The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1895-04-04
BROKEN HEARTS.
The Pathetic Romance
H. Cathed ral

3I Fassty
The Pathetic Romance
Cathedral
Many years ago, stayed awhile In
an old cathedral town IN the richest
and loveliest part Of Yorkshire. Such
quaint, old houses, rooted with bright
red tiles, such green meadows and yell:
low cornfields, such great over-shadow-
/ ing trees, and such sweet old-fashioned
4 gardens, I shall never see again. But
the great charm to my young fancy was
4 the solemn old cathedral and the cool,
silent courts Of houses that clustered
round it. The dreamy, peaceful life
enchanted me. i thought that could
live forever among the dim aisles OF
the grand old church and the shady
i gardens Of the handsome houses.
''This is a court of peace" said.
"Surely no shadow of discomfort or
1 sorrow can ever come within it,
! But this said in my haste and my
/ ignorance. At the end Of the first week
of my visit, as was wandering in my
friends garden, which touched the
graveyard Of the cathedral, heard the
widest, strangest, most sorrowful
music coming from it. knew the ves-
per service was over. I knew this was
i not the organist's playing, and my in
i terest and curiosity triumphed over my
4 fear, and led me to take the keys Of the
vestry, which were at my command,
and satisfy myself. No human cry OF
4 agony was ever more Ineligible. !
OWNED at once that some poor, break
! ing heart was pouring out itself into
the Divine ear, which understands all
speech and language, and SO ! stole
away again, ashamed and sorry for my
i intrusion. 80 ss Z. ~
i Frequently, after this-sometimes
early in the morning, sometimes deep
in the gloaming-I heard the same
I musician. At last spoke to the friend
with whom was staying. She looked
troubled as she answered: =.
1T is the poor old dean. I am glad
he has this consolation. Do not disturb
i him." = 49,
A few days afterward, as we were
walking up the court, we met the dean.
He begged my friend to go into his
house and see his daughter Mary, and
1
grief it was which had struck the key
note Of his passionate, pleading prayer.
She was dying; no one but a parent
could have doubted it for one minute.
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 couch drawn
close to the open window looking into
a garden thick with green shade, and
bright with many sweet flower whose
name is now forgotten. gazed on her
with admiration. do not think it ever
entered my mind to pity her. Preserved
that feeling for the gray misery of her
father, and for the hopeless, resentful-
docking distress saw in the face and
! manner of a handsome man whom
4 took to be her brother. There was,
however, some element in the sorrow
of that dying room that I did not under
4 stand then, though soon afterward,
when knew Mary Harlowe's history,
Il it was clear enough to me.
! 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 property, she had grown up to
sweet and lovely girlhood.
When about seventeen years of age,
her cousin, Bernard Uarlowe, was sent
to her fathers care, while he prepared
fortaking orders. The young man was
not rich and was never likely to have
any inheritance but 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.
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
mcnt, Bernard and Mary Harlowe con-
! sidered themselves as one heart and one
soul for time and for eternity.
One afternoon the sunny stiffness Of
the court was broken by the galloping
of horses and the rattle of a carriage.
1t stopped at the deans door, and
Bernard recognized young earl, IA
nous for his wealth and church patron
age, who owned a magnificent seat
about three miles distant -
There is some dispute between my
lord bishop and the earl" he said to
Mary. II wonder how the dean will
manage between them?" ---~,,,,,y;
But the earl's visit seemed to them
matter Of the very smallest Importance.
Wandering under the trees, pulling ripe
berries. or idly gathering some flower
farer than all its 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. T.. D., s..
Mary would have escaped the inter-
view by taking private walk to the
house, but Bernard, with some strange
Instructor being on the defensive, drew
her arm through his and awaited their
approach. The dean seemed annoyed