THE NUN.

Otago Witness, Issue 3672, 29 July 1924, Page 73

THE NUN.

By

L.L.H.

(Copyright.— Fob the Witness.) I had been looking at the glorious winter sea whipped into eager life by a wild southwester; dark, menacing yonder where the shadow' of the great, gray rainclouds fell, but near at hand a rapturous rewel under the vivid sunshine. My eyes fell slowly down the picture, and my glance passed casually across the houses of the little suburb between me on the hill here and the waters. Suddenly they were held. A nun stood at the Thraughton’s gate—a nun ! I had never seen a nun in Farleigh except when the dear Little Sisters of the Poor came in their quaint conveyance—it might have stepped out of the pages of a Dickens novel—collecting for their charges : God bless them! Catholic Church of England, Non-Comformists, Godless be the sufferer, what care they? Someday, O someday surely they will hear tlio “Inasmuch” of. the Compassionate, and enter into the joy of their Lord ! I had never seen a nun in Farleigh but these two sweet and always welcome women, and I lay upon my convalescent couch as though I had been hypnotised, gazing on that unusual sight. The sister leaned a little, her right hand resting so I thought, on the pretentious reddish rough-cast pillar. Her pose suggested human hopelessness, together with a wistful faith in a far, uncomprehended good ; and my thoughts turned from her, though mv eyes wavered not, to the family on whom she was apparently attending. Thraughton was not a Catholic, but a Broad Church Anglican. His wife and daughter went to Saint Barnabas’s with him, but that was natural; could one of them, or both, be of the elder Church? I pondered long upon the point, but saw no light. Then as the pathos of that leaning figure struck me afresh, that devotee came out into the open air, under the stormy sky, from some too terrible moment in the sick-room, to steady herself, to put up a swift prayer for strength and courage, for deeper faith, my thoughts ran to the trouble that had summoned her—who was it, husband, wife, or child, the idol of her parents, that lay in bitter need? I followed up each clue. An ugly form of sickness had of late been choosing victims in our coasts, hut I had heard no whisper of affliction down Thraughton’s street. I had seen him but a day or two ago, bright, straight, clear-eyed as ever, a man it did one good to look upon. I remembered the crisp intonation of his cheerful greeting, the grace of his salute. There was a Greek touch about him I had thought, not for the first time. Surely he had not been stricken down! Ugly though the prevailing ailment was, it was not plague or cholera to leap on one like that. Could it he Mrs Thraughton ? I had not seen her for some time, vet —yes, I had read of her appearance at some brilliant function but a week before; no word had reached me of indisposition—you know how sick-news travels in a little place like ours. Was it the child? A thrill of. sympathy for those proud, happy parents' shook me. I felt my eyes grow misty; for a moment I could scarcely see the figure of the nun. It was not long since the college that loved lass attended had held its- Speech Day. I remembered the long list of prizes she had won ; I remembered how delightfully she had played her part in a dainty playlet of De Musset’s, how well the papers had all spoken of her acting and her accent ; I remembered bow. as Captain of the College Sports Club, she had been made recipient of a handsome bangle from her schoolmates, accompanied by three hearty, if shrill, girlish cheers, and musical honours.- Poor father; poor mother; if their worshipped Barbara was lying at death’s door—and the whole attitude of that pathetic sister sr>okp of death —what would they not be suffering! Mv heart bled for them. A prayer that they be swathed in the great love of God. helped through the dreadful dav of trial, began to form in me. I raised my head, mechanically looking up as from our early training we are wont to do, up. like’ the nun. to the far heavens, or through them, and—was startled. The nun had disappeared ! She had not gone in : O. no. she had not moved an inch from her place beside the pillar; she simply was not there! I sat up on mv conch, thrust my head forward, peered, rubbed my eyes, peered again more intently, if that were possible. The gateway was as empty as the street. There was no one to be seen. I noticed suddenly that the blinds were down, and that not a single chimney streamed with smoke. With a slight laugh T recalled that T had heard, from one of Thraughton’s intimates, of their departure to the Lakes for a month’s holiday. It was too amusing. I lay back on my pillow wondering at the strange illusion and the fruit of it : my eyes turned in the old direction, and —there she stood once more, that nun, the same sweet, mournful, leaning figure as before. Wholly without intention I moved my head a little, and then I understood. My sweet, sad sister was of a raindrop on the window, and the shade of Thraughtons’ alley all compact. Dewdrop and shadow—of these was she create. And when one comes to think, are any of us, the reallest, the actuallest flesh and blood men and women of us all, one whit

the more_substantial? Is not man also but the creature of a moment, made even so of a drop of heavenly dew strangely, mysteriously combined with a sheaf of earthly shadows; the tales we tell of him as distant from the truth as all my vain imaginings built about that nun!