The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVI, Issue 7, 17 June 1898, Page 23

The Storyteller.

THE GHOST OF HEATIIERLEIGII PIUORY. (By E. A. Eklciicr, in the Catholir Finxith ) Do you believe in ghosts ? This question has oft.-n hen put to me. I will not scive a direct answer, but if you like I*ll tell 3011 my -tory and leave you to duws juai own conclusion j as to \v' i e. li"r1 i"r or >v>r T believe in ghosts. Many years ago (iv fact, moie than quarti r of a ccnt'iry his passed away since then) I was an Anglic m curate ot the atnlulic type, strong and robust, a lair cricketer, madly fond of shooting and rowing, dearly loving a good cross-country gailop. whenever I V ot n, chance. 1 never thought seriously of my " cdling." Like many hundreds of other youuy men of my day, J had been bronchi; up to know that i\\u " Church " v\a* to be my •' profession," and to look forward to the snug family living as my destiny. So without much ado I accepted the inevitable, went to Oxford, was proud to sojourn under the cl issic roof of " Magdalen," and enjoyed life as only an undergraduate can. working ju-t enough to struggle through, the necessary examinations, attending- the least possible number of lectures, and getting the moot po— ible amount ot fun and amusement. Those happy days of 'Varsity life ended and my degree taken I was compelled to settle down to work, and for three years had plenty of it in all its grim, unvarnished reality, as junior curate of a large district in the East-end, where the small staff of workers seemed utterly powerless— amongst that teeming- population — to stem the ever-increasing- tide ot poverty, misery, and sin. The change from my former open-air life, days spent on the river or on the crioketlield, to the close streets and exhausted atmosphere of London told even on my robust constitution, the doctor said my health would entirely break down unless I made an immediate change, so I wa« obliged to seek a country curacy for a time, and found one likely to be suitable, a small village in Surrey within an hour of London, and the rcctjr being abroad, the correspondence relative to the vacant curacy was carried on by the churchwarden, Colonel Trent. This, gentleman suggested an interview, and as I was inclined to see the parish before any final decision should be made, I gladly ac;cptcd his kind offer of hospitality, arranging to journey down to Surrey and pass the night at his house— Ueatherleigh Priory. One lovely day early in June I found myself in the train, rushing- through green fields, past densely wooded hills and dalo.s of the pret.K.-.c pirt of Surrey. How delightful was. the fresh summer air wafting the sweet smell of clover and hawthorn through the open window" how green the trees, how blue the sky ! Already I began to feel a new creature. About half-past three the train stopped at the -village station for which I was bound, on the platform stood a fine soldierly man who introduced himself as Colonel Trent, bidding mo follow him into the do.; -cart which was waiting, and taking the reins ho drove off, and we were soon bowling along at a good speed up hill a*id down d:Je — past old thatched farmhouses and tiny hamlets nestling under sheltering hills, then across bleak common l.uid bright with yellow «oi\-e. The Colonel chatted pleisantlv, giving me a short ssetch of what my duties would be, describing the Rector and principal inhabitants of lleatht.ile\gh. at the same time not forgetting 'to point out any place ot interest we 1 appuio 1 to pa-- —ail this in such an easy, friendly Way, which made me i\ el perttctly at ho.no. with him, and in return I talked of my Ta-t-e.id w. rk and ot my noi thorn home, becoming quite confidential with this new-lounu' a- quaintance. ISo plea-ant was our drhe tli.it 1 was quite soiry when the Colonel pulled up hi-, hoi-c befoie a quaint old lj eh-;_\xte. iiud with the remark, '• litre wo are." jumped out telling the groom to take J the cart home. I followed my companion ii.to the shady '• God's acie" which sun-ounded the giey old church, n peaceful ;.nd knely spot after the continual noise and turmoil ol the great wuiku>g city fiom which X had come — there all bu^ilc and uure-t, liere such quiet and pi.iiect peace. '• Yes, 'tis a pretty place," said Colonel IVrnt. noting my lo ikof admiration, "you can fully appreciate its iuol I ea.ity more than we do who get accustomed to our blo-s-i:ig«. Though l"\e only lived in Heather] eigh two years I lo\e the-old place di-.uly. Ws, 1 came here when I left the army, and never ]<e,ad ot it-, existence till about a month before the bargain wa.-> complete d ; it was quite by accident that I heard the 'Priory' w,h ' ior -ale.' and being within ea-y access from London I ran du.wi to ha\c a look at ie, a"d quite fell in love with the whole place thuii and then- ; but euine," ho added, '•it's for me to show jou about and 1 aye you to dad out its eh.in.us for yourself, not to take up trie, tune in telling \on in\ experience-.' We went into the chuich and my guide pouuid out the many ancient objects ot interest, meanwhile lie told me the chant-- and hymns in present Use, and every conceivable thing I might wish to know. After looking over the school we pa- -cd aluiig the tiny village street, with its white-washed cottoges and thatched forge, frimi which came like sweet music the rirg of the hammer upon the anvil, groups of rony-laced, white-pinatored children played ont-ide their tidy homes, each looking up with 0 merry smile at »>y tall companion, the girls dropping their quaint litile bob-curr.sey — such a contrast to the poor starved looking mites who made mud pies in the gutters or lingered dejectedly on tie din;/} door-steps of my London parish. " Now you he? Ileatherleigh at ita very beit," taid the Colonel. "Of course the place is very different iv winter. Imagine these trees bare and leafless, the roads ankle deep in chalky mud, and a biting wind sweeping over that bkak common yonder ; that's Heatherleigh. at its worst."

" As far as the place goes I think it quite a paradise I assure yon, Colonel Trent, and if the Ptector and you are satisfied with me I shall not have much difficulty in making up my mind ; in fact it is almost made up already." ■' Splendid, my dear fellow," exclaimed the genial Colonel, '• I am quite sure you will suit us down to the ground ; and now let us go and sec if there is not some tea going at home for its long after five o'clock and you looked tired U> death from your journey and all this sight seeing." So turning down a shady lane my companion led the wtiy through some massive iron gates along an avenue of magnificent Uee.-.. •' Tim is my pl.u'e." he s-iid proudly, as a fine grey stone hou«e appeared in view. It was very old any many gabled, almost covered w-.th ivy, ovoppoiN and ro»es. whilst round the deep porch wisteria hung in long grape-like blossoms; the windows were trmilion.rt with lattice panes of an ecclesiastical appearance; round some the early ro-es clustered, whilst others were almost concealed by ivy so nroiu-se was its, growth. Following on through the low-cjilingel, oak- wainscoted hall, I found myself in a pretty drawing-room, and was introduced to Mrs. Tietit, a fair, blue eyed, little woman, who greeted me kindly while she hastened to give me a cup of tea, at the same time scolding- her tall hu-band in a gentle, playful way for having kept me o^ut so long. How delicious that tea and country bred and butter tasted, how charming were the surroundings— the pretty room with windows open, the sloping lawn, and the sweet scent of lilac borne in upon the summer breeze ! After my dingy London lodging and sourf.iced Lmolady this was truly Paradise. The Colonel talked volubly. Presently a young girl came in through the open window, whom the Colonel introduced to me as '■my girl Dorothy." I rose, and the young lady came towards me and gave her hand. She was tall and fair, with dark blue eyes and pretty colour in her cheeks. As she stood there iv her simple white dress and shady garden hat I thought I never saw a more beautiful picture, and I think so still, though many years have passed away since that June evening when first I saw the face of Dorothy Trent. We strolled round the rambling old garden where flowers and shrubs of all kinds grew and bloomed in profusion. Two fine spreading cedar trees on the lawn afforded pleasant shade, and beyond was a moat, surrounding the house on three sides, where gold fish played hide and seek, among the bright green leaves of the water lilies. The Colonel gave some Indian reminiscences, and Dorothy walked beside him, putting in a word occasionally, her soft voice being like mu«ic to me ; the time passed pleasantly and all too q'uekiy. The dressing-bell announced seven o'clock. Then my host conducted mo up the broad oak-staircase and through a long corridor with oak wainscot carved with many strange device-. ■• What a fine old house !" I exclaimed. •' Yes. it is uideed,"' he leplied. '• and very old it is too. Ah, take care, tho st'-p." lie had opened one of the doors and entered a room, and I not ob.seiving the descent had stumbled into the apartment, nearly upsetting him in my eiforts to gain the perpendicular. " I should have warned you sooner. Old houses are full of unexpected steps. Dinner will be at quarter to eight ; if you require anything, pua-e ring." S ) si.ymg, my kindly host retired. The bedroom was one of those overlooking the lawn. From the window I could see the moat glistening iv the evening suii--Inno, while far away tho Surrey hills looked blue and purple m the distance. The loom was long and low-ceiled, the mantel and wainscot of nia-'-sive oak, richly carved and almost black with age. At the farther end of the chamber was another door immediately opposite the bed leading, I .-uppo-od, into another room. Out of curiosity I tried the handle : it would not yield. The key was turned on my side, °o I did not investigate further. Dinner pa-^d all pleasantly. We joined the two ladies in the drawing-room later on. The Colonel bat by the open window enjoyit.g his cigar, while Mrs. Trent woiked and chatted, and Dorothy treated us to several favourite songs. I have heard several gjcat singers in my time, Hit their voices never tour.ded as sweet to ire, nor any songs they sang could m any way compare to those simple ballads \)< ruthy umg- that night. We retired to our rooms about eleven. The first thing- I did on gaining mine wa^ to draw aside the cuitiins and op °n the window to get all the country air po.-.sible. It was a glorious summer night ; the moon wa-almo t lull ; it shone on the old garden, its silver beams ghhtenlnu on the moat, while the mighty cedars cast deep shadows acro-o the lawn. I put out my candle, and from the open window udmircd the m'onlit landscape, inhaling the fragrance of many floweis with w Lidi the whole air seemed laden as with sweet H.C.MM 1 . Iluw s-ijcnl it was' The whole country seemed wrapped in sleep. Only the <,eea*ioinl distant barking of a dog or the lowing of c ittle btoke the de.ith-like stillness of the summer night. L laid my head on the pillow with my mind fully made up to be curate of ileaLhcrieigh (it the. Hector would have me) and well pleased 1 was at the piospcct. ''Man proposes but G-od disposes" that night wr.s destined to change the whole course ot my life. I was lie. or to be cuiate of lleathtrleigh or of anywhere else either. I could not sleep, from thoughts and conjectures regarding my future, my mind had gone back to old Oxford, to 'Varsity triumphs on tho river and in the cricket field, and mixed up with these thoughts of formti- days Dorothy Trent's sweet face beemed ever before my eye-. 1 was evidently smitten and laughed to myself at the idea ot such ab.-urd '• love at first sight. ' The house was very still, a clock in the corridor struck the midnight hour and seemed to spend at least half-an-hour in the peiormance ; then another in a distant pait of the house followed suit. 1 lay wide

awake watching the reflection of the lattice window w hich was ca-t by the moon upon the opposite wall. Suddenly a chill seemed to sieze me, a tremour ran throufth my whole frame, an awed sense of some strange presence seemed to possess me. I sat bolt upright and <raze<i in horror right before me. expecting I knew not what. As I gazed the door in the far corner opened slowly and noisolu-sly— absolutely noiseless^— a figure attired in a strange dress advanced slow 1 v ai.d silently into the room The door closed behind it.

It was a man of medium height, clad in a long whi c robe, fastened at the waist by a girdle of rope. At his side hung a large string of brown beads and a cross of black ebony, upon which a «il\<>r image op Our Redeorrer shone ln ' the moonlight with s ( range brilliancy. His f tee was still in shadow and the eyp« down<\i«r That ho was a monk J felt no doubt; but how and from whence did ho come.' What brou»ht him at this hour to my room .' °

The figure advanced into the clear moonlight, his face was wan and sorrowful and very paL\ his. tonsured head was band, and beneath his right arm was a book, v ith trembling finders I made the sign of the Cross, as I had seen Catholics do in time-, of fear and alarm. Immediately the monk raised his head, his eye* ( hey were dark and luminous) seamed to search my very soul. I shall never forget that look.

" Father, what am I to do ?" I cried in tone* of earnest cntrcHy, for that pleading look seemed to ask something of me, though the lips were mute.

Slowly, as if in answer, he raised his left hand, at the Fame time grasping the large crucifix, and no words of mine can e\er describe that vision in its real solemnity as I saw it— that a«eei.io figure in monastic garb, with pale, spiritual face and large, luminous eyes, standing erect and silent m the moonlit ro mi at that midnight hour, holding aloft the crucifix, the s her iiu,i»e ot Our Holy Redeemer gleaming against the dark eoony ero«s. 1 remained spellbound, until the figure turned and slowly movi d towards the door. which again opened noiselessly. Once more he looked at me. a<jain those pleading eyes seemed to stir my inmost soul With the "uplifted crucifix he made a sign as if to beckon me to follow : then the door closed silently and he Avas gone. Without pausing to consider, I made as if to follow him, but the door through which he had seemed to pass was locked, the key turned just as I had observed it early in the evening. Then a j>re:it fear seized me, that the monk was a visitor from the un«ccn vTorlil. There now remained no doubt in my mind but what had brought him to me. It must mean something warning of approaching death, perhaps. The more I reflected the more inexplicable became the mystery. To compose myself to sleep was impossible, so I sat by the open window and waitel for clay; already the first j.'rey streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern "hoi 1/ n. ' I tho'i^ht^and prayed as I h id never prayed bet'm-.\ and cie the. sun h id risen and nature awoke to the new day 1 had made a » re.it it-solve, which would alter my whole f utureu r e career.

I was obliged to return to town by the first train, and the bustle occasioned by my early breakfast and departure was a irreat relief, as I was in no mood for conversation, my nerves bein» thoroughly shaken. I took a hurried leave of uiy kind ho^tecs and her pretty daughter. The genial Colonel insisted on driving me to the station. On the way I asked if he knew anything ot the former history of his house in as careless a tone as i could assume. He replied briefly that it had boeu a Dominican Priory originally, but of its history he knew nothing. I bade my kind "friend »ood-bye with much gratitude smiling at his assurance of soon seeing me the curate of Heatheiloigh, and next day despatched him *a litter briefly declining the curacy.

On the first opportunity I visited the Dominican Priory in London, and there satisfied myself by the detail* of the habit, etc.. th.it my midnight visitor was a genuine monk or that Order. 1 al-o gathered from the Prior n lew particulars re<>ardin»- their former settlement at Ileatherleii>h, but did not mention my reasons tor enquiring about it. Being free I went abroad for three months. This period was the most wretchid lever spent. Nothing could amuse or give me rest ; day and niyht that, midnight vision seemed ever before me. these pleading, searching eyes haunted me, the time I had resolved to take in consideration el.i--ped, I went 1o the Priory and asked the Fathers to instruct me. Two months after, on Holy Saturday, I was received into Hie True Fold. The same evening the monastery chapel looked its best, the air was sweet with scent or many flowers, the incense floated up in fragrant clouds, it was my first Benediction as a Catholic.

The last beautiful stiains of '■ Tautum Ergo dial away, the prayer said, a holy stillne-s fell upon the kneeling congregation who waited for Hi- blessing.

As the silver bell gave forth it-, first sweet notes I raided my head. There, amid the incense cloud* before the altar, stood the priest in rich vestments holding aloft the Most Holy S,.crament, and by his side there appeared a f jce. that of a monk, with dark and luminous eyes which looked at me with »cntle, loving approval ; the pleading look was gone, and a wondrous smile seemed to illuminate the pale face.

I bowed my head to receive our Lord's blowing. When I looked again the priest and server alone stood before the altar From that time a wondrous peace has been within me. no more have [ been troubled by that pleading face. I feel su-e the monk is satisfnd.

Oh, no. I never became a monk : I had no vocation th:it way. After the first consternation caused by the sf'-p I had t.iki-n «uv blown over a bit. my father came round so far as to make me a small allowance, and 1 obtained some office work.

Colonel Trent found me out. and many happy week* di 1 I pa— under bib hospitable roof.

I married Dorothy about a year afterward*, and, looking back over more than twenty-four year-, cm say with deep thankfulness that I gainel th<» two greatest blessings of my life at Ileathcrlugh Priory — my religion at-d my wife.