Among my hearers lately there has been
A lady all attention to my words:
Thrice have I seen that she was deeply moved;
And to confession yesterday she came.
Let me here call her Harriet. She is
By education Protestant, but wavers,
Feeling the ground beneath her insecure,
And would be led unto the rock that is
Higher than she. A valuable convert;
Not young; in feeble health; taxed for two millions;
And she would found, out of her ample means,
A home for orphans and neglected children.
Heaven give me power to lead the stray one safe
Into the only fold; securing thus
Aid for the church, salvation for herself!

A summons took me to her house to-day.
Her mother and her step-father compose
With Harriet the household. I refrain
From putting real names on paper here.
Let me then call the man's name, Denison;
He's somewhat younger than his wife, a lady
Advanced in years, but her heart wholly set
On the frivolities of fashion still.
I see the situation at a glance:
A mercenary marriage on the part
Of Denison, whose hungry eyes are fixed
Upon the daughter's property; the mother
Under his evil influence, and expecting
The daughter to die soon, without a will,
Thus leaving all to them;—and Harriet
Not quite so dull but she can penetrate
Denison's motive and her mother's hope!
A sad state for an invalid who feels
That any hour may be her last! To-day
Harriet confessed; for she has been alarmed
By some bad symptoms lately. As she urged it,
I sent word to the bishop, and he came,
And she was formally confirmed, and taken
Unto the bosom of the Church, and there
May her poor toiling spirit find repose!

Another summons! In the drawing-room,
Whom should I meet but Denison? His stare
Had something vicious in it; but we bowed,
And he remarked: "I hear that Harriet,
Caught in your Catholic net, is turning saint.
No foul play, priest! She's not in a condition
To make a will, or give away her money.
Remember that, and do not waste your words."
My color rose, and the brute Adam in me
Would, uncontrolled, have surely knocked him down.
But I cast off temptation, and replied:
"Sir, I'm responsible to God, not man."
I left him, and passed on to Harriet.
I found her greatly moved; an interview
She had been having with her mother caused
The agitation. "Take me hence!" she cried;
"I'll not remain another day or hour
Under this roof. I tell you, I'm not safe
With these two, watching, dogging, maddening me."
She rang the bell, and to the servant said:
"My carriage, and that quickly!" Then to me:
"I'll show them that I'm mistress of my fortune
And of myself. Call on me in an hour
At the Fifth Avenue Hotel, for there
Henceforth I make my home." And there
I called, as she had ordered, and we met
In her own parlor. "What I wish," said she,
"Is to give all I have, without reserve,
For the foundation that I've planned. I'll send
Directions to my lawyer, and the papers
Shall be prepared at once."—"Before you do it,
Let me learn more of you and yours," said I:
"Who was your father?" Then, to my surprise,
I learnt that he was one whom I had met
Some years before,—in his death-hour had met.
"But you've a sister?" suddenly I asked.
Surprised, she answered: "A half-sister—yes—
I've seen her only once; for many years
I lived in Europe; she's in England now,
And married happily. On three occasions
I've sent her money."—"Do you correspond?"
"Not often; here are letters from her, full
Of thanks for all I've given her."—"In your will
Shall you remember her?"—"If you advise it."
"Then I advise a liberal bequest.
And now I must attend a sufferer
Who waits my help."—"Father, I would confess."
"Daughter, be quick: I listen." Harriet
Then gave a sad recital of a trial
And a divorce; and (but reluctantly)
Told of a terrible suspicion, born
Of a remark, dropped by a servant once,
Concerning her unlikeness to her father:
But never could she wring a confirmation
Of the distressing story from her mother.
"Tell her," said I, "you mean to leave your sister
A handsome legacy." She promised this.
Then saying I would call the following day,
I hurried off to see poor Ellen Blount.

A new surprise! There, by the patient's bed,
I came on Linda, Harriet's half-sister!
(Reputed so, at least, but here's a doubt.)
I questioned her, and now am satisfied
Treason and forgery have been at work,
Defeating Harriet's sisterly intent;
Moreover, that the harrowing surmise,
Waked by a servant's gossip overheard,
Is, in all probability, the truth!
And, if we so accept it, what can I
Advise but Harriet's complete surrender
Of all her fortune to the real child
And proper heir of Albert Percival?
But ah! 'tis now devoted to the Church!
Here's a divided duty; I must lay
The case before a higher power than mine.

I've had a long discussion with the bishop.
I placed before him all the facts, beginning
With those of my own presence at the death
Of Linda's parents; of her father's letter
Received that day, communicating news
Of Kenrick's large bequest; the father's effort
In dying to convey in legal form
To his child Linda all this property;
The failure of the effort; his decease,
And all I knew of subsequent events.
And the good bishop, after careful thought,
Replied: "Some way the mother must be brought
To full confession. Of her guilt no doubt!"
I told him I had charged it on the daughter
To tell her mother of the legacy
Designed for Linda; this, perchance, might wring
Confession from the guilty one. He seemed
To think it not unlikely, and remarked:
"When that is got, there's but a single course
For you to urge on Harriet; for, my son,
I need not tell a Christian gentleman,
Not to say priest, that this peculiar case
We must decide precisely as we would
If the Church had in it no interest:
Let Harriet at once give up, convey,
Not bequeathe merely, all she has to Linda.
Till she does this, her soul will be in peril;
When she does this, she shall be made the ward
Of Holy Church, and cared for to the end."
I kissed his hand and left. How his high thoughts
Poured round my path a flood of light divine!
Why did I hesitate, since he could make
The path of duty so directly clear!