AMONG THE LILIES

New Zealand Tablet, 3 December 1914, Page 7

AMONG THE LILIES

There was a low sweet chatter in the sacristy, where girlish forms moved softly to and fro arranging vases and candelabra, for it was the eve of the Immaculate Conception, and the Children of Mary were busy making the high altar of St. Martin’s beautiful in honor of their Mother and queen. /

Ferns and palms stood in feathery rows awaiting their placing, the tall white tapers had been deftly fitted and trimmed, but the alabaster-vases that were the pride of the Sanctuary Society stood empty.

Flowers were at a premium just now for it was the opening of the social season, and the white blooms at the stores were held at fancy prices that the humble votaries of our Lady could not reach.

‘Not a lily,’ sighed pretty Doris Leigh, the youthful assistant of , the sodality, who was acting in the absent prefect’s place. ‘And Miss Millicent always has the vases full. Everybody will say it is our fault. : Renshaw told me Miss Millicent engaged her flowers two weeks beforehand. But she was away at the [sanatorium this year and of course we did not know—’

They brought her back yesterday,’ said Lena Vane, /looking up from the censer she was polishing, and not -a bit better, mamma says. The doctor does not think she will live the winter through.’ ‘ Oh, how dreadful — dear, dear Miss Millicent,’ murmured Doris sadly. , ’’' * Who is taking my name in vain asked a cheery voice, and a slender figure muffled in a heavy fur wrap stepped forward into the girlish group. Miss Millicent,’ went up a dismayed but loving chorus. ‘ Out this cold wintet. day !’ ‘And why not?’ asked the newcomer, smiling as she slipped off her fur cloak-and sank into the bishop’s chair, her silvering hair and delicate features sharply outlined against its crimson velvet. She was a woman of middle age, but the staring brightness - of her eyes, the hectic flush in her cheek, perhaps something deeper and morte subtle still gave her an almost girlish look of youth and. bloom. , , .

‘Oh, you are too, too, ill, Miss Millicent,’ faltered Doris, anxiously. ‘ Not at all,’ was the bright answer. ‘ The'doctor himself brought me in his car. He agreed that it would be much better than having me worry myself into a “temperature” at home. For I felt I could not trust you children with the altar to-morrow. I really must come and see how you were getting on.’ ‘ Oh, of course it won’t look like you always made it look, Miss Millicent, but we are doing our best.’ ‘ I see you are,’ said the lady with a practiced glance at the ferns and palms and tapers. ‘ And doing very well. That branched candlestick needs a little more rubbing, Doris; the chasing always took .extra care. But those ferns are all I could ask. You were lucky to get them so full and fresh. They make such a lovely setting for the lilies. But where are your lilies?’ There was a moment’s pause, then Doris found sorrowing speech. ‘ Oh, I hate to tell you, Miss Millicent, but we* have no lilies.’

‘No lilies !’ The speaker caught her fluttering breath sharply, as if in pain. ‘No lilies for our Lady’s altar on this, her sweetest feast? Oh,''my dear, dear children— ’ •

‘We tried everywhere,’ murmured the eager, apologetic chorus. ‘We all put in our pocket money and sent to every florist in town. But all the lilies have been bought up. The Lorimers are to have their first reception to-night since their return from abroad, and it is Lilian’s name flower, you know. So she has taken them all— ’

‘ Taken them all,’ repeated Miss Millicent. ‘ Taken all the lilies from our Lady. Little Lilian Lorimer. Oh, she would not, I am sure.’

‘ Oh, but she has,’ said Lena, with a wise little laugh. ‘Or her mother has for her, which is about the same. You haven’t heard about Lilian, Miss Millicent, and how she turned all the men’s heads in London last year. Some great English lord has followed her home, and they say the engagement will be announced to-night. The reception is to be something wonderful, the whole drawing-room banked with lilies and Lilian’s dress fit for a queen.’ , ‘Lilian!’ repeated Miss Millicent as if in bewilderment— ‘ My little child of Mary. Lilian, who helped me to dress the altar so often for this very feast. My little white-souled Lilian. Oh, she would not keep all the lilies from our Mother if she knew. I am going to tell her.’

‘ Oh, Miss Millicent, dear Miss Millicent, no, don’t go; you are took weak, too ill. And—-and— ’ Doris hesitated ‘ Lilian has been away two years, you know ; everybody says she is so changed, has grown so cold, so proud. Oh, please don’t go. ’ But Miss Millicent had risen resolutely and drawn her cloak about her.

cannot be. hurt very much, my dear children, as you know. I have been dressing our Lady’s altar for twenty years, before most of you were born. And this,’ she hesitated, ‘ will be the last ,time. So our Mother must have her lilies if I have to beg them from the little Lilian of long ago, let her be changed as she may.’ Miss Lorimer stood by the broad window of her reception room, looking out into wintry stretch of lawn and garden below. Chill and bare and sere asvwas the December scene, it seemed to allure her gaze, weary, perhaps, of the warmth and glow and luxury within; where the long rooms were vistas of summer greenery, the ' fountain plashed over waxen-leaved aquatic plants, the air was filled with the fragrance of the ' lilies that the florist was putting in place day lilies, Annunciation lilies, fall, snowy callas, with hearts of gold, her name flowers that were to bank mantles and windows, and rise spotless over all the glitter and gleam of the banquet table to-night. Her mother, in hep pride and triumph, would have it' so,'little guessing the memories the white flowers woke in the girl’s heart, memories that made her turn to the bare garden with tightening lips and shadowed

eyes. Ah, lilies had no place in scenes like this, she felt with a dull, dead pang in her chilled heart. Their pure white bloom would soon tarnish, in the garish light, they brought back to her hopes, dreams, visions that had dulled and darkened even as the lilies must in the world’s fierce glare. And as she stood there, held by some sweet, mute reproach in their fragrance, there came a light step on the threshold. . ‘Lilian, dear, I have knocked three times. May I come in?’ ‘Miss Millicent.’ The startled girl turned, feeling as if the lilies had suddenly found voice and word. ‘Dear, dear, Miss Millicent; why, I thoughtl heard— ’ and then her voice broke as she read con-

firmation of all she had feared on the wan, wasted, yet ..radiant face. . *

‘ That I was dying,’ said the visitor brightly, as she grasped Miss Lorimer’s outstretched hands. My dear, so I am. But I am not quite a ghost yet, though I look like one, no doubt.’ ‘ Oh, no, no, no,’ was the eager answer, and the girl drew her visitor to a .low chair arid sank down on a cushion at her feet. ‘You look like your own dear, sweet self, sweeter and lovelier, if possible. But I heard such sad things about you that—that—’ she broke off suddenly and questioned in lighter tone, ‘ When, where, how did you come here to-day?’ The door stood open for the florist,’ said Miss Millicent, ‘and being half a ghost, I asked no questions, but flitted in. The maid told me you were here and I found you. I want your help, Lilian, dear,’ the visitor, went on simply, as if this reigning belle of two hemispheres was still the little sodality girl that had filled vases and trimmed, tapers for her three years ago. ‘ To-morrow will be the feast of the Immaculate Conception.’ ‘ To-morrow,’ was the young lady’s low answer. ‘ Ah, so it will. I—l had forgotten.’ ‘ Forgotten !’ echoed Miss Millicent. ‘My little Child of Mary Forgotten?’ ‘Aye, forgotten ! all, everything,’ was the sudden outburst and the proud golden head of the queenly beauty sank upon her visitor’s knee. , '‘For how long, Lilian?’ asked Miss Millicent, softly. 1 Oh, months, years,’ the speaker lifted her head and looked recklessly into her visitor’s face. ‘ Don’t ask me to remember, dear old friend. It is too late, too late.’

‘ Forgotten,’ repeated the lady. ‘ You do not mean your faith, your Church, your God, Lilian?’ ‘ Yes, yes; all, all,’ was the quick answer. ‘ Don’t let us talk of it; it is no use. I—l have made my choice. You cannotyou would never understand, never understand !’

Ah ! yes, vaguely f dimly, as the light of some pure star struggled through the mist and vapors of earth. Miss Millicent understood.

She knew the call that had- sounded in this young heart in the first sweetness of its springtime. She knew the upward path from which Lilian had turned to dally in the flowering ways, that for God’s chosen ones lead into darkness and night. But with the clear insight of those in whom heaven’s radiance is'already breaking, she refrained fjom appeal or reproach. * My poor, poor child,’ was all she whispered ; and Lilian lifted the frail hand, as if it were a holy thing, to her lips, and then spoke in another tone. . ‘Now, how can I help you, dear Miss Millicent? You want something good of me, I know. For your poor—your church— altar. What, how much ? Fleece this lost lamb of yours for all that you need.’ ; And again the reckless tone and word pierced the .hearer’s gentle heart. She had thought to find vanity, forgetfulness, some blinding, dazzling glamor that would pass with the sobering years, but not darkness, ‘abandonment like this. .• . ‘No,’ said Miss Millicent, putting aside the silverlined'purse that Lilian dropped in her lap. * For once money does not r count. I have come to beg some of

your lilies for our Lady’s altar to-morrow. You have taken them all for your feast to-night, Lilian.’‘Taken them all all the lilies for my feast tonight,’ echoed the girl in a startled tone. - ‘All, the lilies.’ The thought seemed to stir some .long-slumber-ing depths in the speaker’s heart. ‘ Oh, Miss Millicent, dear Miss Millicent — a wretch I must seem. To take all-the lilies for my vanity, my folly.’ You did not know, dear,’ was the gentle answer. ‘ I was sure you did not know. You will give me some for our Lady’s altar; and it is only a sick woman’s fancy, but I feel as if I would like you to bring them yourself, and fill the vases as you used to long ago. It won’t keep you more than an hour, dear—and for —it will be the last time —Lilian, the last time.’ ‘ Oh, Miss Millicent, dear Miss Millicent, no, no,’ cried the girl brokenly. ‘ The last time,’ was the sweet, grave answer. ‘ You know it, dear. I know it. If I. could only leave you as I once hoped—a lily among the lilies, dear.’ ‘ Oh, my God ! if you could, if you could !’ was the cry that burst from Lilian’s lips as she flung her arm despairingly about the frail form and hid her tears on Miss Millicent’s breast. ‘"But I have strayed too far; too long.’ ‘lt is never too far or too long,’ was the lowbreathed answer, and the heart upon which Lilian leaned leaped with a joy divine. ‘Come back among the lilies and see—-’ ***** Again soft, sweet voices were murmuring in the sacristy as girlish hands busied themselves with tapers and flowers for the Easter altar'. ‘ Dear Miss Millicent,’ whispered Doris sadly, ‘ I feel as if she were watching us from heaven to-day. The altar will be beautiful enough to please her, I am sure —Lilian Lorimer will take care of that. She has just sent a waggon load of lilies.’ ‘ Her last Easter offering to St. Martin’s,’ said Father Brady, with a smile. ‘ Oh, Father !’ was the dismayed chorus, for Miss Lorimer had been a busy worker for the altar all the winter. ‘ She is not —not going to marry the English lord after all—’ ‘No,’ was the cheery answer. ‘ She is going to do something very much better. It ig no longer a secret, for she entered the Convent of the Cenacle this morning—thank God.’ — Church Progress. '