The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXIII, Issue 40, 7 December 1905, Page 23

The Storyteller

BERNARD PENDREL'S SACRIFICE

(Concluded from last week.) ' I am dying ! ' he repeated. ' Hilda, will you -ask Bernard—' ' Ask Bernard what ? ' she said, abandoning her wellmeant but futile, foolish attempt to deceive him as to his condition. 'Of his charity, to pray for my .soul,' gasped Anthony. He spoke no more , a .little while, and he had been called to render an account of his stewardship. There had been some delay m sending for Mrs. Pendrel ; and when she arrived, all was over. To the inmates of the manor, indeed, the death seemed to have happened quite a long time ago. Mrs. Pendrel found the young widow and her mother occupied with milliners and dressmakers ; Mrs. Denison trying to settle the vital question whether the children's mourning should be all black, or whether, considering their youth, a little white might not be introduced by way! of ' relief ' ; whilst the mother submitted to the poising of a scries of ciape and lissc bonnets on her fair hair, finding a difficulty in selecting one that really did become her. Locked m a room upstaus, the dead man lay alone ; and the world — his little world where he had been supreme master — went smoothly on without him. ' Did Anthony mention me <? ' Mis. Pendrel inquired, in a pause of the voluble modiste's discourse, ' Oh, yes ' ' said Hilda sweetly. ' And Bernard too.' ' What did he say about Bernard ? ' ' Say ? Oh, that we were to ask Bernard to pray for his soul ! So unlike poor Anthony, wasn't it ? ' ' A gick fancy. lie- was wandciing in his mind, poor man ! ' obseivcd Mrs. Denison, apologetically for Anthony. ' Was the rector with him ? ' Mrs. Pendrel asked Hilda. ' N-no. Anthony didn't ask for him. We hadn't time to send for him It was all so sudden, we never thought — ' she had reeouise to her handkerchief. ' Don't distress the poor child with questions, dear Mrs. Pendrel ' ' said Mrs Denison. ' Have you ordered your mourning yet '> It is quite a meicy that we must attend to those melancholy duties, isn't it '' They pievent us from giMng ouisel'ves up to useless gnef, don't they ? So unchristian to fret, too, 1 think ' Mrs Pendrel sought the nurse, who had not yet left the manor. ' You were with Sir Anthony when he died, I believe ? ' she said. ' Possibly you heard him mention his nephew Bernaid. If so, what wcie Ins exact words 7 ' The nuise repealed them They weic lingmg m Mrs Pcndiel's ears as she gazed on the rigid face of the dead How less than nothing weie the things of eaith to him now ' How hi tie any thing mattered but to have sought first the kingdom of God and Ihs justice ! * In a mean street of a populous city was a humble church with the pie^byteiy beside it. Day and night there weie noise and clamor about it — the clang ot hainmcis in foundry and workshop, the roar ol furnaCes, the shrill cues of (hildien, the scolding of w tangling housewives the ho, use laughter of men in the glittenng drink shop at the coiner Smoke and soot and dust contended foi supiemaey , odois ot fish and hot, grease issued fion the tall, dingy 'model' lodging-house toweling above (he grime. The iliuuh doois weie open, and the poor congregation weie stieaming in— poorly-clad, toil-died men and women, r<igged (hildien, ' the wandeimg beggai wearyfoot ' , all soils and conditions but the well-to-do and richly clothed, with one exception. This was a lady who enteied with the uowd, in the hesitating mannei ol one to whom all the sin mundings were stiange She took refuge behind a pillai, whence, however, she could see the altar, on vvlneh many candles weie binning. The seivice began, but she wan like a person who has not learned to read looking it a pi inled book She did not understand ; she knew not what meant that faking down and raising up of the gleaming monst lance, whilst the whole people bent in awe and devotion. But near her was a putuie of the Mater Dolorosa, and Ib.il '•be did understand , knowing that it icpresented a "Mother who had loved hei Son as never other mother did, who bad given Him up to death lor the life of 1 [it* world

Then a voice that she knew and that thrilled her to her heart rang 'through the church in the divine praises: ' Blessed be God ! Blessed be His holy Name ! ' Gradually the congregation melted away, and the edifice was almost deserted. The priest reappeared, no longer in his vestments, but wearing a worn and faded cassock. He came down the aisle to the confessional ; and the unseen watcher distinctly saw the refined, beautifuf face, the sensitive mouth, the touches of grey in the clustering hair, the slight droop of the shoulders telling of fatigue. He was intercepted first by a woman with a shawl over her head, and a : Could ye spare a minute, yer reverence, plaze ? ' then by a crippled lad ; to whom succeeded a sullen-lookmg man with two dirty children, who was at length swept aside by a fussy elderly maiden. To each tale of woe or want or grievance the priest listened with unchanging patience and interest ; contorting, counselling, warning. He retired then to the confessional, round which a few penitents were waiting. So, to dwell in a stifling slum, surrounded by sin and sorrow, poverty and care, at the beck and call of the lame, the halt/and the blind, the uncouth and uncultured, he had given up wealth and ease and leisure,. social pleasures, ' sweet sights and sounds, soft speech' and willing service ' ! What religion but that truly o£ God could enable a man so far to conquer human nature, to make and to persevere in such a sacrifice ? The last penitent departed ; and the priest emerged, turning out the lights as he advanced, until none were left but one that glimmered redly before the Tabernacle There he knelt with arms extended in the form of a cross, the rays of the sanctuary lamp falling on his face, ' which then was as an angel's.' At the sacristy door the strange lady awaited him. ' Bernard ! ' ' Mother ' ' He drew her into the little room, and they wept in each other's arms. 1 Bless me, though I would not bless you ! ' she sebbed. ' Bless and forgive ! For now I know God's will, and I come to you, His priest, to learn how I may save my soul.' 'My own dearest mother ! ' he murmured in his heart a very rapture of thanksgiving for this answer to his daily prayer for her. ' Anthony is dead,' she told him at length ; and his last words were : " Ask Bernard of his charity to pray for my soul." ' 'God Grant him eternal rest ' ' exclaimed the priest deeply moved— ' Aye Maria.'