The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1911-04-08
THE DARK SOUL.

The taper In the little glass flick
cred few moments unsteadily and
then died out. 1t had been the only
giimmer of light in the room, and
with its quenching an impenetrable
darkness seemed to settle down upon
ut. From an inner apartment came
the sound of breathing soft,
deep, regular breathing of child
| in the quietness even this was dis
tinct and clear.
The snow outside, freshly fallen and
still falling in thick, white fakes,
deadened all footsteps on the street be-
low The sky above seemed black by
contrast. Most of the houses were
dark, their tired inmates seeking rest
before Christmas Day ushered in new
duties or new enjoyments. 1t was
Christmas Eve.
The silence of the room was broken
suddenly by a long-drawn sigh. A
woman, leaning across the window
sill, shawl thrown over her head
and face to protect her from the cold,
moved and sat erect in her chair
Yes, this was Christmas Eve! In the
darkness her white face cleaned with
marble pallor. Her eyes were like
great blots of ink as she raised them
to the threatening, lowering heavens.
1T is no use," she breathed. II shall
not light it again. Heaven is deaf to
my prayers-God will not listen Oh!
Christ-Child, lying on the straw of
poverty this night, keep me from de-
spair!"
The low words barely stirred the air.
She waited, her brooding eyes up
turned
And why should ask that?" she
went on, a little wildly what is
there left to me to make like worth
living? My child? Would it not be
better if she were taken, even as the
others-if God in His mercy took her
from all this horror to come-growing
up to know that her father, the man
that I love, whom I have taught her
to love, is"
She did not finish, though she shook
as with chill, her very teeth chatter
ing-and not with cold. She closed
the window slowly and sat with her
fingers on the sash.
I've tried" she whispered, God
knows I've tried I'm sick of trying
sick to death. How many prayers
for nothing? o, Sacred Heart,
my trust is going Dear Heart of my
God, am altogether unworthy?"
| She covered her face with her hands
and sat down for few moments.
Il must light the taper again." she
murmured softly, as if speaking to
some one else. Il will light it-yes:
am going to light it now"
She rose, dragged herself YEARLY
across the room, and taking up small
bottle, poured some of the oil it con-
tanned into the little glass standing on
| the altar. Then she struck match
It's light f1ared up. Holding it, she
started at the statue of the Sacred
Heart and the small ebony crucifix.
She was torn with emotion, weakened
by sleepless nights and long vigils,
unprepared for the terrible, sickening
wave of despair that swept over her.
"Why should II" she whispered.
why should I? 1t is NO
use. 1t is not to be. No, shall not
light it. God will listen. Let come
what will now-the worst has hap
pened On Christmas Eve! This
this is Christmas Eve!"
She dropped the match deliberately
and went back to the window. my
novena ended today" she said. well,
might have known. Nothing, nothing.
am finished"
Her chin sank upon her breast.
The blackness about her seemed to
grow more profound, for now the
blackness was in her soul. She had
ceased to struggle, to protest; she
had given up hope. Hers was calm
before storm, hush before the
breaking of the tempest.
A clear voice. sweet and penetrat-
ing, seemed to cut through the dark
Mother! Mother, where are
you?"
The quiet figure did not stir.
"Mother!"
No answer. Then there came a
rustling sound, the patter of baby feet
on the floor.
Are you here, mother? -. :.
Why, yes, didn't you hear me CALI"
Soft little arms were twined loving
ly about her neck.
"You poor mother, sitting all alone!
Where's father? Isn't father with
you? You promised me I might wait
up for him some night +.
and this is just the night I'm to sit
up with you and wish him a Merry