The weekly messenger. [volume] (St. Martinsville [i.e. St. Martinville] La.) 1886-1948, 1889-07-06

ing.
The guests gathered, and as I went
about from groupto group, fancied that
the blue-grav eyes of DR.. Warner followed
me with appreciation. 1 was looking
forward to the dinner hour, expecting to
enjoy my usual pleasant chat with him.
Sans black face seemed that Of an angel
messenger as he announced dinner. The
guests followed my mother to the dining
room. DIR. Warner crossed the long par
lor and offered his arm to Miss Ames.
watched them until they disappeared, then
| quietly left the room.
No one noticed me. Ialmost flew over
the burning sand. Blue above HE was
the sky-blue as the eyes | SO loved.
Cloudless and pitilcss shone the sun upon
me. Life looked long and limitless as the
great desert so near me at that moment,
and Just as desolate.
No one cared for Chiquiriguital
On. on, l went, so wretched and mis-
cradle that even moments rest seemed
impossible, toward the dear old church!
As | grew near, to my excited fancy its
gray walls seemed like a heavenly city. 1
could almost hear the three great iron
bells in the overhanging roof, silent for
over fifty years, ring out clear and soft
for the fair Castilian bride of 200 years
ago, then chant, deep and low, requiem
for the sanity dead.
Ipushcd open the huge door, entered
the silent church, and threw myself down
before the picture of the Madonna. My
eyes rested on the face of St. Cecilia, her
golden hair floating about her, her beau
tiful hands sweeping harp, her eyes
turned heayenward. Then | cried out:
''Oh, Edith Ames, why did you cone?
was so happy. Why? Why"
"Why? Whyl" came back to me
from the dim rafters.
Exhausted, l fell asleep on tie cold
stone floor. When l awoke, my eyes
rested on the agonized face of martyr,
and l thought of the tradition that the
penitents Of long ago walked through the
cruel prickly pear hedge, just outside the
church, and found great comfort in the
act.
/ ran outside the church into the dry,
hot air. l walked upon a plant with
cruel thorns; clasped one to my breast,
where the golden roses hung withered
until my white dress bore marks Of its
cruel impress.
| was 50 absorbed in my grief that /
did not hear the sound of approaching
wheels until a carriage swept around the
church Seated in it was DR.. Warner.
He jumped from the carriage and spoke
very kindly, never appearing to notice my
forlorn aspect, and said:
81 have never been inside this grand
old church which you love SO dearly.
VIII you show it to me?"
Like some penitent, led the way. We
paused before pictures, rare and old, Of
saints, angels and martyrs. averted
my face as DR.. Warner looked upon Saint
Cecilia. Suddenly he asked:
"Why did you leave us so abruptly,
and why did find you walking on
those cruel thorns?"
looked down and said:
81 was playing penitent."
We had paused before the Madonna.
There was a tremor in Lay voice, bat /
answered almost defantly:
"You all left me- wanted to sit next
you at the table"
Then my tears fell fast, and I put ny
small laced bordered handkerchief, which
| had chosen in the happy hours Of pre-
paration for the dinner party, to my
eyes.
His voice was kindly, and felt sure
his eyes grew tender as he said:
"Your father and mother were engaged
in their duties as host and hostess. ana
few weeks ago received a letter from
my old time friend, Mr.. Bell, who in the
spring is to marry Miss Ames" (my heart
beat joyfully), "asl,inC me to make her
visit here pleasant. You are too impul-
s;rn Nor, 49, -n-l ,,,n4l,n-. La -.