THE CONSCRIPT.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 32, 8 December 1893, Page 21

THE CONSCRIPT.

(From the Spanish of Fbbkan Cabaxlebo.) (Concluded.) " Senor," Baid Benito to the surgeon, " all my comrades have recovered and left the hospital. Is my complaint worse than theirs, that I do not mend ?" •• Yes, my poor fellow," answered the surgeon, sadly, •• your complaint is worse. God knows how hard I have tried to cure you. Yon will get better, but " the surgeon stopped short, fnll of compassion. " But— what ?" asked the cooocript. " I fear," answered the surgeon, Badly, " that yon will lose an eye." " Then I shall be tuerto (one eyed) ?" MI have done everything in my power to prevent it, bat alas! I have failed," answered tbe Burgeon, watching tbe effect of his words with much anxiety What was his astonishment at seeing Benito give way to a moat passionate and expansive burst of joy. The surgeon thought for a moment that this patient had lost his reason, ••Seoor! Benor I" exclaimed Benito. "Blessed be God I A thousand blessings on you I Senor, lam a poor unfortunate fellow, but I wish I had the treasure of the Indies to reward you for such a benefit." " But, man, have yoa taken leave of your senses 1" exclaimed the sorgeon. "Do you mean to tell me that you rejoice because I cannot save your eye? You are making game of me 1" " No, Senor ; no, Senor," answered the conscript ; "but do you not sea that now I shall go home ;" The Conde and his friend remained silent for some instant under the emotion felt by them, full of admiration at such a patent proof of the holy love of family and home ; and compassionating the bitterness of a situation from which the poor conscript escaped with jubilee, even at such a terrible cost. " You have fully proved your assertion, Marquess," observed ths Conde at last, " and as it is well known that the Spanish soldier is cheerful and docile, honours the military state, respects his country's right to call her sons under the banner, and yet, in spite of this, holds every sacrifice light to avoid changing his lot— it must be acknowledged that tbe love of family and home are most deeply engraved in his heart. I had already heard of the incident you have just related to mo. Benito iB a nephew of my bailiff in Villareal, and by chance I happened to be there at the end of harvest last autumn, when Benito came home." " And did he return unexpectedly ?.' asked the Marquess, with anxiona curiosity. " Were his family taken by surprise !" " I learnt all the particulars of his return from my bailiff's wife, who is so fond of hearing her owo voioe, that when she has exhausted all material and explained every circumstance, she repeats over again what she has already said, as we sometimes do in the Cortes." " Pray tell me these details, Oonde. I cannot express to you how much it would interest me to hear them." " Several months had pissed since the conscripts left their homes, bat the pain felt by Benito's mother and his betrothed was as keen as on the day of his departure. There is a great difference between those sorrows which bear in their very nature the word impossible, as a barrier to all hope, and those on which a distant hope shines out, even across tbe fear of other graver sufferings. But this very hope swells and agitates the restless waves of the sea of anguish which overflows from the heart. So it was with tbe conscript's family, who believed that he had embarked to the Havana. They were all sitting together in anxious depression, on one of the stormy and melancholy nights by which the autumn of Ust year announced itsilf. The rain fell heavily ; and the wind, appearing to boast of its invisible force and inconsistent power, gave vent to a melancholy warcry as it rent tbe tiles from tbe neighbouring houses. No answer was heard to its

roaring, except an occasional and distant clap of thnoder, as from time to time a flash of lightning traced its) way in the dark clouds with streaks of fire, while all tba stormy agitation of nature found a faithful echo in the troubled hearts of the sorrow-stricken family. The poor mother " " Ah !" interrupted tbe Marqueaa, » bow well I understand what sh« felt. Grief never finds a softer bed than in a mother's heart, and there loves to repose." "The poor mother," proceeded tbe narrator, " prostrated before a crucifix and a statue of our Lady of Carme), recited the Triaagium in a low and trembling voice," "Ay DwtT she exclaimed when she had finished ths prayers. " My poor son who is now on the sea, on the same which they say ■wallows up more ships than the year has days I Maria Santistima da Came! Thou hast saved the Jives of so many sailors who have •ought thy protection . Holy Mother of God, hear the cries of another mother 1 Senor I I wonld give all the years of my life to have my son at my side again. I cannot ask so great a miracle, but implore that be may be saved from tbe tempest and shipwreck. Save him, Senor 1 by thy mother's tears, save him I •• Save him !" repeated tha whole family, in the midst of their tears. " Why did he aek to go to America ?" sighed his cousin Rosa. 41 Why did he expoee himself upon that sea which is no one's friend ?" ° My son will be the death of me I" exclaimed the mother ; " for what I go through is worse than a thousand deaths 1" " Yes, it is easy to see that your days will be shortened— not by Benito, but by yourself," said the father. " Since the Indies were ( Indies, have not Spaniards gone backwards and forwards as I go to and from my farm ? But assuredly Benito will be drowned in the passage. You have taken it into your head, and what you have once got into your head not even a barrel of gunpowder would drive out of it." "Be quiet, Martin," answered his wife ; "yon blame me, and yet you are as wretched as I am. Diot mio 1 " she added, suddenly j covering her face with both hands, half blinded by a flash of lightning, which was followed by ths short and repeated claps of thunder that appear to burst from the clouda when the storm is right overhead. The girls began to recite the Santo, Santo, Santo, and Maria, overcome by emotion let her head fall on a chair, against which she hid her face, crying aloud — "My son, my son 1 " At that instant soms one shouted at the door, and tbe children ran to open it. "Santa Maria!" they cried. "Father, father, a stranger I" But before their father could answer, a man rushed into the room, looked hastily round, saw Maria, flew towards her and caught her in his armi, crying — " Did you not call me mother, and here I am ! " There are scents that pencils cannot draw, nor pens describe. Everyone in that house waß transported with joy ; in vain the clouds shot forth their lightning, and the wind roared its menaces, or tbe pouring rain inundated the house, the sun of May shone in it. Supplications gave place to thanksgivings. " Miracle I " exclaimed the mother, beside herself with joy. " Miracle I " repeated the whole family. It was only when at last Benito drew near to the table on which ft lamp was placed, that Maria noticed the loss of her son's eye. " Benito I " she exclaimed in gteat agitation, " what is this ? " " Only," answered Benito merrily, " that my leave has cost me an eye." " Son of my life, have you been in battle ? " asked Maria, in a terrified voice. "Yes, in the hospital, fighting against an enemy of my own, and not of his majesty's." "Ay Diot mio 1 Dios mio I " exclaimed the poor mother crying bitterly. "My son has lost an eye I" " And what does it matter, as he has one ltf t ? " atked Rosa laughingly. " Ay I how my son is disfigured," sighed Mario, wringing her hands. " Not so, Senon," answered Bosa, with the same joyful air. "So long as he seems well favoured to me, what does it matter 1 and to me be is as handsome now, as he was before." •• My son is injured, my pon is injured I " repeated Maria, weeping. " I had rather that my eyes had been dried up, than live to ccc my Benito tuerto." " But Senora, you are not going to marry him, but only I I and I think it not worth mentioning," replied Bosa. " I who brought him forth with two eyes more beautiful than two stars I " continued Maria between her sobs. "Ay que dolor, que dolor I " •' Do not cry, wife," said Martin to Maria, " rather give thanks to God for the mercy He has shown üb, in bringing our s n borne in safety. Ouly a little while ago yoi did not even dare to ask so great A grace of His Divine Majesty ; and now when He has granted it, though you could not hope for it, in place of thanking Him, you cry

over what has happ«ntd. Too want everything without a drawback, and to the meainre of yonr wiahei ; but, my wife, thi* cannot be. The Oonde stopped speaking, and the Marqueia also remained Bilent with her head inclined.

"About what are you thinking, my fritnd ? " asked the Oonde, after a pause. " Have lat last persuaded you by the logic of facts, that— All is completed only in the other life ? "

11 1 was asking myself," replied the Marquesa, " which of the two cared most for Benito, his mother who was so greatly afflicted by his disfigurement, or his bethrothed, who made so light of it f " ",, BftC . n was in their way the most perfect type of their respective loves," said the Oonde, " and in my turn I must conclude from this, that there is one thing complete in this world— all noble love in a trae woman's heart ! "