The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1895-02-28
! ]. B BIZ K, ]. EN- HE ARTS.
The Pathet tic Romance rs
; ts;sii MI II NJ Cathed raL


Many years ago, stayed awhile. IN
an old cathedral town in the richest
and ll1'dl Il. ltoveliest part Of Yorkshire Such
quaint, old houses, rooted with bright
req III tiles, such green meadows and yell
cornfields, such great over-shadow-
ing trees, and such sweet old-fashioned
& gardens, 4 shall never see again. But
II me great charm to my young fancy was
the solemn old cathedral and the cool,
IA 81 II lent courts Of houses that clustered
round It. The dreamy, peaceful life
enchanted me. thought that could
II u. i've forever among the dim aisles Of
5t he grand old church and the shady
gardens Of the handsome houses.
This is q court Of peace i said.
Surely no shadow: of discomfort or
N sorrow can ever come within it."
But this I said in my haste and my
u ignorance. At the end Of the first week
OF my visit, as ! was wandering in my
friends garden, which touched the
y graveyard of the cathedral, / heard the
widest, strangest, most sorroWful
music coming from it. I knew the yes
per service was over. / knew this was
D not the organist's playing, and my in
y tterest and curiosity triumphed over my
u fear, and led me to take the keys Of the
yestry, which were at my command,
B and satisfy myself. No human cry Of
agony was ever more Ineligible. /
Il OWNED at once that some poor, break.
ing heart was. pouring ont itself into
the Divine ear which understands all
speech and language, and SO I stole
Il away again, ashamed and sorry for my
intrusion. " s+:@' " y N Z
i.E Frequently, after this-sometimes.
early in the morning, sometimes deep
in the gloaming-I heard the same
musician. At last ] spoke to the friend
4 with whom was staying. She looked
troubled as she answered: -. #s.,t
t..lt is the poor old dean. am glad
he has this consolation. Do not disturb
I, him. Il: n IL r".@~ ~ ~.
"A few days afterward, as we were
walking up the court, we met the dean.
@t He begged my friend to, 60 into his
4 house and see his daughter Mary, and
then soon understood what mighty
grief it was which had struck the key
note of his passionate, pleading prayer.
She was dying; no one but parent
could have doubted it for one minute.
4 The earnest of eternity was in her eyes.
which looked as if they had seen some
vision that had forever separated her
from time. She lay upon a couch drawn
close to the open window looking into
I garden thick with green shade, and
bright with many a sweet flower whose
name is now forgotten. I,gazed on her
with admiration. do not think it ever
entered my mind to pity her. Preserved
4 that feeling for the gray misery of her
father, and for the hopeless, resentful-
4 looking distress saw in the face and
manner of handsome man whom
took to be her brother. There was,
however, some element in the sorrow
of that dying room that I did not under
stand then, though soon afterward,
ssSy henI knew ary il loves history,
III was clear enough to me IA D. u.
s5 She was the only child of her father,
who had received her in exchange for
his young wife's life. Among the silent
rooms Of the great house, and in the
Pleasant old gardens belonging to the
church r. p"rty. she had grown up to a
SSVcclF iIi.; lDNClS SiilnotA. r.. = =
n When ::lnnt seventeen years Of age,
her cousin. bernard lI"rlowc, was sent
10 her fa.hcr's care. while he prepared
for taking orders. The young man was
not rich, and was never likely to have
any Inheritance bnt the handsome per-
son. the clear head and the warm heart
nature had given him. But Mary loved
him almost from the first day of his ar
rival, and Bernard thought himself
richer in that love than the bishop in
his see, or the king In his crown. i
The dean was not so wrapped up in
spiritual matters as to be oblivious of
what was transpiring under .his own
roof, yet he made no remonstrance: so,
though there was no positive engage
rnent, Bernard and Mary Harlowe con-
sidered themselves as one heart and one
soul for time and for eternity. 80,
One. afternoon the sunny stiffness of
the court was broken by the galloping
of horses and the rattle of carriage.
It stopped at the deans door, and
Bernard recognized a young earl, IA
nous for his wealth and church patron
age, who owned q magnificent seat
about three miles distant. NJ -
There is some dispute between my
lord bishop and the EARL he said to
Mary. II wonder how the dean will
manage between them?'' s.. 49,.
But the earl's visit seemed to them a
matter Of the very smallest Importance.
Wandering under the trees, pulling ripe
berries, or idly gathering some flower
fairer than all it's mates, they did not
even speculate on the length of his
visit or watch for his departure. It
was, therefore, with some surprise they
saw him and the dean come slowly |
walking down the main avenue to-
gether. N 3lss, / 5. 81 55s. l hi. 45S
Mary would have escaped the inter
view by taking private walk to the
house, but Bernard, with some strange
instinct of being on the defensive, drew
her arm through his and awaited their
approach. The dean seemed annoyed
at the attitude. He introduced his |
and his nephew, and then
babe Mary .'go to prepare for dinner
t<v- =