THE LILY OF GOLDENFERN.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 51, 19 April 1895, Page 11

THE LILY OF GOLDENFERN.

(By the autbor.of " Tyborne." In the Aye Maria.) {Concluded'), There was a great deal of coming and going at the caitle for the next few days, but only of poor peasants receiving alms and food. There was also much needlework going on in the long workroom, where ipinning-wbeels and embroidery frames were kept busy, and ■ great outfit was apparently being made for the young Baron. Carpenters were bney down in the hamlet at the foot of the hill on Which the castle stood ; and males went np to the castle gate laden with large packages and returned to the village without their burdens. Bat nothiog was said, and those who were in the secret of these preparations held their tongue. A week after the chaplain 'a return the neighbourhood was roused by the thundering of horses* feet, as the B»ron, at the head of a train of followers, all fully armed, swept through the hamlet and np the •acent to the castle, never drawing rein till arrived at the drawbridge, which was down. Seeing no sign of resistance, they crossed it, and throwing his horse's bridle to bis groom, the Baron sprang io the ground, and, followed, by his suite, strode into the hall. Up the Btairs to his lady's chamber he went, his spurß and sword clanking at every step and giving notice of his approach. He threw open the door and entered. His wife ruse pale and gentle. 41 Welcome, my lord," she said, calmly. " Will you be seated while I order refreshments for you ? " His eyes roamed through the room as he replied, roughly : " Where is my son ? 1 have come for him." " You cannot mean to take him from his poor mother," she said, pleadingly. "Think, Fritz, he is too little to learn more than a mother's love can teach him as yet. Leave him a while." "No ! " thundered the BaroD, and his eyes Bparkled with arger. "" I will have him now, and feed him on the forest wolves' milk rmher than that he should drink in cowardice and learn psalm-singing in his cradle." " Then, if you can find him, you will take him," said the mother bravely. "I am defenceless." ' " Where is he 1 " shou'ed the Baron. " Here," said the mother, drawiag aside a heavy curtain at the end of the room. The Baron entered, and his companions crowded round him to catch a eight of the young heir Put though he entered, and though he searched and stormed, and threatened the duDgecn and ibe rack to all concerned, he could never find the child, and yet the child wbb there. There was no wonderful machinery introduced to conceal the young infant. God did not strike thp father with sudden blindness nor was any miracle wrought in favour of the poor young mother' whose heart, inspired by the Yirmn Mother, had prompted her to adopt a wonderful expedient, a,d at the same time to do a deed of charity. The sight that met the Baron's eyes m entering the room was that of twelve cradles, each exactly alike, within which twelve babes were lying, all clothed in tb« earae costly linen and embroidery. How could he tell one from another 1 If he took any one, it might be that very one was the son of Ralph, the one-eyed wood-cutter ; or of half-crazy Huldab, the kitchen girl, whose husband had been banged for murder by the Baron'a own order six months before. There was an aircoephere of peace in the room ; and even the confusion caused by the Baron's rough entrance, acd the cries of the twelve babies as he took one after another, vainly trying to find some sign' of superior birth or resemblance to himself, could not long mar the tracquility. A stormy scene with his wife followed, in which her resolution bore his down ; for if he should kill her, as be threatened, how could he ever hope to discover hie child ? At length he departed, eeoretty determined to return on some unexpected day, snd find bis own sod restored to bis rightful position. But that day never came. Whenever be made a sudden raid upon the castle he found the twelve boys all growing np round the youthful mother, and vying with ona anoher in love and obedience to her. As years went on be questioned them. " What is your name, my boy?" he said to a fine, dark-eyed, black-haired boy, whom be thought might prove his image when older. " Frite Peter, my lord," was the child's ready answer. "And yours, my little fellow ? " as he tcrned from Fritz Peter, scowling, to a golden-haired lad, with the blue eyes and fair complexion which seemed to point him out. as the son of the Lily of Goldenfern. 11 Frits JoLann, Lord Bjron." And bo, in turn, each answered to the nametf Fritz, with that of an apostle added. Did he say to either, "who is your mother?" each answered " There is our lady mother," and bowed to the Baroness in reverence and lovt ; while she smiled on them, well pleased that her inspiration to adopt eleven little peasants in honour of the twelve Apostles, tnd to bring them up as her ova, had bee o blessed .

After years of hopeless searching, the wild man gave up all quest of his son, bat went daily from bad to worse. One day, however, Our Lord had mercy on him ; and while pursuing a stag along a rocky path, his horse slipped, rolled over with him ; and when he came to his seoees be found himself lying in a cave hewn out of • rock, with a venerable old man watching him anxioußly. For many days he raved in fever from his injuries, and when he began to recover he heard that his horse had been killed close to the hermit's cave, and he himself seriously wounded. He was si ill compelled to remain for some weeks depeodant on the hospitality and good nnrßing of the hermit for recovery of strength. Little by little, as he lay there watching the old man at his vigils and disciplines before the rude crucifix in his cave, the Baron's proud heart softened. Memories of days of inDocence, recollections of hie gentle wife, longings for the boy who might have been his stay in sickness and old age, crept over him. One day the hermit said to him, pointing to the figure of the Crucified : "My eon, thou uee&t what He has done for thee : what wilt thou do for H ; m?' The strong man'B frame shook with emotion, as he answered humbly and sadly : ' " For me, Father ? Ah, you do not know me 1 I am Fritz von Thornstein. He can not do anything for me." Then the aged saint spoke to him of the Refuge of Sinners, and of St Dismae, the penitent tbief ; and by degrees won him to confession and the promise of a new life. 3ut when at last, whole in body and soul, he was preparing to leave the cave, he said to his spiritual guide : 11 My Father, I can not yet present myself to my dear and holy wife. I mast first do penance and expiate my sins in the Holy Land, which saw my Saviour dis. I will at once join the Crusading army, which even now must be embarking for the East ; and if it please Our Lord that I return, then will I seek her whom I have so sinned against, and pray her to show my son to the B e unworthy eyes." " So be it, my son ; and God be with thee in thy going out and in thy coming in 1" Thus they parted. B fore the gates of Acre lay heaps of the B lain. Good St Louis had died on the coast of Africa, but the English Edward and Crusaders of all ranks and nations bad pressed on to the Holy Land They had fought valiantly that day, and driven back the infidels rhe last rays of the sun were sinking into the sea, or gilding the bloody field with promises of crowns of glory awaiting those who had died in Our Lord's own land, fighting in defence of tbe faith. A knight was going round among the wounded, giving drink to one, staunching the wounds of another with his own ecarf, lifting another from beneath the horse which had fallen on him, when he heard a groan from one cloße at his si ie. " Water, sir knight ! A drink, (or the love of God and the Lily of Goldenfern 1" At tbose words the knight etarted. He turned hastily, and saw a young wanior lying with upturned, boyish face. Tbe golden-brown hair was clotted with blood, and tha death-damp lay on his forehead. "Who are you? In the name of God and Our Lady, speak a?«in I" And he raised the lad's head-for he seemed little more than eevpnteen or eighteen ye»ra.— and put his flask to bis Jips, helping him tenderly to swallow a few drops of the cordial. The youug crusader revived, and opening hia large blue eyes answered : " Fritz Johann von Thornstein." " Tell me," gasped the knight, who was none other than Baron von ThornsteiD, " how came you here 1 Have yon any brothers ?" "My mother is the Baroness von Thornstein. When the news of a fresh crusade came to our castle, she agreed, at our urgeot request, that I with my eleven brothers should take tbe Croßs and oSer our strvices to Our Lord to obtain my father's conversion. We were to ask for everything in the name of God and for the love of the Lily of Goldenfern, while she united her prayers at home with ours on the battlefield." " But where are your brothers ?" asked the father, in bis agony of uncertainty as to which might prove to be his son. Tbe young Crusader gave a sweet, proud smile, and pointed right and left, B "We fought shoulder to shoulder as we had lived; and we all fell together, but they are dead. I crawled to each, and gave them all I had of wine in my flask. lam the laßt." " And you-are you her son and mine ?" And briefly the penitent knight recounted bis fall and his conversion. "Thanks be to God I Bless me, my father 1 " murmnied the dying soldier. "lam her son, but only she and I know it. She named me J.>hann in honour of the Beloved Disciple to whom the Blessed Mother was given. Ah I my head swims— see— there is light indeed I Dear father, taka my mother my last word— Love t " The Bun sank, and the young Crusader's face lay in the marble stillness of death, with a golden halo lingering round it.

From the bells clashed out the sunset Aye ; the camp of the Crusaders resounded with their evening about as each bent bis knee— 1 ' For God and bis Holy Sepulchre 1 God willa it I" And Baron Fritz von Thornatein knelt too, and from bis penitent heart went forth the echo of that cry : " God tvillt it .'"