The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1919-04-05

Flowers, carriages, operas-all that
sort of thing. Oh, you cannot under
stand, Dorothea-in your poor, little,
narrow life you cannot understand"
Tell me, Harold" she chung to
him, her soft eyes widening with
growing horror-"tell me all, dear
tell me ALL"
Its the old, old story,-love, mad
ness, ruin, Dorothea,' he went on bit
terly. Little by little-oh, it seemed
too little to count at first. | took the
money thinking to put it back the
next day-the next week-the next
month-until the sum grew and grew.
had to alter my books, falsify my ac-
counts. They, the firm, do not suS-
pect me as yet-they have trusted me
entirely, but tomorrow, tomorrow
there is to be a yearly reckoning, an
expert accountant, who will discover
all. will be shamed, disgraced
And Muriel! oh God, Muriel! the girl
| love, who loved me, will be lost, lost
to me forever. Dorothea. | took this
he showed the CLEAN of a deadly
| thing in his breast pocket-"and
| thought to end it here, in these woods,
where you would all find me and be
pitiful-but the sight of the bridge
| the brook where you fell, and never
| told-brought back all the dear past,
and | dared not, dared not send my
sin-stained soul before it's God. And
I saw you coming, my poor little sis
ter-you whom | could trust always
his voice broke in a hoarse sob.
| Always, always, Harold she
echoed. All, she was understanding
now, this little broken-Winged Doro-
thea - understanding with all her
womans mind, and heart, and soul.
Past, present, future-were illum-
ined by the glow of sacrificial fire
flaming up in Dorothea's breast.
All! the gates Of Life and Love
might close upon her-but there was
hope for Harold yet.
How much-how much was it that
that you lost, Harold?" she asked
THAT I stole you mean" he cor
rected harshly. That's what the law
will call it, Dorothea. Enough to put
me in jail tomorrow, if | am not off
tonight"
How much?" she persisted gently
| "MOre-more than a thousand dollars,
HarOld-more?"
mot any more" he answered grim
ly-"but nearly as much. A thousand
dollars would square everything. Set
| rioh Wi no
A thousand dollars! my God! | would
sell my soul for a thousand dollars
tonight. But there is no place | can
turn for it either on earth or in hell"
"Oh, Harold, hush-hush, do not
: say such wicked, wicked words. For
it is here for you, Harold. Godmoth-
er has left it to me. Here is the thou
sand dollars that will save you, give
you back your honor, your name-life,
. love-here, Harold, in your little sis
ter's hand. Take it, Harold, only dear
old Father Fabian knows that | got
the letter an hour ago. We will never
f tell, Harold, never tell" And again
Dorothea never told. There was no
one to question, for the legacy had
1 |
yer from a distant town.
Harold was saved to life, love, to
Muriel-whom he married within a
! year.
. And Dorothea has kept her wings.
I Paler, sweeter, purer-eyed than ever
she moves in her Swallowed way, that
+ had been broken by one brief hour Of
golden light,-blessing. cheering, help
: ing all around her; filling the altar
' vases, trimming the altar tapers, keep
! ing in full glow the sanctuary light.
+ No class so perfect in Catechism as
that which dear, lame Miss Dorothea
teaches, no little white-robed first
communicates have such angelic fer
vor, as those she leads with broken
:, wings.
Only Father Fabian, wisely, tender
ly, guiding their upward flight, knows
and understands all.
\ Map r. Waooomon. In Sursum CordG.