what had been done, were furious. That the pagans should set up a new idol and pay adoration to a mortal, was horrible. But it was the woman especially, whom they hated with invectiveness. She was a miserable wretch, a tool of Satan; and the storm which raged among them during dinner, was something fearful. The Hyacinths, who were now two good little monks, and who had buried the secret of their abbot deep in their hearts, darted towards the latter an expressive glance. She made a sign to them to be quiet, and submitted to the abuse and insults of the good fathers, as a punishment due to her sins.

But at midnight Eugenia rose from her pallet, took a heavy hammer and stealthily leaving the convent, went to find the idol and destroy it. Without difficulty she gained the splendid quarter where the temples and public edifices stood and where so much of her early youth had gone by. Not a soul was in the deserted streets, among all these vast blocks of sleeping marble. Just as the pretended monk was ascending the steps of the temple, the moon rose above the shadows of the city, projecting her light between the tall pillars of the temple. Then Eugenia beheld her marvellous image, white as the new-fallen snow, the

shoulders chastely veiled by the graceful folds of an ample drapery, the mouth smiling, the eyes upturned. The young Christian eagerly approached, her uplifted hammer in her hand; but as soon as she was able to distinguish the features of the idol, she felt a sweet thrill run through her veins; the hammer dropped at her side, and she was lost in the contemplation of this mirror of her past. Bitter regrets invaded her soul. It seemed to her that she was exiled from a happy world, condemned to wander henceforth, in solitude, a disinherited shadow. This image, which bore the impress of the ideal, all the more clearly represented her true nature, which her pedantry had only veiled, and it was a sentiment more elevated than beauty, which suddenly revealed to her, as she stood there in the clear brightness of the moon and stars, her real superiority. Alas! had she not mistaken her vocation ?

As she stood thus thoughtfully gazing, rapid footsteps suddenly resounded in the street. Concealing herself behind a column Eugenia saw a man of tall stature approach. She recognized Aquilinus. Pausing before the idol, he gazed upon it long and sadly, then, encircling it with one of his arms, he pressed a kiss upon the marble lips, and enveloping himself in his mantle, departed as he had come.

For a moment Eugenia trembled from head to foot; then anger seized her, and with a violent effort over herself, she again stepped before the statue, lifting her hammer to make an end of this criminal worship. But a strange revulsion passed through her, and instead of shattering the image, she burst into tears, and in her urn, pressed a kiss upon its mouth, then, hearing the footsteps of the night watchman, precipitately ran away. With swelling heart and suppressed sighs, she glided into her cell, but not to sleep. Dawn shone through her little window before slumber closed her eyes. The morning services went on without her, while she lay comfusedly dreaming.

At first the monks forbore to disturb the late repose of their Abbot, which his prolonged vigils sufficiently excused. At last, however, they found it necessary to call

him. A messenger had arrived with an urgent request for his presence elsewhere. A young pagan widow of great wealth and beauty, under the plea of dangerous illness, desired the spiritual consolations of the holy Abbot Eugenius, whose fame was on every tongue. The monks, eager that this conquest, so very profitable to the church, should not be neglected, hurried to awake Eugenia. She immediately arose to obey the summons, leaving the convent with a mind disturbed and troubled, and still haunted by the dreams of the morning and the events of the night. Arrived at the house of the pagan widow, she was immediately conducted to her chamber, where the servant left her.

Reclining on a sofa, she beheld a lady, beautiful and young, and apparently in all the glow of health and strength; but absorbed in her own reflections, Eugenia scarcely remarked this incongruity. At a sign from the lady, she took a seat by her side and, extending over her, her beautiful white hand, softly pronounced

"Benedicite, daughter!"

The hand was clasped by the lady, laid a moment upon her forehead and then upon her lips. Still too much preoccupied to remark the unusual nature of this reception, which in her abstraction she attributed to the fervor of devout humility, Eugenia suffered her hand to remain, and commenced the prayer of the church, for the sick.

"Stop!" cried the lady, springing to her feet-"It was not for this that I sent for you. Do you not see that it is because I love you that you are here?"

Startled and surprised, Eugenia also rose to her feet and drew back. But the woman, grasping the folds of her monk's frock, poured out a tale of love and passion which held her hearer dumb.

She told how with eager ears she had listened to the stories on every one's lips, of the angelic goodness of the Christian monk, until her desire to behold him could no longer be resisted. She told him how, day after day, and month after month, she had watched, herself unseen, as, with his divine face and bearing, he had passed in and out of the convent, laying, as she

thus beheld him, her own heart under his unconscious feet. She told him how at last, unable longer to endure the cries of her heart, she had, under the plea of illness, sent for him, determined to tell him all, and hoping to win his love in return.

In

In vain the terrified Eugenia, blushing and protesting, endeavored to retreat. vain she spoke of her vows, holding up a stern, repelling hand. The infatuated woman, with increasing vehemence, kept on. She offered to become a Christian. She would endow him with untold wealth. She would build altars to his God more costly than were ever built to her own, if he would only leave the convent, abjure his vows, and make her his wife. What had he, with his divine youth and cloister?

beauty, to do with a

The blushes of shame mantling the cheeks of Eugenia seemed to the infatuated woman, who had so madly cast her all upon the die, only the blushes and agitation of one all ready to be won, and her prayers and entreaties grew only the more vehement, until shocked, terrified beyond self control, the poor Abbot, summoning all her strength, broke from the sacriligious grasp; pouring out such anathemas as none but a priest could utter.

"Temptress, avaunt! Is it thus you would become a Christian, by luring a priest of the living God to abjure his holy vows, forget his Master and become Anathama Maranatha forever and ever? Get behind me, Satan! Go back to your pagan gods, for the pure spirit of Jesus of Nazareth is not in you!

Like a pythoness, Eugenia towered above the woman, her eyes flashing indignant wrath, and for a moment, she covered. The next, fury took possession of her. All her love suddenly changed to hatred.

"I will be revenged for this!" she cried, and violently clapping her hands, a half dozen servants instantly ran into her room.

"Turn this man from the house!" she ordered. "He is a villain! He has insulted the gods, and threatened and insulted me."

Setting up a hideous clamor they all fell upon poor Eugenia, who fled from the house in shame and disgust-the servants shout

ing and yelling after. At last she gained the shelter of the convent, and the door closed behind her.

But the trials of the poor Abbot were not to end here. The vindictive pagan, followed by a train of domestics, immediately repaired to the home of the consul Aquilinus, and there brought the most infamous accusations against the Abbot Eugenius. She declared that, under the most false pretences, he had introduced himself into her presence, and after making the most strenuous but unavailing efforts to convert her to his new religion, had turned upon her, cursing the gods, whom he pronounced no gods, and offering insults to her person which had obliged her to turn him from the house. All this and more, was sworn to by the domestics, who had been well-tutored by their mistress.

Aquilinus, indignant at such baseness, immediately ordered the arrest of the Abbot and his monks.

"This then is the fruit of your new religion, infamous hypocrites!" exclaimed Aquilinus when they appeared before him. "Scarcely are you tolerated among us, when you begin your worship by cursing our gods and insulting our women, prowling about their dwellings like wolves about the sheepfold. Was it thus your Master taught you?

Your Master whom I honor far more

than you, imposters as you are, pretending to be his disciples! Assuredly no! You only cover yourselves with his honorable name that you may serve the devil in secret. Defend yourselves against the accusations of this woman if you can!"

The perfidious woman repeated her lying tale, with such an air of truth and insulted modesty, that the poor monks turned startled looks on one another, though all boldly denied the charge.

Meanwhile, neighbors of the accuser, who had seen the Abbot rushing in confusion and dismay from her house, and who really believed him guitly, came forward with their testimony. The poor monks, thunderstruck, crushed at the amount and unanimity of the testimony, cast dubious looks upon their Abbot. All of a sudden his extreme youth for the possition, arrestd the attention of the older among them;

for the first time his pale beauty dawned upon their perceptions. They were panicstricken. If he should be guilty! If he had even in thought forgotten his vows! Surely the judgment of God would fall upon him and upon them also, if they tried to screen him from human justice!

Poor Eugenia ! Abandoned, standing alone, her capuchin drawn close over her brow, her eyes cast down, every gaze turned upon her in condemnation,-it was hard to endure. They had found her in tears upon her couch when they came to arrest her, and she had stood tearless but motionless ever since.

She was indeed in a critical position. It she kept the secret of her birth and sex, she would fall under the weight of the false testimony arraigned against her; if she revealed it, the storm would be unchained against the monastery more furiously than before, and she would be the cause of its destruction! for a convent which had for its Abbot a beautiful young woman, would be open to the most creadful suspicions on the part of the pagans. These fears and these uncertainties, had far greater terrors for her than they would have had, had she felt her heart pure according to monkish ideas; but since the last night what strange confusion, what divided thought had reigned there! How could she find courage to call on God to work a miracle to save her, since she had for a moment forgotten him?

At the moment when Aquilinus called upon her to defend herself, the memory of the love he once professed for her, came back to her mind, and she began to hope. Modestly, and in low tones, she said that "she was innocent, and that she would prove it to him if the consul would permit her to speak to him in private. Without knowing why, Aquilinus felt agitated by the sound of that voice; he granted the audience as soon as it was asked. Conducting the supposed Abbot into a private apartment in the interior of his house, he waited for the promised proof. Lifting her eyes to his, and throwing back her capuchin, she said simply,

"I am Eugenia, whom you once desired to marry."

Aquilinus recognized her perfectly and

at once. At the same time he felt a rush of anger and jealousy at the thought that the woman whom he had loved and lost and who was now so strangely restored, should appear in the doubtful guise of a woman who for several years had lived in a convent with seventy monks. Controlling himself, however, he scrutinized her suspiciously, feigning to give no credit to her words.

"To be sure," said he, coldly, "you do resemble that singular girl considerably; but that is nothing to the purpose now, I wish to know what you have done to bring this woman's accusation against you."

Eugenia, very much intimidated by this commencement, in a trembling voice related all that had occurred. Aquilinus knew by her inanner and the tones of her voice that she told the truth. Yet he coolly resumed,

"But in what manner, if you are really Eugenia, and with what object did you take the singular step of becoming a monk?"

At this question Eugenia blushed deeply, dropping her eyes in great embarrassment. Yet she was not without a vague pleasure in thus standing face to face with an old acquaintance. It seemed to revive her past life, to have him speak. Instead, therefore, of trying to excite his sympathies in her behalf, she simply related everything which had happened to her since her disappearance. This recital did not displease the consul, and he had much difficulty in suppressing his satisfaction. But he controlled his impatience, determined to push his examination to the utmost, that he might judge by her countenance whether she was the same pure and spotless young girl whom he had known.

"All this," said he, "is a very well conceived story. Still, whatever may have been the strange freaks of the person for whom you endeavor to palm yourself off, I could not believe her capable of adventures so improbable. The true Eugenia would have preferred taking the veil; for what merit could it be in the most learned, the most holy woman, to put on a friar's robe and live with seventy monks? Besides, the Eugenia you pretend to be has been deified and placed among the stars,

and her image is receiving divine worship in the temple of Minerva."

An indefinable expression passed over the face of Eugenia as she rejoined in a low voice, "Yes, and one I know went there last night to embrace it. Could he willingly torture the original?"

Aquilinus was dumb for a moment, but recovering his self-possession, and feigning not to understand, curtly remarked, as if to end the venture,

"Enough has been said. For the honor of the poor monks, who seem honest men, I can't believe you to be a woman. So prepare yourself for trial and sentence."

"Then God help me!" exclaimed Eugeuia, tearing off her monk's frock and standing shrinking and trembling in the nunlike folds of the white robe which, during her six years of travestie she had never discarded. One minute she was pale as death; the next the blood rushed in torrents to her face, and covering it with her hands she seemed sinking with shame and despair. But in an instant the mantle of Aquilinus was around her form, and his arms drawing her to his heart.

Eugenia! he murmured, his tears falling upon her beautiful brow. Not another word was spoken. That said all. He led her into an adjoining apartment, and placing her upon a divan, drew its silken coverings about her, tenderly kissed her, and went out, closing the door behind him.

Gathering up the monk's frock which lay still warm upon the floor, he returned to the waiting crowd, and holding up the garment thus addressed them:

"A strange and wonderful thing has happened. These monks are innocent! Let them depart in peace! Your abbot was a demon who came without doubt to lure you to perdition. This is his frock. Keep it in remembrance of this event; for after having changed his form under my very eyes, he vanished and disappeared, leaving no trace. As to this woman who has attempted with the aid of this demon to destroy you, she is suspected of sorcery, and will be thrown into prison. And now return home, all of you, and be happy!"

Everybody was amazed at these revelations; they looked at the spoils of the