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New Zealand Tablet, 23 August 1906, Page 3

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The train puffed leisurely into the little station among the hills, which was ;Naomi Heil's destination From the window of her second-class carriage, the girl had already caught a glimpse of the sunny Alpine town, which nestled among the dark mountains as a smiling child in its muse's arms. The novelty, the sunshine 'brought hope to Naomi's heart and with the buoyancy of youth she sprang lightly to the platform— forgetting for the moment her illness, her slender puise, her seedy, dust-stained travelling dress, which made her rather conspicuous among the fashionable crowd at the station. She would get well, she would work— and then— life stretched befoie her with its grea.l possibilities, as her dear philosophers had com inced her. She walked lapidly along the platform, her valise in her hand; and, having engaged a porter, she was soon following him with her luggage up the principal street of the town. As she looked around, Naomi rejoiced that she had come, graving the displeasuze, of friends. There was new life in the clear, crisp air, and every peep of wood and mountain suggested Nature's fairest moods. It seemed a very paradise, this little health resort which she had chosen for her winter home. New hopes began to stir in the girl's breast. The glory of the mountains, the peace of the valley, the fragrance of the late flowers,— all stole in upon her young spirit, wafting her into the land of dreams • and it was half mechanically that she followed the porter through the gate of an unpretentious villa in a quiet coiner of the town. 'So you have come, ma petite !' Naomi raised her eyes. A lady stood at the door to welcome her,— a woman no longer young but kind-eyed and motherly, with arms stretched out to ombiace the friendless girl. Naomi shrank a little : .she was pioud and reserved, tins little Jewess ; not one to take or give affection lightly. But the elder woman's kindness o\ ercarnc her, and she yielded to the embrace. ' Come in and tell me all about your journey,' the lady went on. ' How tired you must be !' As she spoke she led the girl into a homely but comfortable sitting-room, wheie coffee and other refieshments stood in readiness on the (able. 'No, I am not tired,' Naomi replied. 'It is all so new and delightful ' Nobody told me what a beautiful place I was coming to.' ' I hope you will be happy with us,' said Madame Claire, as she poured out the coffee, ' and that you will get strong. It was good of your mother to let you come — ' ' Mother was against my coming,' interrupted Naomi. ' Mother is old-fashioned in her ideas ; and, then, we are poor.' There was a slight note of defiance in the gal's voice as she spoke the last words. ' Don't think of that, my dear ! We shall try to make you comfortable. We are almost en famille here : only my daughters, and one other boarder.' ' Oh, that will he all right t' replied the girl, in a tone which betrayed youth's indifference to the material adjuncts of existence. ' But about my work, — shall I get pupils here V ' From what your mother tells me of your music, I think you ought to find a good opening here. But tell me about your mother. It is twenty years since we met.' ' I fancy mo I her is always the same. I can't imagine her different, even when she was young. We love each other other so dearly, mother and I,—although we think so differently.' 1 How differently V asked Madame Claire. ' Oh, on every possible subject !' said Naomi, laughing gently. ' Mother holds to all the old conventions ; and, then, she is a Jewess, you know.' ' And you'?' 'I? Oh, I am a modern !' answered the girl, still smiling. ' I don't hold in either conventions or creeds. I hope to follow tlie good where I see it ; but I must go my way unhampered, following the light as it comes to pie.' ' But do you sec it,— have you found it ?' asked the elder , woman. 1 I trust that I see enough for my present needs. I am happy in the company of the great thinkers. What sufficed to them must suffice to me. Surely there's no denying that religion 1 is the enemy of pro-

gross ; and in these days we must believe in the evolution of the soul, as we believe in the evolution of the body.' 'But afterwards,— after this life?' asked simple Madame Claire, somewhat aghast. 'Do you really believe m another life?' asked Naomi, her great dark eyes lesting on Madame Claiie's face. ' I do not believe in any ' afterwards,' unless the good we attain to,— that must live foiever.' Madame Olaire said nothing ; arguments were not at her command. Bub she thought of her own simple faith, which had been the mainstay of her life ; she thought of her own chikken, whom she would rather see dead than unbelieving ; and she looked with pity on the gill opposite to her, so frail and young launched without 1 udder ol anchor on the stormy waters of life. And as she was so thinking she studied Naomi's face. It was a typical Jewish face of the raoie peifeet type, showing strength in the well-defined featuies and long, pencilled eyebiows- but the wistful eyes still held the dreams of childhood and the tender lips told of hopes unfulfilled. A month later Naomi had settled down to her new life. Her little room, with its balcony looking out over the mountains, had become to her a home a sanctuary, where she had set up her few household' gods— the photos of those she loved, the woiks of hei Meloved nxasteis, and her violin, that one friend to whom Naomi confided all her hopes and sorrows. In her own room the giil hved her life, thinking out, the long thoughts of youth, working, readingdreaming of the future and the days that might be. She had youth and beauty— she hoped for strength Life, she had taught herself, held the germ of all things. Nature, aiound her, lavish in its gifts, bieathcd the secret of joy— and yel Naomi felt troubled and unsatisfied. There was a want in her life that she could not account for— a feeling of restlessness and ciaving, a vague longing, which all her self-learned philosophy could not satisfy. In vain she threw heiself into her music ; in vain she went back to her books, seeking light and help from the ' gieat thinkers ' What did they ofiei •> It was so vague and indefinite ' It left the heart so cold ! Poor Naomi ' she almost envied the Claire family, and the simple faith which bi ought sunshine into their strenuous lues and tomfoit to their hours of li.im But Naomi would lath'-r hare died than acknowledge any flaw in the philu^ophy she had woiked out for heiself; and, in the pnde of her young strength, she cut hit self ofl as much as possible" fiom the (.'lanes, tiytng to Hunk of them as ignoiant fanatics, and piefeiimg to lead hei life alone. " But exevy day she became more conscious of a want m her life, less enchanted with herself and her own thoughts; so the giil knew many a dark and lonely houi. One day as she .sat oppiessed by these tioubles, which no one shaicd, a fa\onte pupil burst in upon her solitude. ' Naomi, we are going to have music to-night, and poihaps a little dance, and \ tutor says you must come ! ' ' But, Mademoiselle, you know I don't go out at night I haven't even got an evening diess.' 'That doesn't, matter. You always look sweet. Wear anything you like. Victor has been enthusiastic over you since that Sunday you came to see me. Tie says you play dninely, and that our evening will be spoiled unless you come.' The flatteiy failed to cheer Naomi. 1 I think I had better not come,' she answered ta,ther sadly. 1 You must come, Naomi ! Victor will never forgive me if you don I !.' As they spoke a knock came to the door, and one -of the Claire fciris brought in a bunch of beautiful white roses with Victor Ilofmann's card attached. ' You see,' his sister went on, 'he expects you ; he won't take a refusal.' Naomi smiled, and at last consented, somewhat perturbed at the thought of Ihe simple white muslin frock which would have to do duty as an evening diess. But when she stood before her glass that evening, her qualms vanished. The despised white muslin which hung in soft folds about her girlish figuic, and threw into relief her dark eyes and hair, was, because of its absolute simplicity, the best setting she could have found for her rather striking beauty. Naomi knew she had never looked so fair ; ami, with a feeling akin to triumph, she took up her violin and descended to the parterre, where good Madame Claire was waiting to accompany her. The Hofmanns were of good family and wealthy, and the villa where tliey rented spacious apartments was in the most fashionable part of the town. Naomi

felt a little embarrassed as she enteied the brilliantly lighted vestibule ; but Met a. Hofinann and her brother were there to meet her— Victor undisguisedly proud of his newly acquired cavalry uniform. They led her into the salon, where groups of young people were laughing and chatting. Naomi, joinnig one of these, was soon herself a centic of attraction. Her individuality, her beauty, the charm of her lace— all tended to diavv others within the spell of her personality ; and for the moment she bought to forget her own thoughts in the joy of exercising this influence. But presently she was asked to play. She took up her violin and played a mciry ' Volk&lied,' that suited the humor of the hour. But her audience was not satisfied. When she laised her \iohn again, it was to speak the thoughts of In r lieait thiough its chords. As she played, Naomi became unconscious of her audience, and of the niteiest she excited. She Tvas alone — alone with the longings of her soul ; and the voice that spoke thiough the music was the voice of one in fetters, restless and unsatisfied-, yearning for the unattainable— ciymg from the depths for some higher love, foi some dieam beyond meie earthly dreams. The music ceased in a slight discord. It was the discoid of the gnl's life— the unbiidgcd gulf between her ampliations and the material wot Id in which she had to live. She laid down her violin and, half oblivious of the applause which greeted her, she sank exhausted on a chair. Victor Hofmann was beside her, and she listened mechanically to the torrent of praise which he poured into her ears. lluv empty and vapid sounded his words of admiration • Naomi was utterly disenchanted with herself, with the woild and all that it might mean. She wished only to be alone— alone with her thoughts and with the night. * Father Isidor laid down his book with a faint pang. His bell had called him to the pallor, and he knew that his dearly coveted hour of quiet must be sacrificed. At the door his eyes met those of a stranger— a girl whom he had never seen befoie. She was young and beautiful, and her method of addressing him revealed at once that she was an alien to the faith. For a moment a suspicion ciossed the good Father's mind. The girl's earnest mien dispelled it. Her calm, level ga/.e was calculated to chsaiiu suspicion; and she soon found hei. m If sitting opposite to Father Isklol in the little convent parloi, & room bare and pool enough to please St. Fiancis himself. 1 I came to ask jour advice,' the gill brgan. ' I heard the Claires, with whom I live, mention your name. I did not know 1o whom to go.' Now that Naomi had got so far, she felt shy ami confused. The pi lest reassuml hei 'What can 1 advise you about '>' he said kindly. ' Peihaps— you will forgne my asking, aie you a Catholic ? ' INo ; I'm a Jewess. I don't mean that I am a Jewess in faith. As long as 1 can lemember I have had no definite belief. I never felt the need of it, until lately. But now— l am not happy. I feel a gteat want in my life— a want that nothing seems to fill.' 'Have you had any great disappointment?' asked the pucst. 'No : my life is blighter than it, has ever b-oen. I have found health and si length here ; I have made ft lends; I ha\e succeeded m my profession. But everything fails to satisfy me. It all leaves a bitter sense of emptiness.' ' Do you pray ? ' asked the priest. ' Pray ! How can I pi ay ? I only wonder if there is a Clod. 1 never remember to have really piayed in all my life.' ' Arc you not convinced of the existence of God ?' ' Until lately I was convinced of the contrary. I always preferred those authors who ignored or denied the existence of God. It seemed so much more rational to take things as we see them, working out the problem for ourselves. It always seemed to me something higher to seek the good for its own sake, to strive after the best without hope or reward.' ' :But what is the good ? ' asked Father Isidor, with a little smile. ' You know how the great thinkers define it,' answered the girl, somewhat abashed. ' Their thoughts used to satisfy me — ' 1 And now ? ' interrupted the priest. ' I'm dissatisfied, I'm unhappy. I thought I had worked out for myself a philosophy that would be sufficient for my needs, but now it all seems falling to pieces.' 1 You haven't gone against your conscience — forgive my asking ? ' said Father Isidor kindly. 'No,' answered the giil simply. 'I can't account, for it. It is a want that has suddenly come into my

life. My whole heart and soul seem crying for some new light. Perhaps you don't understand. It may seem ridiculous to you. Perhaps you can't help me' Crod can help you,' answered the priest ' What you want is faith. The light you look for will come in time. lam very glad you have told me of your trouble. ' ' May I come again ? ' Naomi asked. ' Yes, you must come and see me sometimes, and I shall pray for you. Do you remember how one of your dear philosophers was once betrayed into saying 1 More things aie wi ought by prayer than this, world dreams of " ? Promise me to come again.' And Naomi promised. Father Isidor returned to his cell. The open book of hfe was, after all, more interesting than any written woul, and the volume he had laid down so reluctantly remained closed on his desk. God had evidently begun the work of grace in this child's soul She was only a child— but a child of modern growth nourished on the doctrines of a pseudo-intellectuality, and steeped in that spint of agnosticism which has become the cult of the would-be enlightened in these our days. The priest foresaw ali the difficulties of the case, but he con/ided the matter to God, and never doubted of the issue. Although God had given him gifts which had helped him to solve many a problem, and which even his humility could not deny, he did not lcly on his own powers of argument oi persuasion ; for he knew well how powerless, as a rule, argument is in such cases, and that conversion must ever remain a mat tu of grace and divine illumination. So Father Isidor prayed, and asked the humble little ones of Christ to pray for Naomi. Faithful to her wo id, the gnl often came to visit the priest. Together I hey lead Catholic books, and he biought foiwaid in favor of the faith all the arguments at his command. r Jhe gul listened attentively, admitted their logic and plausibility— but the hour of giace was not conic ; fa. ill seemed as lar irom her as evei. It was not to come, it has never yet comethrough meie intellectual appu-hension. The pi lest, no whit discouraged, but biding God's time, made an cfioit in a new direction by an appeal to the gnls hcait. To this end, he strove to bring home to her the personality of Ihnsi, and Naomi fell under its spell. She studied with new interest the piophecies l elating to the coming of the Saviour; she lead with new feelings the hihloiy of Jesus, and her heart went out in love to the Man of Sonows. From that hour Naomi believed. She almost, startled Father Isidor by the vehemence of her act of faith : 'Father, I belie\e ' 1 shall never doubt any more 1 leave the rest to God.' H was a perfect ait of faith, and it left the child's heart open to Hie woi kings <jf divine giace. Naomi began a loui.sc of instruction with Father Isidoi, learning with ihildli! c simplicity. At that time she was,, or believed heisclf to be, in almost perfect health. Before a month she lay on her deathbed.