MARY DWYER'S PRESENTIMENT

New Zealand Tablet, 23 October 1913, Page 9

MARY DWYER'S PRESENTIMENT

High up the hill, within the shelter of a friendly rock, nestled the cottage of James Dwyer, .a tidy home, ""much better than those of his neighbors. The threshold was well worn from the tread of the large numbers who gathered regularly to assist at the *' Stations,' for the Dwyer home was a house of prayer, wherein gossip was never allowed, and all were encouraged to be charitable to their fellows. James Dwyer was a conscientious worker, devoted to his wife and only child, Mary, and was always ready to lend a helping hand to those in distress. Far from being well off, he was thankful -for what God "had bestowed upon him, and made good use of his bit o' land, raising enough to provide for his family comfortably. His wife was, as the neighbors were wont to declare, .' A loving saint.' She came of a proud family, the Cuffes of The Castle, as they were familiary spoken of, and although her father parted with his ancestral home and estates rather than give us his religion, the proud blood still flowed in the veins of his children, and poverty seemed to strengthen their faith in God's sight. They seemed to live wholly for the faith for which their forefathers suffered much. When Eily Cuffe bestowed her hand upon plain and sterling James Dwyer, she recognised in him qualities akin to her own ' —he was religious, generous-hearted, and patriotic'Their only child, Mary, reared in such a wholesome atmosphere, grew to womanhood, a blessing to - her family and a ministering angel to her neighbors. She willingly assisted her parents in all their plans, and when not at home was to be found attending the altars of the little chapel, three miles down the road, or reading to the sick of the neighborhood, from books loaned her by the Sisters. .'..,,. • Her life-long friend and playmate, Nellie Meehan, who, the neighbors declared, never seemed a bit religious like Mary Dwyer, had bidden adieu to the world " two years before and joined the community at the Lough. Many a wiseacre shook her head and said that Mary would soon follow her, but the latter kept at her daily tasks, : a consolation to her parents, whom she ■ loved devotedly. She was not good enough for the convent, she would laughingly say when questioned as to her intentions, and she owed a duty to her parents for awhile yet, t but she could pray in the world as well as in the cloister and bo an example to her'neighbors, as she was. Then a change came into her quiet life! Visiting at Father Dillon's one sunny May day, she was introduced to his nephew, Gerald O'Brien,- a handsome lad of her own age, who had come to spend a brief vacation with his uncle. He" was from Dublin; and for some months had been studying for the profession of civil engineer. Gerald became fascinated with the beauty and gentleness of his uncle's guest, and before many days he was a daily visitor at the Dwyer cottage. How the hours seemed to fly for this innocent lad and lass! Hand in hand Gerald and Mary clambered over rocks in quest of hidden flowers, and for hours they would tramp the seashore, building castles in the air, and enjoying every minute spent together. Sometimes they would look wistfully across the broad Atlantic and ■wonder as to'what the new Ireland, which lay beyondit looked like. Again they would plan as to the day, when Gerald would be successful in his profession, and they would buy back part of the ruined estate—the home of Mary's forefathers. And sometimes they would speak of their dreams to. good Father Dillon, who would jocosely raise his knotty blackthorn and make pretence at laying it on Gerald's back, declaring 'that castles were not bought with dreams and there were plenty of Ireland's best sons in America. Gerald must remain in Erin and be content with an honest living in a comfortable cottage. But youth is impulsive and Gerald was no exception to this rule. As his vacation drew to a close he chafed v at the thought of parting "with Mary. He could not' bear the loneliness, he said. It would simply break his heart to bo absent from her for long. To these

remarks - Mary would gently reply: - ~ Hearts - do not break so easily, Gerald, and when you get lonely,-study more- diligently, work ; hard, and the blues will soon drive away.' ' '-'■-'.' '_'. ' - _ Gerald bade good-bye to Mary, promising to write faithfully until Christmas, when he would be down and bidding her to bear him constantly in mind—that his ambition henceforth would be to labor hard, in order to make a home for her soon. His letters came frequently. At first they were cheery, then Mary noticed that Gerald wrote in a morose strain.: He seemed discouraged and although he encouraged her not to fret, grew more despondent himself. One, letter spoke of bitter disappointment his father had recently, and which he said weighed heavily upon the family. Mary would learn of it all later. Then for weeks the poor girl heard not one word. She grew restless. Divers thoughts flew through her mind, especially when Father Dillon wondered as to Gerald's silence and she became a daily visitor at the little chapel. , She had no fear of Gerald's love for her waning. She knew his manly heart beat for her alone, but she feared something was amiss. Every day she dropped into. Father Dillon's, and they confided their doubts and fears to each other, Father Dillon always saying, ' Gerald is lost in his Christmas examinations. Maybe his idleness all summer made him a dullard and he had to make up for his pleasure.' . - But Mary knew differently. She knew that Gerald studied hard during vacation and hours and hours were spent in study at night, of which Father Dillon knew nothing. Gerald was ambitious to finish his studies, so that he might make a home for her and he had to study if he wished to succeed. Coming from the chapel early one morning, Mary found the kindly pastor watching for hera letter in his hand. He bade her come into the kitchen. Molly, the housekeeper had a strong cup of tea ready, and whilst she sipped he 7 would tell her the news. - / *; '' : --' The letter was from Gerald, now in far-off America, the land of their day dreams. He was compelled to give up his studies owing to his father's failure and the only hope he had was in going to the New Ireland, where every man had a chance and where he hoped to succeed despite the new customs, and the hard work he was yet unused to. He trusted that Mary, would bear the news of his disappointment bravely and he would write; often, to cheer her heart. After this news Mary spent her spare hours in the chapel, at Father Dillon's, but more,of ten was she to be found sitting on the rocks staring.-wist-: fully over the broad, blue sea. From the first she seemed to feel a heavy weight at her heart as though she had seen Gerald for the last time. ' Oh, America is so far away and I will never leave the old people, who need me now more than ever,' she would: cry despairingly, and despite Gerald's splendidly written letters of love and comfort, she would droop and moan* with sorrow. Dear Sister Rose, her old friend,vNellie" Meehan, tried to console her and would chide her gently for allowing her affection for Gerald to depress her so. She would urge her to visit, the convent , and sew for the poor and thus find relief from sorrow. Up and down the road Mary would glide to and from chapel and unnoticed by herself she grew thin and haggard. Her mother spoke gently to her of the future when she and Gerald would have a cosy home in Erin or America and with true Spartan courage would laugh heartily at the prospect of her crossing the ocean to visit them in the land of the free. To all of her sallies, Mary would gently shake her, head. She declared sorrowfully she had a presentiment from the first hour that she would never meet Gerald againThe. swish of the waves, as they beat near her home, seemed to sing a Requiem in her heart, the very birds that hovered about the rocks had a sadness in their song, as they flew from bush to bush. would write Gerald how she sat directly under Cove Rock, their old try sting place, . and imagined it was even with the harbor at New York. In her day dreams he seemed to be walking just a wee bit beyond her vision. The cruel sea, quiet and peaceful in its cruelty, rolled

and tossed and seemed to mock her in her misery.- For Mary was miserable ! She had come to the point where Gerald occupied her thoughts solely. No longer could she pray without distraction, no longer would she listen to the kindly counsel of. Father Dillon, and she grew quite impatient with dear Sister Rose. When her wearied: mother reminded her of the Cuffe pride and heroic faith of her forefathers, she nodded her head and smiled abstractedly. She was a victim of despair. . Gerald wrote soothingly. He, too, tried to cheer the lonely girl. He had labored in many positions, some very-hard and ill-paid; and now he had a lucrative situation as railway engineer. The work was dangerous, but he drew good wages, and every dollar was treasured toward making a home for Mary. He wrote interesting letters of his new life, told her she would love America, and over and over inquired for everyone, old and young, 'whom he had met at the Lough. His brother was with him now, and together they 'tried to be happy in a foreign land, far from those they loved best. Mary would carry these letters to ; the rock and read them again and again, but far from cheering her she seemed to become more depressed. Then one day Gerald wrote, asking her to make ready to come out by Easter. Two years of separation were long enough for him, and his brother and sister were anxious to give her a loving welcome. Half-heartedly she fell in with her mother's plans in getting her outfit ready. She tried to sew, but the needle -would slip to the floor and lie at her feet unheeded. Sometimes she would take her sewing to the Rock, and after long hours would return apologising to her mqther for being slothful. She declared it was not to be that she would see Gerald —something more was in store for her than a home in America. And the day-dreams ended! Quietly and even cheerfully Mary Dwyer answered Father ; Dillon's knock, when he came to see her, one dull, gray day. The -letter in his hand shook as he nervously tried to read from it. The' big heart of the gentle priest ached as it never pained before, as he witnessed the silent victim of a cruel tragedy, and he unconsciously the cause of it all. For was it not on his invitation that Gerald came to the Lough and met Mary Dwyer ; and now upon him fell the sad duty of telling Mary of Gerald's death in America. Killed by his train, whilst working clay and night to save money to pay for the, pretty home he had bought, wrote the brother, and Gerald was resting quietly among strangers far from the colleen and land he loved well.

Mary did not move for minutes, hours, they seemed 'to those watching her, and when she did, like one awakened from a long sleep, she opened her eyes wearily, wildly, and dazed-like, asked, 'Why do you cry?' I cannot and will not. It would be wicked. I have told you all along that God had other designs and I would never see dear Gerald again.' Turning to her mother, she said quickly and simply, ' Mammy, dear, do you not remember in the long ago, when I was a weeny little girl, how you often patted my head

and said there was much work for me to do, that. I must learn my .tasks if I wished to please God and you?- .* ' : r; ; " «■;'-*" You said I must keep the Cuffe faith and be proud of the act of my grandfather. I have been proud, Mammy, dear, but I have lacked the true faith. I have been impatient at times with you all and all" on account of an earthly affection. Gerald would not have it so. He always told *■_ me to be patient, to have faith and .God. would reward us. He was faithful and God has given him eternal light. My task is learned and I will be patient hereafter. I will bear my cross, and the better place to carry it ia in the little convent yonder with dear Sister Rose. God's ways are wonderful. He knows what is best and leads that we may follow .—Michigan Catholic. '• H