“The Right Rev. Catholic bishop is respectfully informed that there is a negro woman lying dangerously ill at Mr. Goldrich’s, who, being a Catholic, desires the last rites of that church.  Being a native of St. Domingo, the French is her vernacular tongue; for which cause it will be desirable, if possible, to send, a clergyman who can speak that language.”

A young negro lad was the bearer of this despatch, and he returned in less than an hour, attended by Rev. Paul O’Clery, whom the bishop sent to answer this urgent call, all those of the episcopal residence having been out since early morning attending on the sick in their respective localities.  In order to avoid any further cause of displeasure to Mrs. Goldrich, Alia had given the negro lad instructions to bring the priest in through a private door that communicated with the garden, rather than attract attention by entering the hall door.  She had a full view of the countenance of the young priest, through the window, while he was crossing that part of the garden that lay next the houses of the city, and, strange! her heart throbbed, and an indescribable sensation passed over her frame.

“How happy,” she thought, “must be the sister of such a gentleman as that! how different her lot from mine!”

The priest entered, and was received with a very polite bow by Alia, which was returned profoundly.  Declining to take a seat, on account of his many other urgent calls, he was escorted to old Judy’s chamber by his fair guide, who, on the way thither, explained to him what sort of a person she was, and how odd in her notions about religion.  Having conducted him to her bedside, she made a polite bow, and retired, asking if her services were further needed.

The priest answered, “No; that he believed all the requirements for this holy but melancholy service were prepared, and that he supposed he had to thank her for the nice arrangements he observed.”

“Yes, mon pere,” said old Judy, in half French, half English, “there is the ‘chandel,’ the ‘eau-benite,’ the ‘la croix,’ and the rest, that I keep many year for my deathday.”

It was only when she retired from the chamber that the priest caught a full view of the fair Alia; and now

   “A strange emotion worked within him, more
    Than mere compassion ever worked before.”

He saw in this interesting stranger the strongest resemblance to his own sister Bridget.  There were the same raven hair, the same candid and large eyes, the same broad and well-set teeth so peculiar to the O’Clerys, and the same form almost to a line.  The groans and urgent call of his penitent Judy, however, soon recalled his mind from its reveries, and he banished all thoughts of Alia, as temptations, or, at least, speculations, which it was for the present useless to entertain.  He put on his stole, and after a short aspiration for light and grace to discharge his duty to the sick woman, was just in the act of repeating the prayer, “Dominus sit in corde tuo et in labiis,”—­“May the Lord be in your heart and lips,”—­when the creature, raising herself up in her bed, prevented him, saying, “Mon pere, I vant, before I begin the confession, to tell you a secret that burden my mind long time.”