The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1901-12-19

plicable conduct and persistent silence,
I reioiced.
"My sister was i'll for months, and
] feared to tell her. Then ] was sent
to boarding school while our mother
accompanied Julie to the mountains,
and | only returned home in time for
her wedding to Charlie, the cousin who
had loved her so long. I felt then, be-
ing little older, that I must hold my
peace for ever, and, gradually, for
got all about my wrongdoing, save
for occasional recollections now and
then. But now-T am to be married
myself, shortly, and last week my sis
ter, in urging me to be sure that 7
really loved my lover, Let me know
something of what she herself has
missed and suffered through my decep-
ton"
'Her marriage, then, has not been
happy one?" asked the priest, his
face pale, his manner strangely quiet,
Eyes and no." was the troubled an
swer. Her husband is a good man
and he loves her, but she can only re-
spect and admire him. She married
him out Of pique, and for loneliness
and heartache. She told me last wceA
that the only man she should ever
love in this world was the man from
whom--from whom | parted her.
should have told her all then. but
she added that only the knowledge OF
his unworthiness helped her to live
without him. Had She been separat-
I'd from him for any other reason, she
felt she should have gone mad.
"Since then | have been tortured by
an agony Of remorse and uncertainty.
Last night resolved to confide in you,
and abide by your decision. Shall !
tell my sister the whole story, or shall
I hold my peace?"
There was a long silence. The priest
was considering-struggling with his
human nature-the girl sobbing soft
~. From the adjacent chapel came
the soft, toneless music Of the sisters.
"Out of the deep have | called unto
Thee, o Lord. If Thou, Lord,
Wit be extreme to mark what is done
y
with Thee"
mo" said the priest, suddenly, "you
must never tell your sister. Bear the
burden of remorse and repentance
bravely, as just punishment for your
sinning-but be comforted concerning
it, because, after all, it was a sin of
ignorance and childhood, and you
knew not what you were doing. And
never, so long as you live, mention the
matter to any other human being.
Better, by far, that your sister should
continue to believe her lover unworthy,
than that. learning of the injustice
rendered both him and herself, she
should have one whit added to the load
which weighs so heavily upon her"
The girl slipped from the room,
quietly, smiling through her tears,
| happy, relieved of her heaviest sor-
row, and Father John Burton, S. j.,
| quiet man of God and the spirit, sank
upon his knees suddenly, hiding his
! face in his hands. The strong throes
of a mighty struggle were upon him,
| SPECIFICS with sorrow, he strove
| valiantly to vanquish the natural re-
sentiment of the long-forgotten self
which cried aloud for expression. But
the hard years of patience and self
denial bore him brave testimony in
| that hour of disturbance, and when he
presently went forth TO address the
| assembled women his face and voice
were like those of a prophet inspired,
"Father, forgi'e them-for they
know not what they do" was the sub
ject he announced for the meditation
of that evening, and Che eyes Of the
man discussing II rested, with pc
culiar and meaningful tenderness, on
the face Of a girl before him-the face
Of the girl the burden OF whose ter.
rible responsibility had so recently
been shifted from her shoulders to his
own.
ETHEL NJ. COLSON
Z