Beverly banner. [volume] (Beverly, N.J.) 1877-1964, 1889-12-14
SISTER MILLICENT.

curious Stone mousse on Li1O OuUSKlflS Oh
poor little village She had come to
inhabit it some thirty years before,
and since then no one had seen her
face, for the reason that she wore upon
it a black silk mask trimmed with
lace, which revealed only a pair of
large, dark eyes For the rest her
dress was something like that of
nun, straight and black, with bonnet
and veil when she went abroad, and
within doors a sort of cap that con
cealed both head and throat. No one
ever heard her whole name. On her
arrival she held an interview with the
two clergymen Of the place, and told
them her story, which neither of them
could be induced to reveal in detail.
However, it was said by many that
she was an unhappy wife, into whose
face a jealous mistress had thrown
vitriol, disfguring her for life.
She was rich, and had expressed
her wish to assist tho poor of the
place with her money, TO nurse the
sick and to perform all the duties Of a
Sister Of Charity to those who suffered,
whatever their religion, whatever
their condition, without asking if they
were worthy or unworthy.
AT her door hunga little box into
which letters might be slipped asking
for aid. In her house was little room
where she received all who desired to
talk with her. She had store of sim
pie remedies which she used in minor
cases; in others she sent for good doc
tors. No one ever appealed to her in
vain. For thirty years she had been
lnnxnd MT CraI
rather than as human women, and
still she continued her deeds of char
ity, of self remuneration, without ever
giving any symptoms of WEAKNESS of
mind or body, though it was supposed
that she must by this time have arriv
ed upon the borders of old age.
1t was late In the afternoon OF q cold
autumn day when the wind was hard
at work sweeping the last leaves from
the great oaks that stood before Sister
Millicent's little house, that knock
sounded upon the door-a tremulous
blow, that seemed to the good woman's
experienced ear to speak of an aching
heart. fastening to open it she saw
before her a lady in fashionable trav
cling dress, who fell into her arms.
Marion ~ she cried, ''can it be Ma
rion2"
YES, Aunt Millicent, it is |, sighed
the young lady, "and l have come to
you in great and terrible grief You
who are SO merciful to strangers will
comfort me, know. You told me to
come to you if ever l needed friend
Il need one now"
Sister Millicent replied by taking
her hand in hers.
''What has befallen your" she ask
ed. "You do not wear the garb of
widowhood.
81 am not widow" said the lady,
bursting into tears, "but my husband
has deserted me; he has gone away
with another woman"
Charles Auchester then, is not bet
ter than other men, F" said Sister Mill
cent, sadly.
1--WE were very happy, sobbed the
poor wife, until she came"
"She always comes. " sighed Sister
Millicent.
"She was a singer bold, bad wo-
man, with a splendid voice. The
elopement is the talk of the town."
said Marion Auchester. ''He left me
well provided for, with a fine house
and good income of my own, but l
refuse to accept his money. 1 will not
inhabit his house"
"You are right" said Sister Mill
cent.
"My friends advise me to get di-
vorce," said Marion, "but | am his
wife, though he has wronged me. l
refuse to fsee him. | cannot endure
the pity, the curiosity of the people
have known under other circum-
stances, ran away from them like
thief in the night. Had | parents or
children, could not have done this,
OF course, but | stand alone in the
world. Will you take me in and let
me live with your | will do as you
bid. / will keep your house help you
nurse your patients, teach the poor
children-anything, if you will but
hide me here. You are my only rela-
tive. know your story; we can now
sympathize with each other"
"My home is yours, said Sister Mil
licent, and l am glad in my old age
to find one who will help me in my
work and solace me in my solitude"
From this time on the poor of the
village began to sec that Sister Mill
cent had a companion, q young wO-
man who did not veil her sweet, sad
face, or cover her bright hair, but who
otherwise wore the same black garb,
and who was her assistant in all her
labors. For more than a year they
worked together, their tall, slender fig
ures moving side byside down the vii
lage street with the same graceful
step, so much alike in general effect
that those who saw them could but be-
lieve that Sister Millicent had once
resembled Sister Marion in feature.
And great was the grief of the poor
when one morning the cottage was
closed against all but the physician,
and 1t was known that some sudden
illness had befallen one of those good
ladies"
A few days later the doors of the
cottage opened. A small funeral pro
oession emerged therefrom, and
burial took place in the graveyard.
Then Sister Millicent once moro ap
peared in her mask and veil She was
more silent and less cheerful than Of
yore, but her good works knew 10
cessation.
To those who spoke to aer of Sister
Marion's death, she only answered
Goods will be done, and no one
knew who Sister Marion was or guess
ed why she sought the home of Sister
Millicent. But we who are in the Sc
cret may go back space and visit the
home she left behind her in her woe
and pride, refusing to accept anything
from the hands of her unfaithful hus
band. Charles Auchester had yielded
to the madness of foolish passion for
awhile and had followed the beautiful
singer for whom he had deserted his
per had soon wearied him, however.
He guessed that she was untrue TO
him; and awoke one morning to find
that she was gone with lover more
to her taste. The natural result fol-
lowed. Remorse brought repentance.
He returned homo, hoping to find his
wife bewailing his absence but to his