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


priest! The evidence was Indirect and
purely circumstantial, but such as it was
was considered strong enough to convict
| the priest. People first remarked on his
| strange, sad ways, and how he lad re-
manned for whole nights in the church
PROSTATE before the high altar. Then a
woman came forward and gave damaging
evidence against him. She swore to seeing
| him come from the miller's house on the
night of the murder white and haggard, and
she watched him from behind a hedge as
he washed his blood stained hands in the
mill pool, casting fearful glances all around
! him.
Many other things she swore against him
roo. Her small eyes glittered with a steely
triumph. She had once been dismissed
| from the cures house for theft when she
had been his housekeeper. He had caught
her in the act on more than one occasion
and had at last dismissed her peremptorily.
He had never mentioned the fact to hui
man being. And this was her revenge.
| When questioned as to why she had kept
| silence SO long, she answered that it was
| out of pity for the priest, but that her con-
science had at last compelled her to speak
But then, it was rightly argued, one
Ahttop lloSfC d AlODlNc. III was hlOWH Uutit
the old miller had the greatest antipathy
toward the church and the priests, that he
was an avowed unbeliever, and that he Bit
terly resented the influence of NJ. lie Cure
over his daughter 1t was therefore sup
posed that he had attacked the priest on
the subject and that the latter, goaded to
madness by the miller's coarse abuse, or
perhaps impelled by some curious fanatical
impulse, had turned around and stabbed
him mortally.
In the great hall Of justice men and wo-
men waited in breathless silence for the
verdict
"Guilty!''
Those who heard it did not soon forget
that dark. black word which broke the
awful strain and tension, and which meant
| death. When they heard the sentence,
they crossed themselves, folded their pious
hands in holy horror and thanked their
God they were not as he was-they OF that
| tickle fold. He had been SO gentle, kind
| and strong, and they had loved him so,
while all the time he had done an unsus-
pecting man to death. Ughl to think of it.
| Talk about wolf in sleeps clothing in
deedl Never had white surplice been worn
over SO black heart before
That was what hurt him long and sorely
as he lay in his little cell and pondered on
the pain and grief that had come to him.
Was it right that he-''the legate of the
skies"-should suffer this thing to be?
Would it not be offending the least of those
| little ones committed to his care?
| But the secrets of the confessional are
silent and sacred as the secrets of the grave,
To disclose them were the height of in
| fanny.
What though the dignity of the priest
| hood was at stake! God could take care of
his own. No man may do wrong that right
may come. 49,
| And then that strong, hopeless, hidden
| earthly love Of his-the love for which his
whole human heart cried out, the love de.
MED him by his calling, his Office and his
/ vows-how brave it made him, how patient
to endure, how glad to die!
| Day by day he got thinner and very frail.
Food rarely passed his lips, yet to those
| about him he often spoke of the thoughts
in which he lived, the dear, familiar
! thoughts of the eternal years to come, and
the peace and radiance shining on his face
| taught them more perhaps than the finest
sermon might have done.
Once, in the twilight, for little hour she
came to him for his blessing and farewell.
Father" she said, weeping bitterly, s.you
know that at least will always keep my
faith in YOU And Baptiste too. He is
sure you never did it. He is ill with anxi-
| ETY. for you, dear father'-
| Then her beautiful, sorrowing eyes met
his, and the exhaustless love and tender
| ness she saw there awoke some strange
| sleeping thing within her own heart to
tremulous, rejoicing life.
"Belovedp' he whispered in her ear. 1t
was the only word that passed between
them, but they say it lasted her through
out her life-many millions of moments
perhaps, and for them all one little word
of spoken love.
One morning at dawn, according to the
law. they led him out to die. The people
of his village, who once had loved him,
gathered in their hundreds to look on him
again. His eyes filled with tears as he saw
them, his last prayer was for them, his face
was turned to the soft blue sky-and so he
died.-Montreal Star.