The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1893-12-11
A VILLAGE PRIEST.

where the sun shines SO generously, where
seas are blue and skies are bluer STILL there
lies little lonely village called Frescati.
Behind it are the great pine forests and
the mountains of the Alps In front there
are the cleaning sands which are the great
glory of that lonely shore, and beyond them
the ses stretches away into the dim blrS
distance as far as the eye can reach. The
little white cottages lie dotted about on the
hillside here and there. Calvary often
CLEANS in the sunshine and sends the
shadow Of the cross over a brown mountain
path, while in the midst of ALL like moth
or among her children, stands the church.
! Such beautiful old building!
| One wonders how it ever got there. with
all its beauty of antiquity and architec-
ture, into that simple, solitary place.
Within, all dim and hushed, as it were
without, all gray and weather beaten, dat
ing back as it does to some wonderful time
ago. The great oaken door stood open to
the sea below the whole day long. Into the
cool. still place of God they would come,
those simple villagers, one by one. from
the pitiless heat and glare of the MONDAY
sun, at the welcome hour when they rested
for a short space from their weary toll.
"Come," their good cure would say to
them, whether you wish to be quiet,
whether you have joys or troubles, whether
you are sad or glad, only always come"
So they came. Anxious looking mothers,
with their brown babies on their backs,
young girls thinking of their lovers far out
at sea, old men and women whose lives
were more memories than anything else,
they would come and sit in the midst of
that silent peace, for at all times sober,
restful discipline prevailed, and perhaps
they would forget the worries and the work
outside, or at least go forth to meet them
better armed and more bravely than before
The simple souls of Frescati had all been
lately stirred by an unwonted emotion, for
q CHASTITY murder had been perpetrated al
most in the midst of them by hand as vet
unknown.
The miller, who lived with his only son
and daughter in the rambling old mill
house little beyond the village, had been
darkly done to death.
One evening when his daughter went to
the garden to summon him to supper she
found him lying near the granary door
with stream of blood flowing from his
blouse and on his face the seal and silence
of death.
A harsh, gruf man he had been, bitter to
his neighbors, bitter to his children, yet no
one knew of any distinct enemy who hated
him enough to murder him. Curious rumors
foated here and there, tongues were busy,
malice and all Observation-Disclosures were not
asleep. Gendarmes from the nearest town
came over, the house and gardens were dill
fgently searched, even the mill stream was
dragged for some distance in the hope of
finding the dagger that had done the ghast-
ly deed, but not the faintest clew was
Forthcoming. It had been ascertained that
on the evening of the murder the son was
storing lemons in the loft and had been
found there by his terror stricken sister,
quite ignorant of the awful fate that had
befallen his father.
It seemed, indeed, asif the matter would
have to rest there, as if the murder of the
hard, unloved miller would only go to swell
the list of undetected crime which every
country has to show.
One evening-it was after the hour of
'benediction-the people had gone to their
homes, and the priest was pacing the dusky
aisles alone. Very weary and very worn
was his face, weary with past vigils, and
worn with the fierceness of fight known
|only to himself and his God. His hands
were Tightly clasped behind his spare, nerv-
GUS fra1re, and from his eyes all the glad,
genial light that his people loved so we'll
Il had fled. The great door opened, and a
young man entered. He stood moment
ihesitaf4ag, glancing fearfully and fitfully
around, then stealthily crept into near
confessional. Both the opening of the
door and the youths entrance were un-
needed by the priest. The communication
between sense and brain was stopped, for
the time being at least. Once, twice, thrice
he passed the confessional and it's occu-
pant, whose agonized eyes followed the
black robe up and down through the gath
ering gloom.
/ The eyes looked imploringly at the SOM
Der figure that halted not, till from the pur-
pie and twitching lips of the penitent broke
forth, 'FatherF'
1t was scarcely audible, but as in sleep a
faint whisper will often waken us when a
loud alarm would fail, so then the whis-
pered Father" reached the priests under
standing as well as his sense, breaking the
thread of his reverie and recalling him to
his surroundings and his duty.
Have you time, father?' ventured the
young man as the priests eyes met his own
NJ. lie Cure bowed his head in assent and
took his accustomed seat in the confession
al. Through the grating he saw that his
penitent was Baptiste, the miller's son.
Why did his eyes grow kinder?
Father" hoarsely exclaimed Baptiste,
''do not look at me; turn your eyes from
mel Your eyes can read much that is in
the soul, but they cannot read the horrible
thing that lies in mine. How can tell
your
my son." broke in the gentle voice, ''you
are telling God, and he is loving and for
giving father. Think not of my identity"
81 know, KNOW" muttered the youth,
80 you have taught me, but still-in pity
do not look at mel Is there mercy or help
for such as l am? Father, am a-for the
Madonna's sake come nearer the grating,
but do not look at me-" Great drops of
moisture were on his brow. His face was
lived his hands were cold and clammy;
his nails penetrated the flesh of his clinched
hands as he gasped:
Il AMI ana murderer-a parricidel"
4 Il
A little later and all Erescati was con-
vulse'' and surpassed itself in notes of hor
ror and exclamation, fna the murder q.
the KILLER had been tTacad 70 :iea t.;:3e..t