The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1876-07-21

he got to love him dead whom he
had hated living.
Time rolled on. The knight S
hair turned gray and the good
prior died.
Then there was great comn0-
: tom in the little priory, and three
or four of the. leading. iriars each
hoped to be prior.
That appointments lby with Sir
Richard Erpingham. He attend
ed the funeral of the late prior,
and then desired the sub-prior to
convene the monks. "Good broth
ers," said he, "your prior is broth
er Richard. ] pray you to invest
him forthwith, and yield him due
love and obedience"
The Knight retired and the
monks stared at each other awhile,
and then obeyed, since there was
no help for it; they inyestedIbroth-
er Richard in due form, and such
is the magic of station tllat in one
moment they began to- Look on
him with different eyes.
| The new prior bore his dignity
so meekly that he disarmed all
hostility. His great rule of life
was still ''Hbai 4ei NAL g pense," and
there is no course more apt to con
ciliate respect and good will. The
Knight showed him favor and es-
TEEN, the monks learned to re-
spect and by and by to revere
him; but he never ceased TO re
proach himself and say masses for
the soul of brother John.
The years rolled on. The
Knights gray hair turned white;
and one day he sent for the prior
and said TO him: "Good Father, !
have great matter to entertain
you withal." )"
"Speak, wonderful sir" said the
prior.
The Knight looked at him
awhile, but seemedill at ease, and
as one that hath resolved to speak,
but is loath to begin. At last he
said, "Sir, there be men that waste
their goods in sin, Oil peanly
hoard them freely to Mother
Church after their death, when
they can no longer enjoy them.
Others there be whose breasts are
laden with secret crime they
ought to confess, and clear some
worth man suspected falsely; yet
they will not tell till they come to
die. Methinks this is to be chari-
table too late, and just when jus
tice can neither cost man ought
nor profit his, neighbOr.. There
fore, not to, lie one. OF these, { will /
reveal to you now deed that sits
heavy on my conscience
"You would confess to me, NY
son?'
Gas man TO man, sir, but not as
apenitent to his confessor; for that
were. no merit in me; it would be
no more than bury my secret in a
fleshly grave. Nay, what tell to
you, you shall tell to all the
world, if good may come of it."
Here the knight sighed and
seemed much distempered, like
one who has wrestled with HING |
self. Then he cast about how he
should begin, and to conclude he |
opened the matter thus: "Sir,
please you read that letter; it was
writ by brother John unto my
Wife"
The prior read it but never said
a word.
"Sir," said. the Knight, edo you
remember a sad time when you
lay in Norwich Jail accused Of
murder and cast for death!'
81 do remember it well, sir, and
the uncharitable heart that
brought me to the pass"
"Whilst YOU lay there, sir, some
thing befell elsewhere, which |
will hide no longer from you.
The King being at his palace in
London, a knight who had fought
by his side in France sought an au-
dienee in private. 1t was granted
him at once. Then the knight
fell on his life and lands might be
spared though he had slain a man
in heat of blood. The King was
grave but gentle, and then |
showed him that letter and own
ed the truthr--that | and my ser
vaat, in our fury, bad. straMeled
that helpless monk"
"Alas! sir, did you take my guilt
upon yourself to save my life, so
fully forfeit? Twas who hated
him-'twas who flung the stone"
"At a dead body. | tell thee,
man, we strangled him and set his
body up where. YOU saw it; hand
in his death, you had none"
The prior uttered a strange cry
and was silent. The Knight con
tinued in low voice:
"We set him in the yard, and
when we found him in the porch,
being half mad with terror and
drink together, we bound him on
the horse and launched him. All
this / told the King, and he, con
sidering the proyocation and pit
tying too much his old companion
in arms, gave me my life and
lands, and gave me thine, which
indeed was but bare justice. So
now, sir, you know that You are
innocent of bloodshed, and 'tis, L
am guiltY.n