FullReads

The girl sprang forward and caught his arm, her eyes full of love’s pity.”You know you love me,” she murmured; “why fight against it? For I–I love you!”

What did the parson do?

He fell upon his knees, but not to her, and uttered a Latin prayer, short but fervid.

“All the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them” he murmured, “would not be to me so much as this!” Then he rose.

“Child,” he said, “you know not what you do.” And, opening the door, he went away into the snowy forest. But the girl’s weeping voice called after him, “Herman,” “Herman.” He turned; she had sunk upon the threshold. He came back and lifted her for a moment in his arms.

“Be comforted, Rosamond,” he said tenderly.”It is but a fancy, you will soon forget me. You do not really love me–such a one as I,” he continued, bringing forward, poor heart! his own greatest sorrow with unpitying hand.”But thank you, dear, for the gentle fancy.” He stood a moment, silent; then touched her dark hair with his quivering lips and disappeared.

Sunday morning the sun rose unclouded, the snow lay deep on the ground, the first ice covered the bay; winter had come. At ten o’clock the customary service began in the Chapel of Saint John and Saint James, and the little congregation shivered, and whispered that it must really try to raise money enough for a stove. The parson did not feel the cold, although he looked almost bloodless in his white surplice. The Englishwoman was there, repentant–the sick child had not rallied under the new ministration; Mrs. Malone was there from sheer good nature, and several of the villagers and two or three miners had strolled in because they had nothing else to do, Brother Saul having returned to the mine. Rose Ray was not there. She was no saint, so she stayed at home and wept like a sinner.

The congregation, which had sat silent through the service, fell entirely asleep during the sermon on the “General Councils.” Suddenly, in the midst of a sentence, there came a noise that stopped the parson and woke the sleepers. Two or three miners rushed into the chapel and spoke to the few men present.”Come out,” they cried, “come out to the mine. The thief’s caught at last, and who do you think it is? Saul, Brother Saul himself, the hypocrite! They tracked him to his den, and there they found the barrels, and sacks, and kegs, but the stuff he’s made away with, most of it. He took it all, every crumb, and us a starving!”

“We’ve run in to tell the town,” said another.”We’ve got him fast, and we’re going to make a ‘sample of him. Come out and see the fun.”

“Yes,” echoed a third, who lifted a ruffianly face from his short squat figure, “and we’ll take our own time, too. He’s made us suffer, and now he shall suffer a bit, if I know myself.”

The women shuddered as, with an ominous growl, all the men went out together.

“I misdoubt they’ll hang him,” said Mrs. Malone, shaking her head as she looked after them.

“Or worse,” said the miner’s wife.

Then the two departed, and the parson was left alone. Did he cut off the service? No. Deliberately he finished every word of the sermon, sang a hymn, and spoke the final prayer; then, after putting everything in order, he too left the little sanctuary, but he did not go homeward, he took the road to the mine.

“Don’t–ee go, sir, don’t!” pleaded the Englishwoman, standing in her doorway as he passed.”You won’t do no good, sir.”

“Maybe not,” answered the parson, gently, “but at least I must try.”

He entered the forest, the air was still and cold, the snow crackled under his feet, and the pine-trees stretched away in long white aisles. He looked like a pigmy as he hastened on among the forest giants, his step more languid than usual from sternest vigil and fasting.

“Thou proud, evil body, I have conquered thee!” he had said in the cold dawning. And he had; at least, the body answered not again.

The mine was several miles away, and to lighten the journey the little man sang a hymn, his voice sounding through the forest in singular melody. It was an ancient hymn that he sang, written long ago by some cowled monk, and it told in quaint language of the joys of “Paradise! Oh Paradise!” He did not feel the cold as he sang of the pearly gates.