Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1896-12-20

too OFF his hat and drew BACK IN aston
isbment. Fastening his eyes on the
other they suddenly tared up, as Il
Hrbt leans from ambush on the battle
field But the flame was gone again Oh
the instant. ., N,
Monsieur le COmte-' began Du-
barre. and paused.
Wherefore lie COmte'? asked the
other keenly and instantly.
81 saw YOU in Quebec, at the citadel
years ago.
1T was not me you saw, was the de-
lberate reply.
Dubarre bowed in assent, but ms
ewes showed incredulity.
Their words were few until they
stood in a chapel built of the wood OF
cedar. Inside the little tower of the
chanel was a bell. and the old man set
il ringing-a church hell in the wild,
lonely mountains OF the north.
Presently the odd bell-ringer passed
the rope of hemlOck fiber into the
hands Of Dubarre. who went on ringing
tU he saw his host issue into the tiny
chancel from the timer vestry, rObed
for the saving Of the mass. He stopped
rineiug. and the solemn mass proceed
ed-the mass for the dead
When it was ended the priest (if such
be was) came to the chancel steps and
preached as to a congregation Of 1000,
his voice sOnOrOus, clear, penetrating;
nav persuasive, now eager and COM
handing.
Thou ~rt not far from the Kingdom
Of God " he cried, repeating his text;
"but what avails it, if thou canst not
reach that blessed place of quiet and
healiDg?'
Desire at once deep and convincing
crept into his tone. He spoke as from
the darkness Of forever sealed shades.
who shall pierce the souls OF
theSe9" he continued. " who stand Just
without the kingdom, beating the
threadmul of their sins, vet coming
never nearer to the gate which is peace.
Peace, How shall We know
peace. We who can never know repent
ance. We shall SOW desire, but we may
not reap: We shall hope, but We may not
achieve. We are the children oof pen
alty-ye have no home. No fire on
the hearthstone waits YOU, no warm
beating bosom gives YOU rest! Behold
this is the mass of the unredeemable.
In vain does the rain of spring come
and the earth be green, the August
fields turn yellow. the harvest wains
come home. In vain do the trees drop
their ripe fruits the gamers swell with
the corn and oil; We shall not have JOY
i'm them all-yOUr souls are dry-they
may not be nOurished. This is the
church of the undying penaltiese.
Night fell. For a long time there was
silence i'm the little hut.
1T was not me YOU saw-at the cita-
del" said the priestly hermit at last.
Duharre made no answer. but looked
steadily and incredulOusly into the
others ewes.
1T was my brother you saw. II. lie
COmte. who looked like me. I will tell
YOU my story and his. There was a
girl 7 had loved She disappeared. For
years I knew not whittier she had gone
I became q priest. AT last one day af-
ter my brother had returned from a
long visit TO France. there was an acct
dent near the cathedral. / had been a
student of medicine before I became a
priest. and I was summoned to the lit
tie house There was the girl. my lost
love. There also was my brother. II
was he who had stolen her away from
me. As looked / flew into a rage;
aid not then that he had married her
was mad. I called him vile names
while she was diving for want Of care
bleeding to death. When ] did turn to
her at last it was too late. With look