Part 65 (1/2)

”No matter. _You_ have nothing to fear, my daughter; you will be protected. _He_ has everything to fear; he is a felon before the law, and he may be prosecuted. Compose yourself, my child, and give your mind to heavenly subjects. See, the priest is coming in,” murmured the abbess, who immediately crossed herself, and lowered her eyes in devotion.

Salome, though trembling in every limb, and feeling faint, almost to falling, followed the mother-superior's example, and tried to concentrate her mind in wors.h.i.+p.

The solemn procession of the service entered the chancel--the priests in their sacerdotal vestments, the boys in their white robes. The officiating priest took his station before the altar, with his a.s.sistants on each side. And the impressive celebration of the high ma.s.s commenced.

But, ah! Salome could not confine her attention to the service! Her eyes, guard them carefully as she might, would wander from her missal toward the stalwart form and stately head of the stranger in that third pew front; her thoughts would wander back to the past, forth to the future, or, if they stayed upon the present at all, it was but in connection with that stranger.

Father F----, the great English priest, preached the sermon, from the text: ”Glory to G.o.d in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to men.” He preached with all the force, fervor and eloquence inspired by the Divine words, and he was heard with rapt attention by all the cloistered nuns and all the common congregation--by all within the sound of his voice, perhaps, except one--the most sorrowful one on that glad day. Salome tried in vain to follow the golden thread of his discourse.

But how little she was able to do, may be known from the deep sigh of relief she heaved when it was all over.

As soon as the benediction was p.r.o.nounced, the nuns arose to leave their screened choir, and the congregation got up to go out from the chapel.

Salome lingered behind the sisterhood, and watched the handsome stranger in the third pew front--a stranger to every one present except herself.

He also lingered behind all his companions, and turned and looked intently up into the screened choir.

Salome saw his full face for the first time since his appearance there--and she saw that it was deadly, ghastly pale, with white lips and gla.s.sy eyes. He gazed into the screened choir as into vacancy.

Salome knew that he could see nothing there, yet she shrank back and stood in the deepest shadow, until she saw him pick up his hat and glide from the chapel, the last man that went out.

”Ah, what could have changed him so?” she thought--”love, fear, remorse--what?”

He had nothing to fear from her. If no one should take vengeance on him until she should do so, then would he go unpunished to his grave, and his sin would never have found him out in this world. Nay, sooner than to have hurt him in life, liberty, honor, or estate, she, herself, would have borne the penalty of all his crimes. Yet of those crimes what an unspeakable horror she had, though for the criminal what an unutterable pity--what an undying love.

While she stood there, gazing through the choir-screen upon the spot whence the stranger had disappeared, her bosom, torn by these conflicting pa.s.sions of horror, pity, love, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder, and turning, saw the mother-superior at her side.

”My daughter, why do you loiter here?” she tenderly inquired.

Salome's pale face flushed, as she replied:

”Oh, mother, I was watching him until he left the church.”

”My daughter, it was a deadly sin to do so!” gravely replied the abbess.

”He could not see me, mother,” sighed Salome, in a tremulous voice.

”That was well. Come now to your own room, daughter, and do not tremble so. You have nothing to fear, except from your own weak and sinful nature,” said the abbess, as she drew the girl's arm within her own and led her from the choir.

”Am I so weak and sinful, mother?” inquired Salome, after a silence which had lasted until the two had reached the door of the Infants' Asylum, where Salome now lodged.

”As every human being is! and especially as every woman is in all affairs of the heart,” gravely returned the abbess.

”Can you spare me a few minutes, mother? Will you come in and let me talk to you a little while? Have you time? I want to talk to you. Oh!

I wish we had mother-confessors for women--for girls, I mean, instead of father-confessors. Can you come in and let me talk to you, mother, for a little while?”

”Surely, daughter,” said the abbess, gently as with her own hand she opened the door and led her votaress into the room.

Salome offered the one chair to the lady-superior, and then took the foot-stool at her feet, and laid her head upon her knees.

”Now speak to me freely, child. Tell me what you wish and how I can help you,” said the abbess, kindly.