II.

New Zealand Tablet, 23 August 1906, Page 7

11.

' "What has happened to you, ma petite ? ' How aie we to make you well again .' Perhaps we ought to send for your mother ? ' It was Madame Claire who spoke, as she bent ovei Naomi's bed. 'No : mamma couldn't help mo. But, Madame '— and the feveiish flush deepened on the girl's cheeks— ' will you plca.se send foi Father Isidor" ' For Father Isidor ! What do you mean, child '! Do you know Father Isidor '! ' ' I know him quite well. 1 am going to become a Catholic, and I'd like to see him now.' Madame Claire crossed heistif. Ilcie was a» miracle. And how well the child bad kept her secret ! ' I am so glad now that I made up my mind before this illness. No one can say now that it was the fear of death that made me change. 1 'No one can say that, my dear ! But you are not going to die. You must get well and strong.' ' I'm afraid not. But I must £et a mtlc better before Easter, for I hope to be baptised then.' O Naomi— you must let me call you Naomi now —the news is too good : It is too much joy ! ' And Madame Claiie, half lifting her from her bed, pressed the girl to her heart in a great, motherly embrace. ' Now, dear,' she said, as she laid her back on the pillows, ' I shaVl send for Father Isidor. And may I tell the children ? ' 1 Yes, you may tell them now,' answered Naomi. ' Perhaps it may make them happy.' 4 You can't think how the children love you, Naomi. I have kept them away from you, thinking they might offend your prejudices ; but now everything will be different.'

Forgive me, dear Madame, for having been so cold with you all. Indeed, in my heart, I often admired your life and the goodness of your children but I was a wretched little fanatic' ' ' But now, dear, we are all one family, and you will let us love youf ' 'You are far too good to me,' replied Naomi. ' I wonder why people are always so kind to me.' ♦ Naomi had been ill a fortnight, and there seemed but little hope of her recovery. She had finished the course of instruction mapped out by Father Isidoi, and faster was at hand— Easter, which was to have brought to her, with baptism, the dawn of a new life. The snows had melted from the mountain slopes ■ the warm spring sunshine beat down upon the valley the meadows had already clothed themselves in tender green, and in the orchards the fruit blossoms were painting their white traceries against the azure of the sky. All Nature, teeming with new life, had broken into a canticle of piaise. Even under Naomi's window the birds were bursting their little throats singing for very joy. And Naomi, this fair young girl who was but entering upon the springtime of her days— Naomi felt that her young life was eb,l>mg fast. She knew that all the joys of eailh were slipping from her grasp • and yet so changed was she that she repined not She desired but one thing— the cleansing waters of Baptism— and she felt in ncr child's heart that the sunshine on the hills was but a faint image of the light which would soon fill her soul. Father Isidor, seeing the ardor of her desire, and her increasing bodily weakness, decided that' the baptism should take place as first intended, on the Monday after Easter. The days of Passion Week passed slowly for Naomi. For her they were days of darkness" and trial, when it was given to her to enter somewhat into the sufferings of Him who was henceforth to be her all. The pains of her iilness increased, and her heart was torn by the thought of the sorrow which the step she was about to take would cause to her dearly loved mother. One day Father Isidoi found her bioken and weeping. ' What is it, my child " lie asked. ' Have you any doubts about the step you aie going to take ' ' ' Oh, no : foi myself I ha\e no doubts ' But mothei— poor mother ! It will cut me off Horn her forever.' 1 She will forgive you later, I am sure,' replied the priest. 'I am afraid not. You know I vviote and told her that I was going to become a Catholic ; she answered with suc-h a hard and cruel letter ; and last night I dreamed that she bent over me and cursed me.' 'My poor child, it is indeed hard for you. But if God asks of you so much suffering, it is because He means to give you much giace. Your suffering is for some great end.' ' Father, I am content to die — T am content to leave everything only mother. I feel that I must see mother again.' ' Perhaps she will conic to see you when she knows how ill you aie. But, my child, if God asks of you this las! sacrifice, you will make it,' he added with emotion, ' for Ihe love of Jesus Chiist.' There was a world of strength and pleading in the words, and they went straight to Naomi's heart. She turned her eyes to the crucifix and bowed her head. When she looked again toward .^Father Isidor, there was something cf a smile upon her face. Peace, the peace of a last sacrifice, had entered Naomi's soul. It was Eask-r Monday. The warm spring sunshine streamed through thr windows of a little convent cliapcl, wheie a wealth of white flowers upon the altar spoke of some festival dear to those who frequented it. It was the chapel of the Sisters of the Cross, and the ceremony about to take place was that of Naomi's baptism. Madame Claire, fearing tliat she could not give the child ar|l the care she nee-drd, had had her removed to a private hospital cauri foi by these Sisters, and it was here tliat Naomi had passed the long days of Passion Week. N_o one dreamt that she would be able to leave her red evn for the great day, but on this point the girl herself was quite determined. She submitted, however, to have the preliminary ceremonies take, place in her loom, instead of at the church door as is customary. ' (To be concluded next week.)