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

" "
A grandmother, dear Grace ?
"Yc-s, Aguesc; the mother of th-s throo brothers is still alive.
She had a high spirit aod a noble heart; and when s':o found
the part her youngest 1mm hud played in this dome
she sent him word that she would never look upon his face
again. She would neither break tlie bread nor drink tiio cup
with one who was a renegade to God a traitor lo his blood.
So she shook the dust i'rom off her feet, and went forlh
from the lialls of Nettervillo forever."
" "
Arid then ? said Agnese.
" And then, like her eldest son, she sought first a refuge in
the cottage of a peasant, but filially followed the fortunes of
Francesco, in whom she has concentrated the affections she has
taken from his brother. He is, indeed, her rich consolation
for the disgrace which has fallen on her name. She loves him
as a saint, reveres him as a martyr ; and poor, and old, and
never for an instant have I repented of my words. But my
task is nearly over. She is very old now broken down, perhaps,
less by age than by the heavy sorrow which has come
upon her through her children. Every day may be her last ;
and I almost pray that the last may bo soon."
"She longs to see Jesus, I suppose," said Agnese, inno-
cently.
"It is not that! it is not that !" said Grace Nettervilli ,
clenching her hand, and speaking through her closed teeth.
" But he will soon be taken in their toils; and, once taken, will
be executed by martial law that is to say, without judge or
jury, justice or mercy. They nave marked him for their prey;
and oh ! how I trust she may bo dead, if it be only one day or
hour, before they have succeeded in hunting him to his'doom.
Think, Agnese, think what a blow for the mother's heart, to
know that her second Cain has shed the blood of his brother
Abel."
" Good God ! Is it, then, Squire Nettervillo who is hunting
down his biother ? "
" It is, indeed, he who has lodged information of a rebel
priest lurking in the neighborhood. But, O Agnese !
cried Grace, speaking with a kind of agony in her voie uud
BUS, and Jesus has abandoned him to the devices of his
own heart even to the unconscious seeking of his brother's
blood."
'
Terrible ! terrible I it is indeed Agnese," said Grace; sit-
ting down, and covering her face with both her hands.
" We will not speak proudly or harshly of him," the blind
child continued, kneeling down, and taking (/race Ne.trrvillo's
hand in hers.
" We will pity and forgive him we will ; pray
.11 we will even love him I
; Jesus
who . loved him once who loves him, per. at this in-
/,'/,/.\7> Jf/.YA'A'A'. 19
t, for the future penance by which he Will repay th past
sins of his life."
" Ueur A.'/neKe, what a sweet little saint you are," said
Grace, s too i utly to kiss her forehead. "Would that I
could feel as you do !"
" We will pray for him, most especially,
nese went on to say. "We will pray for
to-morrow," Ag-
him in our wild
chapel by the seashore, when Jesus descends in the midst of
us, and for om- unkes n poses on tho hard rock, instead of the
golden altars, to which in happier lands, He is invited ; then
we will pray to Him with all our hearts and souls for this unhappy
man. We will say to Him : my God, I give Thee all,
my own interests and the interests of all who are dear to me
my hopes, and fears, and joys, and. sorrows ; the life of this
dear uncle, and the heartbreak of his mother. I abandon them
to Thee ; I will ask nothing for them or for myself ; only grant
paralytic as she is, she often says she is happier with her
priestly son in his cave by the seashore than ever she was amid
the rank and riches of her sunnier hours. "
" And you, dear Grace ? It makes me sad to think that you
should have so poor a home while I, who have really been
used to poverty from my childhood, am set at my ease in yonder
castle."
"Console yourself, my own Agnese ; the cottage or the cave,
by the wild sea waves, is the home of my choice. When I
asked to be allowed to leave my convent in order to nurse my
dear old grandmother, my uncle represented to me tho sort of
life I would have to lead, and she herself wrote to dissuade me
from the .
project. But I answered almost in the words of Ruth:
' The land that shall receive theo dying, in the same will I
die, and there will I be buried : the Lord do so and FO to me,
and add more also, if aught but death part me and thee. '
me,
And
in exchange, the conversion of him who has caused all our
sorrow."
"Surely, dear child, He will grant you such a prayer as
that."
"
Sure He will," answered the Little Spouse, with a look of
loving confidence.
"
Other things the sweet Jesus may deny
us but ; mercy'He never refuses, whether we ask it for ourselves
or for another."
' ' You put me to the blush, Agneae. I thought I had forgiven
him long ago, but I see it was only with half a heart,
while you have done it with a heart and a balfe Well, you
will see to-morrow how fervently I will pray for the man's conversion.
"
"Do not call him 'man' that "
way," pleaded Agnese. Do,
dear Grace, try to think of him as your uncle, and yet more as
the creature of Christ Jesus crucified, who suffered for him,
and died for him as well as for us all."
"Yes, it is very true," thought Grace Netterville, as she
stepped into the little boat which was to convey her to her
home among the rocks. "Squire
Netterville is the creature of
Christ crucified, and my father's brother ; my own uncle, and
tho uncle of the only real little angel I ever met with on earth
and that is Aguese."
CHAPTER V.
THE day was dark and stormy, the boat tossed roughly on
the waters, and Agnese shivered with fear and cold, as the
spray dashed wildly over her face and person.
" You are cold, Agnese," said her sister, the sole other occupant
of the boat, and manager of its oars.
"
I am afraid," the blind child answered; " it seems so strange
to be tossing up and down so wildly, and not to know the rea-
son why."
Grace Netterville took the cloak off her own shoulders, and
manner, " I would not do the man injustice I do ; not believe
he knows the wrong he is doing I ; not believe he knows him
to be his brother and sometimes ; I have half been moved to
go to him and say, ' he for whom you are weaving the hangman's
rope, is the son of your mother.' But then I dared not
do it I could not risk the life of the noble and ;
the kind upon
the chance repentance of such a man."
" O Grace, do not speak of him so it round her sister.
"
There, dear child," she said, in her most cheerful voice :
"
with your pretty dress beneath, and my
proudly. His sin is terrible
but think how terrible his doom. He has cast ofF Jc-
old frieze above, you
look like a traveling fairy, or a princess in disguise. But
would you rather I should put back to land ? It is a wild
morning, and almost too rough for you."
"Oh, no," cried Agnese, after a moment's hesitation, " I
am going to Him, so I ought not to be afraid."
" You need not, dear one. Did not Peter walk to Him in
over the stormy waters ? and why not
"
you ?
I will
put
"Thank you, Grace, for putting me in mind of that ;
think of it, and try not to be afraid again."
Grace said no more, for the storm was rising fast, and it was
all she could do to manage her little vessel at ; last, however,
she succeeded in Hearing the little island towards which its
course had been directed, and in guiding it into a creek, serv-
ing as an entrance to one of those caves everywhere so common
on that part of the Irish coast, and with which this little
islan/, 'ilar, was almost honeycombed throughout.
The se.a peueiru'led a considerable way beneath the rocks,