Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

ook bad fallen frsm his hand and was lying unheeded on the
carpet at his feet. After his last visit to the windnv
quiet jind still, that, but for the sigh which every now ami then
1 1 him, and the tear which a close observer might have
"Poor, poor fellow," involuntarily murmured the priest, as
a tear slowly trickled down his cheek.
" Beati qui hi Domino
moriuntur," " Blessed are the dead who die ill the Lord," he
continued, in a low voice, as if unconscious of the presence of
hia servant. Then turning to her, he "
said, Say that I will
be with him in a few moments. And, Margaret," he added
"don't forget to say your beads for him, for his death-bed
though blessed in the sight of God, is but lonely and desolate
as far as this world is concerned."
"Oh ! many, many is the Rosary I have said for him, poor
suffering child," answered the old woman, weeping, as she
spoke, "and although he little needs the prayers of such as I,
still I shan't forget him now, when he is passing away from
this world of trouble, to receive his reward for all that he has
Buffered here."
By this time the priest had completed his hasty preparations,
and passing for a moment into the chapel which adjoined his
house, he took from their repository the holy oils with which
the priests of the Church are ordered to anoint the sick in the
name of the Lord (St. James, v. 14, 15), and then opening the
door of the tabernacle, where the love of the "Adorable" keeps
him, night and day, waiting with anxious longing to minister
to those for whom He has done and suffered so much, he took
from it the Most High, in order to administer the Viaticum to
tne dying man, and carefully placing It in his bosom, in a
moment more ho was in the cold wet street, struggling with the
every house along the way would worshippers have come forth
to swell the grateful train that \
was but too blest in be;
mitted to accompany Him on His journey of love. Oh 1 for
the good old times, when, when will yo return win:
THE TWO VICTORIES.
for coldness and neglect, and the victim of love be no longer
lii-wuil the huso ingratitude of those whom He canae to
save ?
But whilst Father Eustace is hurrying on as fast as the vio-
-Ted coursing down his cheek, we might have sii)
that, overcome by the fatigues of the day, he had fallen off into
a gentle slumber.
He had sot thus some half-an-hour, when a sudden ringing
of the bell recalled him to himself, and told him, but too
plainly, that his labors were not yet over.
Now, naturally speaking, it is not a pleasant thing, after a
day of hard and laborious work, to be called out again into the
cold damp streets just as you have settled yourself down for a
comfortable night with some favorite author. Under such
circumstances the most general answer, which the unwelcome
messenger would receive, would be a decided "Not at home."
But not BO with Father Eustace. He was the father of the
poor. He was their servant, and ever at their beck, and, therefore,
the book was at once laid aside, and before his aged
servant knocked at the door of his room, he was already preparing
for the " call" which he knew full well awaited him.
"Well, Margaret, another call to-night. What is the matter
now?"
" Oh sir, poor Mr. Stanhope is '
f the storm will permit him, we will take tho opportunity
of introducing our readers to some of the other personages who
will figure in this story of real life.
sinking fast, and he would
like to see you again before he dies, if you would kindly visit
CHAPTEE H.
TNTBODUCES MB. STANHOPE, A LONDON MERCHANT. LOVE 'AND
PHIDE.
MB. STANHOPE was a London merchant of great wealth nnd
influence. When comparatively a young man he had been left
a widower, with two children, a boy, named Edwin, and a girl,
named Maria. He was a stern, hard man; possessing to all
appearance, but few of the gentler and better feelings of our
nature. In all matters, whether appertaining to his business
or to the management of his large and magnificent mansion, he
was a perfect model of exactness and precision. His calm,
cold, self-possession was never for a moment disturbc
wherever he went he spread around him an atmosphere of
chilling coldness, which was at once so painful and so apparent
that few sought to mingle with him in those more fu
him."
relations which are so dear to most of us. Hia will was iutlexi-
ble, and woe to the clerk in his house of business, or to the
domestic in his mansion, who dared to question it. For
he had reigned (so to speak) with absolute sway in his own
sphere, and the self-will which naturally formed so prominent
a part in his nature, had become so strongly developed by the
unreserved submission of all about him, that he himself was
scarcely aware of the fearful strength which this unrestrained
passion had acquired in him. Cold, haughty, passionless, as
he seemed to be, there was, however, one tender feeling within
his breast, and that was an nrdent love for his children. The
only times his haughty brow relaxed were when his children
climbed his knee, or hung around his neck in all the tr;
confidence of childhood. At such times he would smi!>
kissing them, try to speak to them with love and tenderness ;
but it was a failure, and he felt it so. The words fell stra
from his lips ; the cold,
stern man was too much frozen to
melt so easily, and putting them gently away, he would often
sigh heavily and bitterly as the conviction forced itself upon
him, that he could not be tender; and whilst they, timidly
withdrawing from him into a distant part of the room, would
amuse themselves, but always quietly, and with an unnatural
fear of disturbing him, his brow would grow darker and darker,
his lips would become more and more tightly compressed, as
blustering wind as he hurried on his way.
Out in the cold dark night, hurrying through the searching
wet and mud, bending hii head towards the earth to shield his
face from the driving rain, with It in his bosom and yet there
is no light to accompany It there is no bell to tell of Its
approach there is no hymn no prayer, but what is uttered
by the priest as he hurries on. The he gazed upon them, the bitter conviction all the while burying
passengers, as they brush
itself deeper and deeper in his heart, that his own children
were afraid of him; and yet, how he loved them ! They were
the only objects in the world for which he cared. Men said
he cared for gold, because they saw him so exact in his attention
to the business transacted by the house of which he was
the head; but they did not know him. He was concerned f< >r
the prosperity of his house, and watched over it with the
utmost care and exactness but it was not so much on account
;
p;vst him in the street, know not that they stand in the very
presence of their Clod, but hasten by, all unconscious of the
mystery of love and sacrifice. Oh ! for the days gone by the
good old times when the of the immense wealth it laid at his feet, as because it w:
priest of God would not have had
to pass along with It within his bosom and none to pay It
homage; but when _blazing lights, and sounding bells would
have told the dying man that the pledge of his redemption was
already coming to him that tho Adorable was near tit hand to
waft his trembling soul to tho home of its eternity when from
because his name was mixed up with it, because it was a part
of his importance and standing amongst men. The mere gold
he despised, and he would sign the papers transferring thousands
of pounds with a kind of refined disdain which it would
be difficult to analyze. He used it, ha disposed of 1 .
it,
tered it about; but he never seemed to forget that it \vas
fruit of his iuti.'llect, the offspring of his calenhit:
the unbending power of hia will; in a word, he
much as he could see that he owed its j
siou to himself for itself, he despised it.
Such v, as Mr. Stanhope, a cold, stern man,
almost crushed by
at all strorg within him,
the 1:
with b;