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

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to c:o forth from her body until Ho had blessed it by His aacbut
you c:ui guess the rest, Ag.
The joy was too much for her wasted frame -she died
: momeiit of unalterable! bliss."
There was a long pause, and when Francesco looked again
upon his young companion, he saw that Rhe could not speak,
so fast were the tears streaming from her blind eyes.
" To die of love ! it was indeed a death to die, more blessed
than any life could be," he added. There was another pause,
to the
and then Aguese whispered, in a voice which seemed,
old man's fancy, as the very echo of Colomba's :
" Oh, that the dove would descend once more, and give Him
to my prayers. "
" We must have patience a little longer fanciullina mia.
You are older than the little Saint of whom we have been
speaking, and soon Padro Giovanni will begin to talk of our
first communion."
" Soon ! do you think he will talk about it soon, Francesco?"
said Aguese, her whole face lighting up with a look of joyful
surprise.
" I must not reveal the Padre's secrets, " said the old man,
' '
smilingly ; only wait a very little longer, and then we shall
see but in the ;
meantime, dear Aguese, we will work for Jesus
with Martha, that we may have the happiness of res'.ing after-
No, no ; there is no fear of Perletta ; she is grown very
patient."
"Well, I am glad of that, Agnese. Adieu, my child."
Francesco left the vestry through another door, just as Agnese
opened the one by which she had entered it with him,
stumbling as she did BO over the old lady whom she had so
long and unwittingly left waiting on the outside. Determined
not to leave the church without speaking to the child, and yet
feeling too weary and tantalized to remain patient any longer,
she had just made up her mind to break in upon her conversation,
when, as we have seen, Agnese opened the door, and in
her blindness stepped directly upon her feet. The sufferer uttered
an involuntary scream, and then, as sufferers will upon
such occasions, she could uot resist saying in a petulant ione :
if you had not left your eyes be-
"You have hurt me, child ;
fore the altar, you might have seen that you were walking quite
over my feet; one would fancy you were blind,"
"Pardon me, Madam, " said the child, in a voice of distress,
but which had uot even the shadow of impatience in it "pardon
me, for I am blind."
" Blind ! Good God !" cried the old lady, "how cruel I must
"
have appeared !
holy expression of that face ;
or wure YOU, indeed, as I should think, born blind ?" , .
" 1 knmv not ; but I do not remember over to have
the light, Sign
" And are you here alone ? have you no one to lead you
home, my ch.U ?" asked her companion, now in a toi
teudrrest compassion.
'Si, Signora ; Perletta is waiting for me at the porch, nud
I can always go as far by myself. "
Without frying another word the old lady led hr>r down the
aisle, as far as the open gate of the church ; there the child
paused, and thanked ]n-r gently for her kindness.
"
I will trouble the Signora no farther," she said "the ; dug
will see me home. Perletta, Porletta !" but no Pe:
answered.
*
"
My child, no dog is here," said the old lady, anxiously.
" I fear it has forsaken you."
"What Khali I do !" said t-ho poor child, sadly. " My God !
what has become of Perletta ? Never but ouce before did sho
desert me in this manner.
" Whither do you wantto go, ipy child ?" asked the old lady,
more touched than ever by her forlorn look ami evident dis-
"
tress. Tell me uhere you wish to go, and I will gladly lead
you thither."
" The Signora is very good ; I thank hor with all my heart,"
wards at His feet with Mary. See, here are the little corporals
for the wash and ; remember, dear child, we are rather in
want of them just now."
" You shall have them by to-morrow morning, Francesco."
"
Nay, my child, you must not sit up all night to do it.
The sweet Jesus would never demand such a hard task of H.s
little one. Time enough, if you bring them to me in the evening."
" You shall have them in the morning, Francesco," replied
the child, in a tone of quiet resolution.
"
Adieu, Francesco."
"Adieu, my child. What have "
you done with Perletta ?
"I left her at the porch."
"Well, you have kept her a long time waiting. You had
better make haste and seek her, else, if you leave her alone
much longer, perhaps she will take it into her head to said the child, submissively.
"
It is only to my grandmother;
go home
without you, as she did once before, Agnese."
"
She has never played me such a trick but once, Francesco.
she sells lemonade in yonder grove ; perhaps the Signora knows
her a'ready, for she often deals out iced waters to the fine
ladies who leave their carriages to rest beneath the shadow of
the orange trees."
" The old woman who serves out water from the fountain,
is your grandmother ? I know her well a, ; many time have I
tasted her delicious lemonade. Come, my child, we shall soon
be there, and your grandmother shall give me a glass of iced
"
water for my rewnrd.
" He will give the Signora a better one, some day, I hope,
for her kindness to His poor blind lamb."
"
Tell me, what is your name, my child?" the old lady
asked again, as they took their way to the ornnj"
"I have said it, Siguora it is Agnese; that is for Iamb,
you know. So they cull me Blind Agueso ami sometimes in
;
sport, the children name me, also Little Spouse of the Blessed
Sacrameut."
" '
Little Spouse of the Blessed Sacrament ! said the lady in
an uuder-toue "what a ; strange name, and what a strange
child. And does not this blindness grieve you ?" she said
aloud.
The question sounded cruel, and the lady felt it did ; yet
she could not resist the temptation of trying to penetrate the
secret feelings of this child, who had interested her so
strangely.
There was no trace, however, of pain or regret upon
face as she answered :
" It would grieve me sadly, Signora, were it not for Him. "
" For whom, my child ? the old man I saw speaking to you
Agnese's
just n iw ?"
"
No, Signora, not Francesco, though he is a kindness and
a comfort also. I spoke of Francesco's Master and mine of
Jesus of Him who made us both of Him who dwelleth ever
with us on our altars."
"You speak of God, my child," said the lady, reverently.
"
He, in truth, is everywhere but ; you cannot see Him on
the altar."
"No, Signora ; but I know Him to be there. I feel that
He is with me, and I with Him, and so I do not want for
to see Him. "
" And is there nothing, then, you want to see?" T!i
And then she looked more steadily at the child, and she saw
that although the young face was turned towards her with an
expression of sympathy in suffering, the 1
eyes were not
lit .cil to hers as they would so naturally have been. The lids
were closed, the long lashes swept over her cheeks there was
no temptation to raise them, for sight there was none beneath.
"
Alas," poor child !" said she again, struck by the meek and
" how long have you been thus ?
lady went on, as it were iu her own despite, for she felt ail the
danger of awakening regret iu so thoughtful a mind. "The
light, for instance the glorious light of Heaven the sun, the
moon, the million of millions of stars that tell us of the glory
of their Maker?"
"
No," said the child, " for I have Him who made them,
'
'
and He Him. -< 'It' i ; tiie light of the world.
" Or the beautiful lace of nature the deep vtdley, the