she laid him down in his soft bed with a yearning kiss. It had been her nightly custom to set him on her knees, and, with tiny clasped hands held in hers, to teach him to lisp a short prayer; but now she omitted it, and after gazing at her for a moment, he rose up, pressed his little palms together, and waited to be taught.

"The Lord look on thee! the Lord hear thee, thou tender innocent lamb!" cried she; and then she repeated, sentence by sentence, the baby prayer, his imperfect tongue echoing every word. Then he slept; but his mother's bed was the cold clay floor, and her pillow a stone.

The

As Margaret's life now began, so it continued. people at the Convent employed her to work in their vineyard; and this fair young creature, who had been gently nurtured, and cherished with love since the hour she was born, toiled up and down the steep hills from sunrise to sunset, bearing heavy baskets of soil to cover the sunny slopes of the cliffs and fill the chinks wherever a grape-plant would grow; or in the season, throughout the glowing day, she gathered the abundant harvest, and carried the ripe fruit to the winepress, amidst a laughing troop of men and maids who hushed their mirth, and whispered strange words to each other, as she passed by bending under her load. Her beauty withered like a flower in too fervent heat; all grace of form left her; the golden ripple of her hair became rusted with long exposure to sun and weather. In her bronzed and haggard face no eye could trace a shadow of loveliness; and when the old people vaunted of her beauty, the young ones mocked and disbelieved.

In her appointed time the aged Anna went to her rest; her blind husband soon followed, and then Carl and his young

wife succeeded to the homestead and all its belongings. Meanwhile, Margaret's child grew and throve marvellously, and when he was ten years old there was not a more beautiful child to be found in the province. He had been christened by the name of Otto, and it became almost a proverb amongst the vine-dressers to say, "As fair as the little Otto."

Whenever Father Bruno came to the Convent, the boy was taken to him by his mother. On these occasions the priest questioned her closely and sternly of his dispositions; and she answered him with readiness always.

The child, she said, was gay and happy as a bird; very loving, tender, and obedient; inquisitive and quick to learn, and beginning already to mould bits of soft clay into the resemblance of creatures with which he was familiar in the forest.

Father Bruno would then ask if he yet knew his own history. "Ah, no!" was Margaret's invariable reply.

To keep the dark secret from him was, indeed, become the great task and aim of her life. When she was at work in the vineyards, she carried him with her; in the evenings she made herself his companion and playmate. She taught him to read, and Father Bruno brought him holy books; then he learnt to write, and the fathers at the Convent employed him to copy manuscripts for their library. In the summer nights she dragged her tired limbs to a little lake, high amongst the hills, where the white lilies floated like fairy-cups on the blue clear water, because it was his favourite resort. Even thus early he manifested a sensitive love for all that was beautiful in nature, and a keen sympathy in whatever was typical of rest and purity.

It was with an anxiety none but herself could comprehend

that Margaret watched the bent and inclination of her son's mind. Against the bare stone wall of their hut was hung an oaken crucifix, carved by the hand of Franz Steinmetz himself; it was of exquisite workmanship, but Otto testified no desire to imitate that. He copied the forms of animals, and groups of foliage and flowers, rudely at first, but in a little while with astonishing power and skill. His first perfect production was a carving of one of the large white water-lilies, in the heart of which he had sculptured an angel's face. He worked at it with the enthusiasm and diligence of genius embodying a lovely fancy, and Margaret sometimes almost forgot sorrow in watching over his absorbed delight.

But one autumn evening, returning from her grapegathering wearied almost to faintness, she found him sitting before his accomplished task with a countenance of strange surprise and disappointment. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and bent over to kiss him, but he scarcely heeded her caress, and only said, "Look, mother, I meant to make my angel smile like little Trista the woodman's daughter; but behold! her face is sorrowful like yours.'

Margaret's heart turned cold. of good and evil coming to her shadow of grief.

Already was the knowledge

darling, and love with its

The next day Father Bruno arrived at the Convent, and Otto carried his Lily-Angel up there to show him. The priest eyed it critically, praised its delicacy, but said, "This is little Trista; only thou hast given her a sad countenance instead of her bright smile-why so, Otto?"

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My father, it was against my will," replied the boy. The priest paused and reflected on this answer for some moments, and then dismissed the young sculptor without

saying any more; but in the evening he went down to the hut and talked to Margaret alone. Otto found traces of tears and anguish on his mother's face when he was permitted to enter; and Father Bruno told him the time was now come for him to study and labour regularly at his craft. He was of fit age to go into the town, dwell with his work-fellows in the week, and visit the mountain only on Sundays and holidays. Otto was but half-sad to hear this; he loved his mother, but his wings had now been growing for some time it was natural that he should long to try them, and the priest had decided that the hour was arrived when he must go forth into the world, and bear his burden like others.

Margaret only wept and knelt all night at the foot of the Cross, pleading for him with many prayers.

IV.

THERE was a new church building in the town when Otto Steinmetz went thither, and he readily found employment on the interior. Ludwig Heine, who was the architect and designer of the choir, when he heard Father Bruno extol the young sculptor's genius and industry, and had seen the LilyAngel, committed to him the execution of some of the finest portions of the work-a preference which did not fail to excite a spirit of anger and jealousy amongst the more experienced craftsmen. Otto did his best to disarm their resentment; he was always cheerful and good-humoured, and when they gibed at him, he feigned a deaf ear. And, indeed, many of their taunts he was at a loss to comprehend.

The Lily-Angel had been so much admired by Ludwig Heine that he caused it to be variously repeated in different

parts of the choir where richness of ornament was required. The gracious flow of every line in garland or cluster, the purity and pathos of the seraphic faces in each flower-bell, and the exquisite finish of the workmanship, soon raised Otto Steinmetz to the rank of the ablest of his craft; but his acknowledged superiority raised also an increased enmity against him amongst his work-fellows.

“Ah, ah! but we know who helps him!" sneered Müller, the head mason. "No need to marvel that he excels. I would not for my soul's worth set an edge to my tools on his Master's grindstone!" Otto heard, and passed by carelessly.

Another day, Ludwig Marsch, who, before Otto's coming, had been considered the best skilled hand at oak-carving in the province, drew near to examine his rival's work on the handrail of the pulpit, which was twined round with sculptured lilies, leaves, and angels' faces, gazing upwards as on the way to heaven. Ludwig Marsch commended both the design and the workmanship, but said, with an air of remonstrance, "One would hardly go to Paradise with such a sad countenance as thy angels, Otto Steinmetz."

"It is strange, Ludwig, but whether I will or no, their expression is always one of mourning," replied Margaret's son, discontentedly; "they look up, but still they weep!"

Ludwig smiled and turned away, as if he could have explained the mystery, but for kindness forbore; he had not a bad heart, yet it did not please him to see a stripling like Otto surpass him in the craft over which he had grown grey.

On a third occasion, Otto was mounting a scaffold to fix a finished lily-cluster in its place, when his foot slipped, and he fell from a dangerous height to the floor of the building. Several of the workmen ran to his aid, and amongst them was