The Storyteller MY ROSARY

New Zealand Tablet, 22 July 1909, Page 1123

The Storyteller

MY ROSARY

It is a very beautiful one, composed of smooth pearl beads, ornamented with silver trimmings. Tt never has been out of my possession, save for a few months, and 1 thereby hangs a tale.' Before becoming mine, my Rosary had belonged to my dear mother. Have I forgotten the joy and pleasure with' which she received it from the hands of a priestly relative upon his return from a foreign land? How many times I have seen it pass through her slender white fingers? During her last illness it lay constantly within her reach, and she always said that after her death ft should belong to me. In my bitter grief it escaped my memory until I saw her lying in her casket arrayed for the tomb. Sonrn one had twined the Rosary around her hand, and tho crucifix lay on her quiet breast. Remembering her wish, I gently removed it, and put it carefully away. My mother's death left me alone in the world. For a long time she had been an invalid, and I left school to become her helpmate and later her nurse. My girlish aspirations for knowledge were never realised. At the age of 25, instead of posing before an admiring world as ' a woman versed in erudition,' I, Helen Wilson, was earning a livelihood by plying my needle in the homes of those people who, by means of wealth and high position, wero supposed to be much more fortunate than I. Yet I was not .unhappy. My home was only a room in a quiet house on a side street, but it was cosy and 'almost elegant in some of its appointments. There were dainty silken hangings, a table of polished wood, a delicate china tea service,some pretty etchings, and a beautiful picture of my mother. I felt the restraint of city life after the freedom; of the country, and being by nature somewhat reserved, F did not make friends easily. But if I was sometimes lonely I was, on the whole, as contented as it is given most mortals to be. I considered myself fortunate when I secured employment in the family of Mrs. Cameron, whose daughter was soon to be married. The Camerons were wealthy and influential, and the trousseau of the bride-elect was very elaborate. Mrs. Cameron was a proud woman, whose word was a. command. Besides her daughter, and a son who was not at home, there were two children still in the nursery. Their governess, Edith Crane, was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. When I learned that she was from the~ country I became interested in her, and my interest grew when I heard that she was also a Catholic. One day I heard Mrs. Cameron speak to her daughter of the expected return of her son. From the softened tone and -the tender light that shone in her eyes it could readily be seen that the son was the idol of his mother. , ' Roland is so sensible,' said she, ' and despite the fact that he is so handsome, he never has foolishly, committed himself, I am certain. ' I am sure his boyish admiration for Katherine will return,' said Miss Cameron. ' She has improved since she went abroad, and now she is a great heiress.' 'Katherine,' I had heard spoken of- frequently ; she was Miss Norton, and was to be the maid of honor at the wedding. -. The next afternoon I went down town to match some silks for Miss Cameron. As I passed by the park, I saw Edith Crane standing on the rustic bridge that spanned a crystal streamlet. She .was alone, and as she turned and met my eyes I fancied she looked embarrassed. After we had exchanged pleasant greetings I hurried on.- A little later, on my return, I saw her again, this time accompanied by a gentleman. They were engaged in earnest conversation. I had been in the house but a short time when Mrs. Cameron and her daughter, at the sound of a familiar voice in the hall just below our sewing-room, hurried down to welcome home the returned son and brother/ With an impulse of curiosjty I looked at him as they passed up stairs. It was the same young man I had seen that afternoon walking with Edith Crane. The next day I sat busily sewing by the window overlooking the -garden. While Miss Crane and the children were walking, below, youngs Mr. Cameron sauntered into sight, paused a moment, and said something' to his little sisters. They lan off to gather bouquets while he and their " governess conversed. When he left she stood perfectly still, with clasped hands and a look of deep distress in. her face. At that moment she raised her eyes and encountered mine fixed upon her. A crimson hue" covered her cheeks and brow, and then she turned and walked out of my sight. All day I was~ troubled in mind. It was really iio affair of mine, yet I felt instinctively ,that something was wrong. Miss Crane avoided me during the remainder of my stay, and I left without" seeing her again.

The following Sunday I chanced to go to the Churcli of the Holy Rosary. To my surprise, Edith Crane entered the same pew. She looked annoyed when she saw me, but il was too late to retreat. I smiled in recognition, and as she knelt beside me I noticed that she trembled. When Mass commenced I noticed that she had neither prayer book nor rosary. It happened that I had both, so I offered her my Sacred Heart Manual. The sermon, strangely enough, seemed an echo of my own thoughts. -The speaker touched upon mixed marriages and said : ' Jesus blessed with His presence the marriage in Cana of Galilee. He desires to be present at every Christian marriage. When a Catholic is wedded to an unbeliever, Jesus is not present to bless the nuptials.' Edith Crane sat perfectly quiet, with head bowed and eyes downcast. Slie appeared to be thinking. We left the church and walked together down the street. She thanked me for the use of my prayer book, and said she had left home hastily and forgotten her own. 'What a beautiful- Rosary you have!' she added admiringly. ' Yes,' I answered, and told her its history. ' I should think you would prize it highly,' said she. 'I, too, am an orphan, but I have a stepmother,' and she sighed. I longed to speak to her on the subject that caused me anxiety, but could not. At parting I invited her to call — some impulse made me add : ' I should like to be your friend.' .'Thank yo\i,' she said gently; ' I have fejv friends, and often feel altogether alone. Will you offer a Rosary for me ?' she added timidly. ' Indeed, I will. I will ask the Blessed Mother of God to give you grace to do right.' She met my gaze unflinchingly. A sad smile flitted across her face. r Do,' she said earnestly. ' I desire to do right,' and then we parted. The following week an unexpected occurrence caused me to change my place of residence. As soon as possible after I was settled I called at Mrs. Cameron's house and asked to see Miss Crane. The lady greeted me pleasantly, but when I mentioned the name of her governess a look of anger passed over her face. ' Miss Crane is no longer in my employ,' she said. 'Is it possible ?' I asked ; ' can you tell we where to find her?' ' I know nothing of the young woman's whereabouts, and if I were in your place I should not cultivate her acquaintance.' I felt myself growing cold and faint. ' What has she done ?' ' That which no young woman in her station should do, if she .wishes to preserve her respectability.' She spoke severely. Truly there was nothing enigmatical in her meaning, and she evidently believed she was doing me a kindness. While I sat trying to regain my composure and half consciously regarding the clusters of crimson roses in the soft carpet, perplexing thoughts crowded upon me. ' I cannot think evil of Miss Crane,' I said at length, raising my eyes to the haughty face before me. 1 You are charitably inclined,' the lady replied with a slight sneer. I went away heavy-hearted. Edith's face as I had seen it last rose before me. ' I desire to do right,' she had saidj and I could not believe that she had deliberately done wrong. I prayed for her fervently during the weeks that followed. Many were the garlands that I laid at the feet of the ' Mother of fair love and holy hope.' During the autumn I often saw Roland Cameron and Miss Norton driving together, and in the aristocratic homes where T sewed I heard that their engagement had been announced. One lovely day in mild October I took a holiday. A strange restlessness had come upon me, and I thought a trip to the country would restore my tranquility. But at almost the last moment I decided to go to visit an old friend, Sister Constance, a nurse in St. Joseph' s Hospital. At a florist's I purchased a large bouquet of autumn flowers. They will carry a message of comfort to some weary sufferer, I thought. After I had chatted a while with Sister Constance, she offered to take me through the hospital. On the way down the long corridor she began to tell me of a case which had interested her greatly. The patient was a young woman who had narrowly escaped death from a dangerous fever. She had left the hospital only the day before. I 1 cannot forget her,' said the Sister. 'We see many sad cases, but hers was unusually pathetic. She was young and beautiful, but evinced little interest in life.' ' Had she no friends ?' I asked. ' That^s the strangest part of the story. No one ever came near her, When she was taken ill her landlady

refused ,to care for her. She was a music teacher, I believe, and she was sent here. One night when we thought her dying I began to pray aloud, reciting the Rosary. "Are you praying for me?" she asked. '' Yes, lam offering the Rosary to Our Blessed Lady for you." She fell back on her pillow. ' "There will be two, then, to say the Rosary tor me," — I heard her murmur — "you and the kind gi-:l who promised to say it on her dead mother's beads. i wonder if she has forgotten." Then she moaned and grew delirious. "Sister," she asked, "should not' Jesus be present at every marriage, as He was in Cana of Galilee?" ' I grasped the arm of Sister Constance. ' I know that girl !' I exclaimed. 'I am the one she referred to. Where did she go?' ' Are you sure ?' asked Sister Constance. ' Yes, her name is Edith Crane. I tried to find her. I never have forgotten her, poor girl.' Sister Constance directed me, and in a short time I found her, the pale shadow of her former self, setaed before a feeble fire, a heavy shawl about her shoulders. . She hi.l said ' Come in ' to my knock and turned listlessly ..toward the door. ' Miss Wilson,' she gasped, trying to rise. ' Edith !' I cried, ' I have found you at last.' I clasped her in my arms and kissed her. Afterwards, when she was cosily ensconced in my pleasant room and feeling stronger, she told me all that had happened. When I first met her she had been at M»"s. Cameron's for more than a year. For several months an engagement of marriage had existed between her and Roland. Of course, his family never even suspected it. After his return home he tried to persuade her to consent to a secret marriage, and her hesitation to comply with his request displeased him. Subsequent developments showed that after again meeting Miss Norton and knowing his mother's fancy for her and regard for her fortune, he regretted the advances made to Edith Crane. Though Edith knew nothing of this, after our chance meeting at church' her conscience allowed her no peace, and she determined to break an engagement which, by reason of the difference in their religious views and the inequality of social position, could be productive of naught save unhappiness. She wrote Roland a brief letter asking him to meet her in the library one evening. By some mischance the letter fell into Mrs. Cameron's hands. The lady's anger was great, and she would listen to no explanation. In her distress Edith appealed to Mr. Cameron, who refused to say anything in her defence. Almost broken-hearted at the conduct of one to whom she had given all of her affection, she left the house. The next day she called at my room, only to find me gone. After some difficulty she found employment in the family of an estimable lady, but one day she saw Mrs. Cameron's carriage at the gate, and after that lady's departure she had been summarily dismissed. She .managed to secure a few pupils to whom she gave music lessons, but continually met with rebvxffs. To return home was out of the question. < I -worried myself ill,' she concluded. ' That I deserved the punishment for my vanity and presumption did not makfr it any easier to bear. When I was taken to the hospital I cared little whether I lived or died. But now T thank God, who has tempered Justice with mercy.' I was happy to be able to share my home with her, and during tne dark late autumn days she graced my room like a flower. But as time passed I could not help observing that her face grew paler and a hacking cough disturbed her rest at night. She told me once that her mother had died of consumption, then I realised that she was wasting away with the same malady. She was so meek, so patient, so thankful to me for my love and care that I felt that God's benediction rested on my little J abode as long as she remained in it. • Her death occurred in the early springtime, when the first flowers shed their fragrance and the mornings were melodious with the song of the robins. It was a calm and peaceful passing, beautiful in its resignation and confideiuo in the mercy of God. My Rosary had scarcely been out of her hands during the long months of pain and weariness. Indeed, I had offered to relinquish my claim to it entirely, but she shook her head and smiled as j3he answered; ' Until the end, and then when you pray for your dear mother T know you will sometimes think of me.' I never Tiave forgotten her. Many years have passed, and I have been blessed in every way. I always think of her when I hold in my hand the talisman of my life — my Rosary. „ mmt^ m