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

6 TI;I:K TO Tt;
for a moment, and then directed her course rapidly towards
(tiilval Cairn. Tin- site that m/tr bears this name is but a con-
fined spot, covered with stones, ferns, and .n'orsc in the midst of
cultivated fields, and in fact but a remnant of the extensive
which, at the time of which we write, stretched almost to
:. Tin- young girl wandered across the Cairn, slop;
length at a spot where, some large pieces of rock surrounded by
tall ferns offered a sheltered and secluded retreat, such as she was
seeking for. Before retiring into this nook she stood for a mo-
ment contemplating the view beneath her. The rugged moors
sloped somewhat abruptly towards the sea, which lay calmly
cradled in the bay, circling with its arms the Mount, as a slgep-
iug child might some favorite plaything. On the left rose,
from among a clump of trees, the quaint old tower of Gulval
church, forming a picturesque object in the landscape. Catherine
could distinguish her aunt's cottage and the children playing
near it, and was glad to see that they had not followed her. She
now knelt down behind the rock, her figure concealed by the
ferns which reared their graceful forms on all sides. Opening
her prayer-book, she read the devotions for Mass, uniting herself
in spirit with those happier members of the Church who at that
moment were assisting at the Holy Sacrifice. The pious child
had just completed her devotions, when a sound, like a heavy
sigh, uttered quite close to her, made her look round. She was
not a little startled at seeing, standing behind her, an elderly
and benevolent in
woman. There was something very pleasing
her countenance; and her eyes were filled with tears as she gazed
with intense earnestness on the innocent girl. Catherine rose
from her knees. The woman who had quickly noticed her look
of surprise, at once addressed her.
'
Sweet child,' she said, 'ye think it strange that I should be
here watching you; but it did my heart good to see a Catholic
child praying here among the ferns, in a place where least I
thought to find the like." The stranger spoke with the accent
of one from the south of Ireland, and it sounded sweet to Catherine,
for it reminded her of her own mother's voice.
'
I know
you are a Catholic,' '
added the woman for here is a rosary, which
must be yours; it's a handsome one too. I found it on the moss
sparkling in the sun. It was lying near the heath-clump, just
there. Ah, sure I said, some Catholic has been by here ; and then
my heart beat for joy on seeing you.'
As she finished speaking she held out to Catherine the rosary,
which had been her constant companion since she was quite a
little child.
'
' Thank you, good friend, whoever you are,' said Catherine,
for the sympathy you show a poor child whom you have never
before seen. I need not ask you what is your religion, for you
must be a Catholic ; but I should like to know your name and
where you live.'
'
God's blessing be upon you! She was Irish! Ah! and it is
she who taught ye the true faith. Is it here she lives?' asked
Widow O'Reilly. Catherine could not answer, but the tears fell
quickly down her cheeks, which her kind friend perceiving, said
softly:
Lana-ma-chrena! (i. e. child of my heart), ye have lost her,
perhaps? But weep not so. The angels have taken her soul,
and the heavens are her bed. Let us sit down upon this rock,
and I will just tell ye something that will please ye to hear.'
So saying they both seated themselves, and the good woman
continued:
'
There are some Catholics here, and we often have the holy
For there is a Catholic gentleman nigh here who many
a time harbors a priest, God bless him! and sends for all the
people round to come to the chapel. Other times I get the
neighbors to come to me, and we say our prayers toi
Whenever ye like to come, ye are \
Thank you,' said Catherine; 'I shall lie glad to have some
one of my own religion to talk to and pray with.'
Where at all is it that ye live? for 1 ne'er saw ye before.'
'
I only came last week. I live now with my auut, Dame
Barnby.'
'
I know her well. . My house is not very far from her's, for
mine is the last -in the town, and her's is the first nut of it.'
Catherine heard kulh calling- her; so, bidding good-morning to
her aged friend, she run towards the cottage.
'
'
Where have you been? inquired her cousin.
Catherine told her of her new acquaintance, although she did
not repeat the conversation they had had.
' Widow O'Reilly is very good,' said Ruth; '
every one knows
her and loves her; when any person in the village are ill, she will
go and sec them, and she helps those that are poor. I remember
I was ill once, and she came and sat by my bedside and made me
drinks from goodly herbs.'
The two cousins now entered the cottage.
CHAPTER IV.
IT was midsummer's eve. The fiery sun of June was on its
decline, a refreshing breeze blew from the ocean, the waves rippled
lazily over the yellow sands; St. Michael's Mount, on the
western side, was bathed in a flood of light, the broken outline
of its ivy-clad sides standing sharply defined against the unclouded
sky of that beautiful evening.
The shadows lengthened as the sun gradually sunk on the hor-
izon, and at length was lost, leaving only a faint reflection of its
glory in the golden clouds. Then the scene became enveloped in
the soft and pleasant glimmer of twilight; this again yielding in turn
to the more dark shades of night, till the outline of rocks, hills,
and trees grew more and more indistinct.
Suddenly, and as if by magic, the whole town and neighorhood
became illuminated. From the Mount, from Marazion,
from Newlyn and Mousehole shone forth fires, whose reflec-
tion in the still ocean enhanced the splendor of the vision. In
a few minutes the whole bay glowed with a girdle of flame.
The inhabitants hurried through the streets, some bearing tor-
ches, some singing quaint old ballads, others laughing and talk-
ing. The children especially seemed overjoyed, and joining
hands they commenced the game of thread-the-needle, running
through the streets vociferating, 'An eye, an eye! '
Catherine had come with her cousins to see the festivities which
'
My name? It is Bridget O'Reilly. I keep a shop in the town;
perhaps you have noticed the sign-board with Widow O'Reilly
on it. Many is the long year 1 have at Penzance always celebrated the summer solstice.
While the latter joined in the sports, the young girl, whom a
spent here since I came
more serious disposition and recent sorrows rendered less in-
over the sea from my own dear Ireland.'
clined to take part in those riotous games, stood watching with
a quiet
'From Ireland!' exclaimed Catherine. O, that was
enjoyment
dear
mother's country; I love the Irish. She has often told me
about them.'
the novel and striking scene; the beautiful
effect of the bright blazing fires, and the strange appearance of
the groups as they moved about amidst the glare of the torches.
At length the children by their noisy mirth attracted her atten-
tion. Suddenly, the joyous band would stop, the two lust in
the string elevating their clasped hands and forming a large eye,
through which all the rest must pass. As she stood watching
them, she happened to look across the street, and noticed a man
standing half concealed in a small archway, who seemed desirous
of avoiding observation, for he leant close up against the,
wall. His guise was that of a traveler. A person with a torch
just then passing threw a strong light on his features; and
no sooner had they become visible than Catherine recognized
with astonishment the priest who had attended her dying
mother, and had so often visited in disguise the city of Exeter.
Yes, it was Father Ralph. She could not mistake those fea-
tures, on which a long life of virtue and suffering had imprinted
a m.ijesty, while they still retained the energy of youth. Tins
zealous priest had been educated and received Holy On I