The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 8 February 1912, Page 3

The Storyteller

HER VICTORY She sat by the open window looking out at the blossoming peach-tree with it wealth of pink beauty; at the children playing near the fence with some oyster shells and gravel stones at the dog lying lazily in the sun, with his sleepy eyes blinking at the children, and sluggishly wagging his tail whenever one of them stopped to stroke his shaggy coat ; at the restless pony tethered to the rugged old oak beside the road; at the careless youth who sat bareheaded on the rustic bench beneath the spreading branches, and fanned himself with his straw hat. All these Dora Hunter saw from the window, but the anxious expression and melancholy frown did not for an instant leave her face. . The sun was bright, warm, and cheerful; but scarcely a ray of his beams stole into the tidy parlor where Dora was seated. Even he seemed to sympathise with her in her affliction, and knowing the futility of trying to comfort her, seemed to avoid the two windows of-the parlor. In the cool solitude of the tiny room, Dora prayed fervently, desperately; ‘Mary, Mother of God, intercede for me in this bitter hour ! 0 Mary, obtain strength for me! Queen of Heaven, I beg of you to help me Poor Dora! hers was indeed a hard trial. Other women before her had been tried as gold in the same furnace, and had failed to stand the test. She was but eighteen and was in love— love with a nonCatholic ! - . /' • . - Three months before, Austin Kemery had returned; from college to his home at Pinewood. His father owned the Pine Down Quilt Mills, and had enough gold to pave his entire garden with it if he would—so hearsay averred; nor was the garden a small one. The Kemerys had their summer villa at Pinewood; a beautiful old villa, with a lake near the house and numberless vine-covered arbors. - ' The mill stood about one-third of a mile from Pinewood, and thither one afternoon, when he found time hanging heavy on his hands, Austin Kemery took his way. It was there that Dora Hunter and he first saw each other. She was carrying a roll of wadding in her arms, and hurrying along when she almost stumbled oyer him. She raised a pair of startled hazel eyes to his face, as she stammered out an apology. His eyes met hers, and the mischief was done. Austin Kemery, son of the wealthy mill-owner, was in love with Dora Hunter, the mill girl, and Dora Hunter had given her heart to him without being asked for it. Then came the courtship. Old Kemery, who idolised his son, laughed when Austin told him that he loved Dora Hunter. Mr. Kemery had not always been so rich. He had begun life as banking clerk, but fortune singled him out and showered her golden gifts upon him. He was not so displeased at Austin’s attachment as one might expect him to be. He believed that if a man loves a woman, be she queen or flower girl, he should marry her. He was an unbending Protestant, and he found only one objection to taking Dora as his daughter-in-lawshe was a Catholic. ’ - . ‘No danger of her not renouncing Popery when I ask her to do so, said Austin, after he had been courting Dora two months. ‘ I need but say the word, and she will bid adieu to the superstitions of Romanism ; will turn away from the Scarlet Woman.’ His father was not displeased. To be sure, Austin might have married ‘better’; but then Dora Hunter would, with more education, become a brilliant woman, and be worthy of the name Kemery. Besides, the thought of a proselyte! ' ' -' Dora’s parents were not averse to her /marrying the mill-owner’s son. V b > ‘ A mighty fine husband for you, Dot,’ said her mother. ‘ All you must do is convert him; and he is so fond of you that I don’t think you will find the task a difficult one.’ .‘ A . ’ e

■ And Dora said she would win him' to her faith'. : Now she was praying for assistance "from above. The night before, Austin .had. gently hinted that it was time for Dora to renounce her religion. She frankly told him she would never, even under the pain of death, be guilty of,such a sin. Austin had left her in anger, saying he would call on her, at 3 the next afternoon ' Dora now arose from her knees she had heard a step on the porch, - a. step which she well knew and for which: she had grown to long. She admitted her lover. He was as pale as she was, and there was determination in his face. :V ‘ Dora,’ he began, you really cannot have meant what you said last night. I know that you did not. Perhaps I was too harsh, and angered you; but now you have had time to think, to reflect.’ He drew his chair nearer to her. ‘Dora, I have come to ask you to marry me.’ ‘ I did mean what I said, Austin, and— ’■ - . Nonsense!..nonsense, Dora!’— a black frown. ‘ Only last night I asked my father if he would .object to my marrying you as a Catholic. I never saw him so angry before.’ ‘“Austin,” he thundered, in a terrible voice, “marry Dora Hunter if you will. She is a handsome girl, and not a stupid one; she is fairly well educated. Money will help to finish her education and will make her a shining light in society. Marry her, boy, I say; she is worthy of youbut not as a Catholic! I will have her for my daughter only on condition that she renounce Romanism.” He is a trifle bigoted, I know, dear; and he would cut me off without a cent, should I make you my wife as a Catholic. You would not care to marry a poor man?’ ‘ Austin,’ her. soft eyes met his, ‘I would live on a crust to see you a Catholic.’ ( He lost patience. ‘ But I will never be one.’ ‘ Then we need not prolong this .conversation; all is over between us.’ Afterwards she wondered where she got the strength to say these words that meant, so much to both. 1 Dora, you are mad. Do you mean that you will not become my wife?’ . ’ ‘ I had hoped, Austin, to bring you to the Light, to the Catholic Church by becoming your wife.’ ‘ Then you do not love me, but only wished to convert me by taking my name.’ ‘Austin,’ with reproach in her voice and eyes, ‘you know that I love you. It is because I love you that I hoped to convert you. I do love you, Austin.’ * If .you did, you would not allow religion to interfere in our marriage. After my father’s death, you may become a Catholic again if you wish. Believe as you will, but outwardly be a Protestant until such time as my x father is gone. I will never interfere with your belief; serve God as you choose. But I will never be a Catholic. ~

‘ He that shall deny Me before men, I will also deny him before My Father who is in heaven,’ she quoted with feeling. Not even for you, Austin, will I leave the Catholic Church. I know that the Catholic Church is the pillar and ground of truth; if I abandon my faith, I must give up my soul.’ ' v You have never loved me, Dora, else you would make the sacrifice for me. I must say good-by. I shall not see you again ; all is over between us, I suppose.’ .. His words of farewell sounded far away. . . He was trembling with rage and disappointment; she was sobbing with grief. Ah, it was a hard, hard struggle to give him up! to look forward to the long, long years of life without the man she loved! Must she drive him from her ! Must she tear the cup of happiness from her lips! ‘ ■ Austin took up his hat, and without a word more, left her. He glanced back as he walked down the little street. She stood at the open window. Her head' was bent, her hands were clasped as in pain, and her slight frame was shaking-with sobs. „ ‘How stubborn she is!’ he reflected. ‘Ah, well, a few weeks will bring her to her senses. . By Jove, I admire her the more for her constancy. She is a woman worth the winning. Why, a marriage with me would

rescue her from her present life of drudgery; would give her the much desired opportunity to perfect her education; would, in fine, make her a social star.- Gad, she’s a beauty, too; even now when she’s only a bud; what will she be in a year or two hence! But leaving her beauty, her wit, her wonderful mind,- out of the question; it’s refreshing to meet such a woman —purity incarnate. She’s the only kind of woman that a man should marry,—one that will ennoble him.’? : And Dora, poor, unhappy Dora ! She was tempted, once, twice, to call him back. She fell into a chair, and tossed her aching head to and fro. She could not make the sacrifice; it was too great. Did she care for the social position such a marriage would offer her? Yes; of the women who would not, their name is by no.means legion; but what was even social position in comparison with her great love . What was. wealth without him? ■■ * ' - .-v"

Then came her first violent temptation, ‘ Why should you not become his wife ?’ said the tempter. ‘You are young, and you love each other; why should both be unhappy? You will not lose your soul by marrying him; you can pray, and who that prays will be lost. He is a man, and loves you ! woman, when she is loved has great influence over man; may you not convert? What if you deny your faith for a time, —it will be but for a time, —and go through a non-Catholic marriage ceremony ?’ With these .and like thoughts was she tortured. The waves of temptation dashed about her soul and threatened to engulf it. Her love, her woman’s nature, leagued themselves with the evil one against her, and she felt that the crisis had come, that she must needs yield. * She arose from the chair, and turned to leave the room. Yes, she would do it; she would marry Austin Kemery; what a desert life would be without him! Just then she stopped. A flood of grace overwhelmed her soul.

A picture hung on the wall, a picture of a thorncrowned head, Ecco Homo, a picture she loved. Great beads of perspiration mingled with the blood on the brow; the eyes, oh, what t sorrowful eyes! seemed to rebuke her because of her momentary weakness. ‘My child, take up thy cross and follow Me,’ the lips appeared to say.— ‘ Ah, I have suffered much for thee; canst thou not offer Me something in return Hast thou so soon forgotten My agony, My bloody sweat, and prayer, in all of which I thought of thee, of thee the unborn? My people, My chosen ones, preferred a robber to Me, and dost thou reject Me for an earthly love? When My bones were laid bare beneath the lashes, when I wore the scarlet - cloak of mockery and the crown of thorns, and held in My hand the' reed, for thy sake I did not despise them. When I hung crucified-between two thieves, and was jeered at and blasphemed, thou wert in My thoughts.’ She was on her knees now, her face against the wall. Sobs that hurt her chest and-throat came from her lips; tears trickled down her cheeks and fell on her joined hands. -7* : \ ‘ 0 patient, 0 meek, O long-suffering Lamb of God, behold thy wretched daughter! Forgive, Lord, forgive!’ •• - 7

A long pause ensued; the soul was in communion with its Redeemer.

- She arose strengthened. ‘ Thy will be done in all things, sweet Lord,’ she murmured. * Thy yoke is sweet, and Thy burden light.’

During the three following weeks, Austin Kemery avoided his father’s mill. In all that time he did not see Dora, At last he was unable to resist the desire to see her. She had held out longer than he thought she would. He had expected a stubborn silence of a few days; then a shy little note stating her compliance with his wishes, for he knew that she loved him; then a reconciliation, and their happy marriage, when she would be his till death. But all this time he had neither seen nor heard from Her. He accordingly visited the mill. His heart leaped with surprise when he saw that Dora Hunter was not at her old place. He went straight to her sister Alice, a girl of sixteen, who worked near.

‘ Has Dora been changed, Alice ? he asked.

No, Mr. Kemery; she has not worked in the mill for over two weeks. She has gone away from home.’ ' - ■ t- ' ■ i ‘Alice,’ girl’s eyes were bent over her work after she had seen the expression of his face, —you know where she is tell me. ’ v . ‘ She is now employed in a charitable institution in a distant city. Where, I dare not let you know.’ ‘ Plow did she get there, may I ask?’ ‘ Our priest sent her there.’ . ‘ When will she return home?’ ‘ I don’t know.’ He saw that the girl was telling the truth. ‘ Did she leave home on my account?’ ‘ I think you had something to do with her departure, sir’ V _ * & ■" * « 0 The weeks dragged into months, the months into a year. Yet no one but her immediate'relatives knew where Dora Hunter was. Austin Kemery had inquired in vain of the Hunter family to tell him when Dora would come home. Two years passed. Austin Kemery had lost his father—and his father’s wealth and friends. The father, the Croesus of the little town, made foolish investments in his old age, and the close of his life, like the end pf Solomon’s, was disastrous. Austin had to face the world with scarcely a dollar. Oh, if Dora were only near to give him of her splendid courage ! The owner now became foreman of the Down Quilt Mills. During all this time, he had not seen Dora Hunter. - ‘No, she is not dead, far from it,’ Mrs. Hunter had told him ‘ and one of these days she’ll come back to Pinewood; but I must not tell you anything else about her. On her return, she. will explain all.’ ‘Tell me at least, is. she working hard?’ That depends on what you call hard work, Mr. Kemery. She is studying in an academy and teaches there. But she might be cross if she knew that I told so much. ‘ Well, it’s a relief to know, that she is not slaving herself away in that charitable institution where she' was first.’ And his face brightened. ‘ She’s above me now,’ he added with a wistful smile. ‘ Every woman should be above a man,’ retorted Mrs. Hunter. ‘But Dora don’t think herself so, I’m sure. She was never an uppish one, and she’d admire to see you with them sunburnt arms and freckled nose.’ For over a week, Dora’s father had been lying fatally ill. . Austin Kemery had visited his former employee during his sickness, not once, but many times, for the ex-mill owner respected and admired the sick man . for his virtues. Who could help respecting and admiring. Hunter—a son of the Emerald Isle, with that big heart, strict integrity, and wholesome humor which are the peculiar possessions of the Irish ? ■****» It was evening; an evening just like the one on which he had last seen Dora. Austin. Kemery was tapping at the door of her humble home. As he waitedhis eyes roved to the sun-flushed hills in the west, and he thought of her. She had been much in his thoughts all day, his pretty Dora. He tapped again. No answer. He tried the knob; the door swung open. ‘ I hope my friend is no worse,’ he said. ■ ‘ I’ll just go to the sickroom without further ado.’ He suited the action to the word. A woman in grey was sitting beside Hunter’s bedside reading from a small clotli-covered book. She did not see the unannounced visitor, and the sick man was sleeping. Kemery was a trifle embarrassed. ‘ Ahem ! ’ > , , A The woman, startled, turned her face toward' the door. . . ‘ Dora, you have come back to me ! After our , long, long separation, you have returned to be my wife!’ * With a tremor of surprise, the woman arose. How lovely she was ! She had been only a bud when he saw her last ; now she was a full-blown rose. Two years - had make remarkable changes in her. She was no longer a pretty girl, but a beautiful, self-possessed woman. Refinement shone in every motion of her

stately figure. Her voice, he noticed, was more softly modulated when she spoke. ‘ This is indeed an unexpected visit,’ she said, with a studied calmness. He looked at her in astonishment; he could scarcely believe his eyes and ears. Was this magnificent creature really the girl he had known two years before ? She seemed to have ‘grown up,’ though she looked no older. . She had all the air of a society debutante. His heart swelled with the old love and the new; he almost worshipped her. - Then came the terrible thought that perhaps she no longer loved him. Could his Dora of the past be so cold ? ■■ . Perhaps her religion had steeled her heart against him. He forgot everything but that. ‘ Dora, Dora! I love you more than ever. Be my wife; I will not interfere with your conscience; remain a Catholic.’ 7 , . . - v r She saw her opportunity. ‘ Austin !’ Her voice thrilled him with its sweetness. It was like the first note cf music to a man whose ears have been shut to sound for years. ‘ Austin, only the bar of religion separates us. .How could I feel towards you now as I would if you were a Catholic ? The tie of the same religion must bind . together man and wife if their love would be firm, and steadfast.’ . • ‘ Then teach me, Dora, teach me, and I will follow you. I will try to believe. I will try —’ All the woman in her came forth then. . Before he realised it, she was beside him, had clasped her, arms about his neck, had pressed her full red lips on his. He felt her soft curls on his forehead, and her warm tears on his face. . , / ‘ All barriers gone, Austin, . dear,,’ he heard her murmur, no obstacler between us now. Oh, how my poor tired heart longed for this moment!’ ‘But, Dora, I am poor now.’. - ‘ But I am rich, rich in having you, body and soul, . now,’ she said, with a laugh that suggested hysterics. ‘l’ve got all youyou and you and you,,and we’re going to work together.’— Will W. Whalen.