The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVIII, Issue 49, 6 December 1900, Page 23

The Storyteller.

STANMORE GRANGE.

•This, M. le Cure, must be my farewell visit, I fear, for I am asriously thinking of turning my face towards England's shores once more.'

The good Cure tapped hid miaH-box preparatory to openin"- it and before replying helped himself to a liberal ipinch of its contents.

( Well, my good young friend,' he said. ' much as I shall regret your absence, I think your decision a wise one. When looking at you I often say to myself— sot to voce, you know—" Why stand you here all the day idle ?" ' J ' Come now, Monsieur, don't be too hard,' protested the young man ; • have I not ever hoped that some day or other you would hold out to me the possibility of aspiring to better and holier things?'

The Cure closed his snuff-box with a sharp click, i. 'Noneed, my dear boy, to open up that question again. I think I nave already told you very emphatically that among the many graces bestowed upon you by Almighty God, He has not seen fit to include that of a vocation to the religious life nor the holy priesthood ; you have, however, many duties in another state of life to fulfil. It is now three years since you came of age, and what have you done ? Your estate is left entirely in the hands of your agent ; are you sure that he administers justice and kindness to all those over whom he has control, or. on the other hand, may he not be using the means within his reach to serve only his own ends and purposes?'

Ceoil Stanmore's handsome face bore an expression of eravitv as he listened. '

• You are right. Monsieur,' he said ; ' I have been a very foolish young man indeed. Though I never intended to shirk my duty, I see I have been very remiss, bub I will endeavor now to make reparation to the best of my ability.' •Have you seen the new statue of St. Anthony just erected in the ohurch ? ' Bsked the Cure.

'No, Monsieur, I have ouly just returned from Bruges, where I have been staying for a couple of weeks,' replied Cecil. « Well, then, my dear son, this is, as I am sure you already know, the Feast of St. Anthony ; go now and pray to him. I have v v XS a P. owerfnl advocate '• to find the right partner " for those who ask him, and I wish you would also say a prayer for the soul of the generous benefactor who gave the statue.' Cecil Stanmore reverently knelt with bowed head to receive the good pneats blessing, and a tear dimmed the Cure's eye as he warmly shook his young friend's hand. The Cure stood where his young friend left him, gazing into ■pace. It was a novelty for the busy priest to indulge in day dreams bat at that precise moment he was oblivious of his surroundings— his memory had flown back to thirteen years before when he first knew Cecil, a bright and happy little boy of eleven. At that time the good Cure, broken down in health from excessive and unremitting labor in a large and scattered parish lying on toe outskirts of the old Belgian capital, was compelled to abandon his arduous duties for a while in order to regain the strength that had been so severely strained and shattered. Gladly, therefore, had ne availed himself of the proffered tutorship of Cecil Stanmore • it was just the thing he wanted. '

% Cecil was a somewhat delicate boy, having just recovered from a serious illness, and being an only child there was no care his parents would not bestow and lavish upon him. He was deemed too delicate, for a time at least, to rough it at school with other boys His parents, therefore, thought themselves happy and privileged in securing the services of the good Cure. The Cure had his own method of imparting knowledge ; he almost discarded books. Nature was the book from which he chose to draw his lessons, and skilfully and cleverly he explained to his pupil the wonders that are written on the gigantic pages of the great universe around us .. J? 6011 thus pleasantly and easily acquired knowledge ;he and the Cure would sometimes make little journeys together across the briny deep, and occasional sojourns on Brittany's sunny coast soon proved of inestimable benefit to both tutor and pupil ; it brought the rosy tint of health to the boy's cheek and renewed strength and Vigor to the priest's shattered constitution, and after a lapse of two years he returned in sound and perfect health to take up once more the work that lay so near to his priestly heart— that of ministering to the spiritual wants of his much beloved flock. But in those two years there had sprung up a tender affection and deep attachment between master and pupil. Cecil Stanmore made his devotions before the Blessed Sacrament and then turned his attention to the newly erected statue of St. Anthony, the aspect of which pleased his artistic eye and devotional mind immensely ; it represented the saint in his usual posture, holding in one hand the white lily of purity and in the other a book on which stood the Infant Jesus caressing the saint with infinite tenderness. Cecil thought he had never seen a more devotional or hfe-hke statue.

He knelt on, heedless of the flight of time, though he scarcely gave utterance to vocal prayer. His mind reverted to the years that .were irretrievably past and gone. He blamed himself for shirking duties that had been laid upon him, but there ehould be an end to it now he resolved, and he would in real earnest take up the responsibilities of life. In his bereavement and loneliness his heart yearned more than ever for the sympathy of his old friend the Cure of St. Etienne, whom he ever regarded as his 'friend, philosopher, and guide.' He now olung to him with still greater aneotaon ; he was the one link between the desolate present and the *»PPJ. joyous past. *

The trustees appointed an agent to look after the estate during Cecil 8 minority, and the young man returned to the Continent to continue the studies that had been interrupted by bis parents' deaths Time went on and at last he came of age, but still he lingered, shrinking from the thought of returning to his onoe happy a T° be _ th( \ heiraild Bole possessor of Stanmore Grange and all the rich, broad acres appertaining thereto wan a position calculated to make many a young man swell with pride, but pride and pomposity had no share in Cecil's composition. How long Cecil knelt there before Ft. Anthony's statue reviewing the past and making generous resolutions for the future he knew not, so absorbed waa he in his own reflections. He thought he was alone, but in this he was mistaken. He was aroused at last from his reverie by the movement of a fagnre draped in deep mourning. It was a young girl who had knelt there long m deep and silent prayer. She rose to go now, however, but before doing so approached the statue to light ud a votive candle. X F

Cecil s eyes followed her movements, and artist that he was he could not fail to be struck with the rare beauty of her countenance —so sweet, so pure, so gentle. But as he stole a second glanoe ha perceived sorrow and suffering were evidently depicted on the fair young face ; the flickering light from the candle revealed a laree. bright tear glistening like a diamond on the dark, long lashes Margaret Seager, after paying this last tribute to St. Anthony in the ohurch she loved so well, tried to stifle the sob that rose like a lump in her throat. When would she stand again within the precincts of that saored edifice, she wondered? Never again. perhaps ! With anguish she thought of the dear remains of him who beneath the eof t, freshly-disturbed turf was sleeping his last sleep. * ° Overcome with a Bense of her loneliness and her loss, she hastily quitted the church without perceiving she had dropped her rosary It caught, however, Cecil's quick eye, and he stooped to pick it up! intending to follow the retreating figure, but his artistic appreda: tion and love of the beautiful arrested his progress and made him pause for a moment to admire its exquisite beauty and workmanship. It was the finest specimen he had ever seen— mother-of-pearl beads moat elaborately mounted in elegantly-wrought silver He hurried then to overtake the young lady, but, alas ! he was too late. Just as he reached the church door she had entered a carriage and was being driven rapidly away. Suppressing an exclamation of annoyance Cecil placed the rosary in his pocket ; the only thing then to be done was to hand it to the Cure. Doubtless he could easily restore it to the owner Once more he presented himself in the Cure's presence • J viß<v iB< Monsieur,' he »id f drawing forth the rosary, • was dropped in the church by une jeune demoiselle.. I have brought it to you that you may return it to her.'

In a moment the priest recognised the rosary ' Quel dom mage; he exclaimed, putting his hand up to his forehead and slowly allowing it to travel across his bald head, ' la pattvre petite ! How grieved she will be.'

'But, Monsieur, surely it will be an easy matter to return it to her the next time she comes to churoh ? '

'^on, man garcon,; replied i the Cure, 'she has started for Ostend, and to-morrow she intends crossing over to England. Well. I must send it through the post now ; but meanwhile I know how sorry she will be thinking- she has lost it.' 'She seemed to be in deep mourning,' said Cecil, interested enough to try and glean a little further information, 'Yes, indeed, poor child ! She has passed through the crucible of suffering. Left an orphan when a mere baby, she was adopted by her aunt and uncle-in- law who, being childless, bestowed upon her the wealth of their deep affection. They lived in Brussels a portion of every ,year, so they had become great friends of mine. About a year ago Monsieur had the misfortune to lose his good wife • he and his niece sought to find solace in their sorrow by travelling After journeying around they had settled down here again, when unfortunately Mr. Oldham was taken ill and died suddenly. But there the trouble did not end ; no will was found, and the whole of his property, which he intended leaving to his adopted daughter was claimed by a cousin (of whom he had known very little and cared for still less) as being the next of kin ; the poor girl is consequently left without means, for being his wife's nieoe only, she inherits nothing according to law, but I trust St. Anthony will now befriend her.

• What a sad history,' said Cecil sympathetically, * and what will the poor young lady do now I wonder ? '

♦Oh, she ia brave, so brave!' said the Care; 'she is quite crashed, it is true, at the death of her adopted parents, but as for the monetary loss, she does not seem to mind that at all. Her intention ia to seek a situation in the teaching line, for she is highly accomplished ; with that object she has returned to England to stay with a friend while she looks out for a position that will suit her. Let me see, I have her address about me ,1 think. Voila ! here it is — care of Mrs. Lamoureux '

' Surely not living at 13, South Parade, H ,' broke in Cecil excitedly. ' Exactly,' Baid the Care, looking up in surprise. 'Do you know her ? * ' Why, she is no other than my respected godmother,' replied Cecil ; she has only recently settled in H , and, as you already know, that is the nearest town to Stanmore Grange, and it was my intention to ride over and see her on my return. If you like, Monsieur, I will keep the rosary, and when I go home I will oall on Mrs. Lamoureui without delay.' 'Very good, my young friend, that is a very satisfactory arrangement,' said the Cure, feeling relieved of a responsibility and with a few more adieux Ceoil departed. Gathering together his belongings, he started on the following day for Bruges, where he wan detained by business a little longer

than he anticipated ; however, he set sail at laat for England to take up his residence in his beautiful Sussex home. 11. After an absence of several years Cecil Stanmore stood once more beneath the portal of his ancestral home, unexpected and unannounced. All nature was arrayed in her most festive adornment at this home-coming of ■ the young squire,' aa he was commonly called. __ Cecil was deeply touched at the acclamations of delight with which he wab received on all sidco and in every direction. It the dawn of a new era for those poor people who had suffered much since the dece&oe of the squire and his lady. Cecil was not unmindful of the rosary in his charge and he was impatient to restore it as speedily as possible to its owner, but unavoidable business with his agent detained him for a few days, and more than a week had elapsed from the day he found it before he had his horse saddled and set forth on his projected visit to his godmother, Mrs, Lamoureux. * » m ' There, I do think St. Anthony ought to grant my petitions now. Don't you think so, dear Mrs. Lamoureux ? This is the last day of the novena, you know.' The speaker had just finished placing some exquisite roses around the small statue that stood on a bracket in Mrs. Lamoureux's drawing-room, and she concluded her sentence by turning her ■weet, expressive countenance towards her friend. Mrs. Lamoureux had ceased her embroidery, and herjhands lay idly in her lap as she watched Margaret's deft fingers so tastefully arranging the flowers. • I do think he ought to send your rosary, dear, but as for the other petition, oh, Margaret, I was just thinking and hoping that St. Anthony had sent me a daughter, and you a home. My dear, I wish you would never leave me.' Margaret came over and sat down on a low Btool near Mrs. Lamoureux. • Dearest and best of friends,' she said, ' I know you would spoil me if you could, bnt I cannot consent to be a burden on you always. lam poor [now and must work >for my living, for you know I lost everything at my uncle's death, but don't think I have any regrets about that — no, indeed.' Mrs. Lamoureux looked down sympathetically at her young friend, who continued : ' Now, I have asked St. Anthony to find me such a place, and although I want him to send me my rosary without delay, well,' she added with a smile, ' I am not going to hurry him over the other matter. Let me see — this is June, and if he would find for me a suitable place in September I should enjoy three months of your society — that is, if you will be burdened with me for so long a time, dear Mrs. Lamoureux.' Mrs. Lamoureux took hold of her hand. ' Well, Maggie,' she said, ' I have given ear to all you have to say : now you in turn must listen to my plans. In the first place, as for being a burden to me, you know that is absurd and all nonsense. What I propose But all further conversation was here interrupted by the announcement of a visitor. ' Mr. Cecil Stanmore.' Mrs. Lamoureux arose and faced the caller in astonishment. ' Cecil, my dear boy,' hhe exclaimed, ' is it really you I Can I believe my eyes ? ' You have excellent testimony, replied Cecil loughingly, as he heartily shook hands with his godmother, and then he was introduced to Margaret. Well, this is an unexpected pleasure,' said Mrs. Lamoureux. ' I thought you were abroad. When did you return 1 ' ' Only a few days since,' replied Cecil, ' and I was compelled by a twofold duty to call upon you with as little delay as possible — the combined duty and pleasure of paying my devoirs to my respected godmother, and the duty of restoring this' — and he drew out the rosary — ' to Miss Seager.' Margaret gave an exclamation of delight at the sight of her restored treasure, and Cecil thought, beautiful as Bhe looked the first day he saw her in her sorrows and her tears, surpassingly bo was she now with the look of radiant happiness on her face. 'Oh I how did you get it ? where did you find it ? ' she asked as Bhe took it from his hand. ' But I rather suspect St. Anthony had something to do with it,' she added, as her heart sent up an ejaculation of thanksgiving. Cecil then related the incident of his finding the rosary, with which facts the reader is already acquainted. ' I do not wonder that you regretted losing it,' said Cecil in conclusion, 'It is such a beautiful rosary, it must be very valuable. 1 • It was given to me by my aunt and uncle as a souvenir of nuy First Communion,' answered Margaret. ' For that reason I value it moat.' And then they talked of other matters — Cecil's travels abroad, where he had been and what he had seen, the pictures ho had painted. and various other subjects. A very pleasant afternoon was passed, and evening closed in all too soon for Cecil. He made his adieux and rode leisurely home in the fine summer twilight, whilst an unwonted feeling of contentment took possession of his heart. This was but the beginning of frequent visits from Cecil. He found his godmother's advice invaluable concerning various plans and projects, and whatever philanthropic scheme he had on hand, If a children's tea or school treat was to be organised he invariably wanted to consult and ask the advice of Mrs. Lamoureux, whom he playfully designated his 'fairy godmother,' and a week seldom passed by without his paying her a vißit. Cecil meanwhile derived more and more pleasure from this iateicouree with his friends ; but he was no self -deceiver, and his

own feelings soon revealed to him the faot that, worthy as Mrs. Lamoureux was of inestimable esteem, yet it was someone else with a younger and fairer face who was the object of his great attraction. Yes, Cecil awoke to the faot that his heart had passed into the keeping of another. He waß aware of Margaret's intention to leave Mrs. Lamoureux in the month of September, and as August drew to a close he dreaded to think that the ray of sunshine that had crossed hia path for so brief a space of time was so soon to be withdrawn and leave him once again cold and lonely on the wintry path of life ! But before Margaret had concluded her arrangements with the superioress of a certain convent an incident occurred which completely upset her pre-arranged plans and entirely turned the tide of events. Mrs. Lamoureux, who was not of a robust constitution, contraoted a severe cold, which terminated in an attack of pneumonia, and although there was no immediate danger, it was sufficiently serious to cause grave anxiety to those about her. Under the circumstances Margaret would not entertain an idea of leaving her friend. She took charge of the patient, and soon proved herself to be a skilful and efficient nurse. Mrs. Lamoureux, thanks to the good nursing and unremitting care bestowed upon her, soon made rapid strides towards recovery. The period of convalescence was a very happy time to her, and she was able to appreciate then to the full all the love and attention that was lavished upon her ; the sight of Cecil's exquisite flowers and rare exotics refreshed her vision, and the delicious frnita which he ceased not to bring in abundance tempted her returning appetite. One day towards the end of November Mrs. Lamoureux, who had quite recovered from her recent illness, sat with Cecil by the fireside. Margaret had gone to afternoon Benediction, and Cecil, availing himself of her absence, unburdened himself of his feelings in her regard, and made Mrs. Lamoureux the confidante of all his hopes and fears. The revelation was no subject of surprise to Mrs. Lamoureux. She had long suspected how matters stood, and though Bhe was no matchmaker she could not but be gratified at the prospect of a union between two who were so eminently suited to eaoh other. Such a union would remove from her mind all further anxiety with regard to Margaret's future, and at the same time make Cecil the happiest of men. ' Well, Cecil,' she said, ' you must plead your own cause, and I most assuredly think your hopes will be fully realised in the answer you will get.' Mrs. Lamoureux spoke with confidence — she had notioed for some time past the tell-tale blush that mantled in Margaret's oheek when Cecil Stanmore was announced. ' Bless you for those words, dearest of fairy godmothers I' said Cecil fervently. ' Thus encouraged, I shall put my happiness to the test without delay.' Acting on his godmother's advice, Cecil eloquently pleaded his cause, with the happy result that Margaret was not only persuaded to remain with Mrs. Lamoureux till her year of mourning was over, but at the end of that period to exchange her sombre garb for a bridal array, * * ♦ Once more the month of June came round, and with it the Feast of St. Anthony. It was an unusually hot summer, and the long, Etraggling street up which the Cure of St. Etienne trudged was almost deserted ; people were glad to be out of the glare of the midday sun. But it was not altogether the heat of the day that made the Cure carry his slouched hat under his arm while he vigorously mopped his forehead with a large red handkerchief : it was rather his perturbed state of mind that caused the large beads of perspiration to stand out upon his brow. 'My poor Pierre I' he murmured. ' What can Ido for you ?' And then he fell to wondering whether perchance there were a few francs stowed away in an old purse that he had not used for some time. ' Seven little mouths to be fed daily,' he sighed, • and no bread to go in them. But how wrong of me I' he added. • Does not " le bon Dieu " know how to provide for all their needs ?' The Cure had just been visiting one of hia parishioners, Pierre Lebeau, a poor but very good man. He was a mason, and only that morning, whilst engaged in his work, had fallen from a building, the result of which was a broken leg. He was the father of seven small children, and the Cure had been doing his best to console the poor Btricken wife and mother. How the family were to be provided for during the weeks that Pierre must necessarily be laid up, the Cure knew not. ' It is the Feast of St. Anthony,' he softly said as he reached the church door. ' I must go now and ask the Saint's intercession.' The Cure reverently entered the church and knelt in fervent prayer. ' Now I can rest whilst I say my Office,' he said to himself as he regained the presbytery ; but as he laid his hand on the knob of the study door ' A lady and gentleman have called to see you monsieur,' was the message he received. The Cure turned the handle and in a moment he was face to face with his two young friends, Cecil and Margaret. 'My children I ' he exclaimed, as he looked from Margaret's blushing countenance back again to Cecil's beaming one, ' ia it possible ? What is the meaning of this / ' It was Cecil who was spokesman. ' The meaning of it is this monsieur : We are on our wedding tour ! ' 1 The explanation is scarcely [necessary,' said the Care as he rubbed his hands gleefully ; but I am glad — very glad — delighted. But how came you,' he added, ' to keep the old Padre in ignorance of this great event ? ' Again it was Cecil who spoke : ' The fact of the matter is, monsieur, we just wanted to pay you a surprise visit.' 1 Well, it is not only a surprise, but a very, very pleasant one. Oh 1 my dear young friends, what a happin«ss it ia to mo to see

you, especially under such happy auspices I What great events nave happened since this day last year ! Do you remember it, Cecil f ' ' Rather 1 ' laughed Cecil. ' I don't forget that you sent me to pray to St. Anthony, and the incident of seeing a certain young lady let fall her rosary is by no means forgotten.' ' Oh, to be Bure I ' rejoined the Cure ; then, turning towards Margaret : 'So you recovered your rosary ! I congratulate you. 1 1 Oh, mon bon Pere, I always thought there was a special blessing attached to that rosary,' said Margaret, with animation. Cecil now came forward, and as he placed some crisp notes in the Cure's hand he said : ' This, monsieur, is au offering foi St. Anthony's Bread. It is the first instalment of a huge debt that I nerer can repay.' 4 Two thousand francs ! ' cried the Cure, and the eyes he turned up towards heaven were swimming in tears. Cecil and Margaret saw that he was deeply moved, and when he had recovered his composure he told them of the accident that had befallen Piere Lebeau, and the consequent state of distress to which hin family was reduced. 'How opportune is your generous gift I ' he added. 'It lifts a load of anxiety from my mind with regard to this poor family.' Margaret and Cecil listened with interest. ' I'll tell you what you are to do,' said the latter. ' Tou must make Margaret and myself the bankers of this good Piere, and you have carte blanche to draw on us ad libitum. He must have the best of medical attendance and everything calculated to facilitate his recovery, so you know where to apply for fresh funds.' ' God bless and reward you both ! ' said the Cure with fervor ; and then, as his eyes again went up towards heaven, he added : •How good is the good God I ' Ceoil and Margaret now rose to depart. 1 What stay do you make in Brussels ? ' queried the Cure. IWe make no stay,' answered Cecil as he took up his hat. Margaret wants to visit her uncle's grave, and then we journey on towards Paris. Our destination is Rome, for we intend kneeling at the feet of the Sovereign Pontiff.' 4Ah ! ' said the Cure, with emotion, 'it is children such as you who rejoice the Holy Father's heart.' Cecil and Margaret both knelt before the aged priest, and with uplifted hands he blessed them from his heart. 4 Farewell, dear friends,' he said, ' farewell ! May happiness be ever shed around your path, as side by side and hand in hand you glide upon the stream or life. Possibly we may never meet again, for I am an old man now, and my earthly pilgrimage must soon be o'er ; but we can, at least, look forward to a happy and everlasting reunion upon the eternal shores ! ' — Catholic Fireside.