A Complete Story

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LI, Issue 46, 19 November 1924, Page 11

A Complete Story

THE VERY LAST TIME (By Fbaxces L. Trew in the Messenger of the Sacred Heart.) The Rev. Edward Kenelm-C'arew sipped his tea in silence with his blonde intellectual head slightly turned from the tall brunette girl. Margaret Leland looked abstractedly out of the drawing-room window at the falling autumn leaves. Presently she let the rich lace curtains fall in place, and stepped back to the tea-wagon and poured out a cup of tea which she carried .into the next room. "Aunt Leila is determined to sit there and read," she said as she passed from the drawing-room into a long handsome library. A querulous voice could be heard in some muttered complaint and Margaret's soft tones in remonstrance. Then she returned to the drawing- room and stood looking down at the Rev. Edward as he continued silently to sip his tea. "We waste time," returned the young man slowly. "You have not answered my question of ton minutes ago, by the way." "It's the very last time," returned Margaret in a determined voice. "You know how much I dislike these cases of yours. Last month it was a dying Irishman and the month before that of an Italian girl. You can't make decent Episcopalians of them. Why do you try?" The young man looked serious. "It is my calling." Margaret laughed mirthlessly. "I tell you, Edward, I do not like such cases. You know I love to visit the hospitals and the homes of our poor and do all I can for them —but these—these poor, benighted children of another faith—l mean benighted because they have drifted. Do you know," with sudden energy, "what I should do if I were a minister?" The Rev. Edward Kenelm-Carew looked interested. "I should call in the nearest Catholic priest," said Margaret emphatically. . The young clergyman threw out his hands deprecatingly. "My dear Margaret, if you were a (minister, you would do nothing of the kind." "I guess I know what I would do," retorted the girl. "You do not," he cried warmly. "You know what Margaret Leland would do and -so do I —always something eccentric." Again she laughed. "I think you are eccentric." "I shall be glad when I have you under control," he laughed. The girl's face saddened. "If—" she drew a long breath. He glanced at her quickly. "We shall be very happy in spite of our opposite views of things." "Of course," 'she assented, "but this is positively the last time you send me proselytising Catholics. I will go to see this girl to-morrow, but I shall certainly not talk religion to her." W= "Nobody asked you to do so," he retorted almost sullenly. That is my share of the work. .She is a lovely girl." . '/What did you say her name is?" "Margaret O'Donnell."

"Why her baptismal name is the same as mine," mused Margaret, "and you. say she has long dark curls and deep gray eyes like mine. Would it not have been lovely if she had been my sister? I should love dearly to have a little sister only seventeen years of age ! Edward, she must be perfectly happy in her religion'born and brought up in —and—really, the Irish are a glorious race!" "Of course they are," assented the Rev. Edward. . "Is this family very poor?" "Yes—there has been all sorts of troubles. They are almost destitutethrough no fault of their own." "Oh!" cried Margaret indignantly, "that is what vexes me so with so many Protestants. They always seize upon some poor struggling immigrant and try to buy away his faith with money and foodthe very necessities of life!" The young man's face flushed. "You know it, Edward. You would not dare call at Donovan's across the way and try to make a convert of the ' old millionaire renegade." The Rev. Edward Kenelm-Carew- rose with dignity and took his hat. "I will go," said Margaret, "but remember it is the very last case." There was a half smile upon her lips as she watched the .clergyman, down the darkening street; then once more the curtains fell into place and Margaret sat musing in the dark room until once more the querulous voire of Aunt Leila broke the silence. "Oh, Margery, when you get into that beautiful world, remember your poor little namesake on earth." Two pretty brunette heads were close together and the brown curls mingled upon a snowy pillow, for Margery O'Donnell was dying and Margaret Leland knelt by hexside. "We two have been so happy together, sighed Margaret. "It—it is cruel to part." The dying Margery smiled happily. "I am so happy, dear Margaret. I have had such a happy life! But in Heaven there is my own mother, my father, my brothers and sisters who loved me most on earth—and then there is the dear Blessed Mother of God, whose child I have been all any life. I was dedicated to her when I. was only three days old. But above all there is our dear Lord. You know, Margaret, I have been hoping, praying, all my life, that God would allow me to be a nun, but the convent refused because of my poor health, and I yearn to go to my chosen Spouse. I feel as though it were my bridal morn. You will think me fanciful, but last night I made Nancy sing the Bridal Chorus to me. Hasn't she a beautiful voice—my little cousin Nancy? Some day she will make the name of O'Donnell famous." "She shall not lack for a chance," sighed Margaret, "for your sake, I will take her to Europe. I will adopt the. two little boys— oh, Margery, why cannot I keep you? I love you so!" "You can still love me, and I will shower blessings on you daily," replied Margery. "I shall he rich and powerful when I reach the court of the King and become a maid of honor to the Queen—even though I be the last in her train." "Does Edward still come in to talk to you?" asked Margaret after a little pause. "I ha.ve not seen him lately." "Last year he came quite frequently. But since he met my brother, he has not come so often. I think it strange, because they seemed to like one another so much." "Ho says he is busy," replied Margaret. "He does not come to see me any more. Can you guess why, Margery?" Margery smiled sympathetically. "You are not unhappy, Margaret?" "No," holding out her left hand. "You see the beautiful solitaire is gone, however. I am taking instructions from your Reverend brother, and I hardly thought a Catholic would make a good wife for a Church of England clergyman ——and I suppose he agreed with me." Margaret laughed a little mischievously. "Besides there was Patrick." Margery's great grey eyes opened very widely. "My other brother, Patrick "No less," sighed Margaret happily. "It was well that Edward and I found out in time that

ywe were not really in love. Shall I tell you another secret —something which has happened since?" Margery nodded: "Yes, please do tell me." "I should not be at all surprised," continued Margaret, "if the Reverend Edward changed his seminary before the year was out. And just think what you have done in these two years we have known you?" "I?" cried Margery, and-then she grew suddenly silent. How impatient she had felt when the kindly doctor had Jiirst told her that her days were numbered— she had rebelled at the thought of months of weakness and inaction Upon a bed, only to drift slowly and painfully into a grave in all her youth and beauty. For Margaret had been gay and had realised her beauty and talents, and looked forward to pleasure and happiness in a long and useful life on earth. Could it be possible that she —poor little obscure Margery, a dying consumptive, had brought these two into the fold of Christ? "You are trying to cheer me," she said, patting Mar- ■ garet's hand while a tear stole down her cheek. "No, it was what you said the first day that I came, and it was because of what you said to Edward that he came back to see your brother and. ——and so —we owe it all to you, and above all, to your sweetness and patience and your wonderful faith." Suddenly the great soft eyes of Margery closed wearily. "Oh, Margery, I am tiring you," cried Margaret contritely. "I will come back to-morrow, my darling." And Margaret bent and kissed the lips of her friend. But on the morrow only waxen candles shone out to greet her and symbolise the faith of Margery.