Part 2 (1/2)

Calmly, and with a smile of joy, such as I had never seen before, nor have seen since, she said, ”I thank and bless you, dear father, for the parable of the Prodigal Son, on which you preached a month ago. You have brought me to the feet of the dear Saviour; there, I have found a peace and a joy which surpa.s.s anything which human heart can feel; I have thrown myself into the arms of my heavenly Father, and I know He has mercifully accepted and forgiven His poor prodigal child! Oh, I see the angels with their golden harps around the throne of the Lamb! Do you not hear the celestial harmony of their songs? I go--I go to join them in my Father's house. I shall not be lost!”

While she was thus speaking to me, my eyes were really turned into two fountains of tears, and I was unable, as well as unwilling, to see anything, so entirely overcome was I by the sublime words which were flowing from the dying lips of that dear child, who was no more a sinner, but a real angel of Heaven to me. I was listening to her words; there was a celestial music in every one of them. But she had raised her voice in such a strange way, when she had begun to say, ”I go to my Father's house,” and she had made such a cry of joy when she had let the last words, ”not be lost,” escape her lips, that I raised my head and opened my eyes to look at her. I suspected that something strange had occurred.

I got upon my feet, pa.s.sed my handkerchief over my face, to wipe away the tears which were preventing me from seeing with accuracy, and looked at her.

Her hands were crossed on her breast, and there was on her face the expression of a really superhuman joy; her beautiful eyes were fixed as if they were looking on some grand and sublime spectacle; it seemed to me at first that she was praying.

In that very same instant the mother rushed into the room, crying, ”My G.o.d!

my G.o.d! what does that cry 'lost' mean?”--for her last words, ”not be lost,” particularly the last one, had been p.r.o.nounced with such a powerful voice that they had been heard almost everywhere in the house.

I made a sign with my hand to prevent the distressed mother from making any noise, and troubling her dying child in her prayer, for I really thought that she had stopped speaking, as she used so often to do, when alone with me, in order to pray. But I was mistaken. That redeemed soul had gone, on the golden wings of love, to join the mult.i.tudes of those who have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb, to sing the eternal Alleluia.

CHAPTER II.

AURICULAR CONFESSION A DEEP PIT OF PERDITION FOR THE PRIEST

It was some time after our Mary had been buried. The terrible and mysterious cause of her death was known only to G.o.d and to me. Though her loving mother was still weeping over her grave, she had soon been forgotten, as usual, by the greatest part of those who had known her: but she was constantly present to my mind. I never entered the confessional-box without hearing her solemn, though so mild, voice telling me, ”There must be somewhere something wrong in the auricular confession. Twice I have been destroyed by my confessors; and I have known several others who have been destroyed in the same way.”

More than once, when her voice was ringing in my ears from her tomb, I had shed bitter tears on the profound and unfathomable degradation into which I, with the other priests, had to fell in the confessional-box. For many, many times, stories as deplorable as that of this unfortunate girl were confessed to me by city as well as country females.

One night I was awakened by the rumbling noise of thunder, when I heard some one knocking at the door. I hastened out of bed to ask who was there.

The answer was that the Rev. Mr. ---- was dying, and that he wanted to see me before his death. I dressed myself, and was soon on the highway. The darkness was fearful; and often, had it not been for the lightning which was almost constantly tearing the clouds, we should not have known where we were. After a long and hard journey through the darkness and the storm, we arrived at the house of the dying priest. I went directly to his room, and really found him very low; he could hardly speak. With a sign of his hand he bade his servant-girl and a young man who were there go out, and leave him alone with me.

Then, with a low voice, he said, ”Is it you who prepared poor Mary to die?”

”Yes, sir,” I answered.

”Please tell me the truth. Is it the fact that she died the death of a reprobate, and that her last words were, 'Oh, my G.o.d! I am lost'?”

I answered: ”As I was the confessor of that girl, and we were talking together on matters which pertained to her confession, in the very moment that she was unexpectedly summoned to appear before G.o.d, I cannot answer your question in any way; please, then, excuse me if I cannot say any more on that subject: but tell me who can have a.s.sured you that she died the death of a reprobate.”

”It was her own mother,” answered the dying man. ”She came, last week, to visit me, and when she was alone with me, with many tears and cries, she said how her poor child had refused to receive the last sacraments, and how her last cry was, 'I am lost!'” She added that that cry, 'Lost!' was p.r.o.nounced with such a frightful power that it was heard through all the house.”

”If her mother has told you that,” I replied, ”you may believe what you please about the way that poor child died. I cannot say a word--you know it--about that matter.”

”But if she is lost,” rejoined the old, dying priest, ”I am the miserable one who has destroyed her. She was an angel of purity when she came to the convent. Oh! dear Mary, if you are lost, I am a thousandfold more lost! Oh, my G.o.d, my G.o.d! what will become of me? I am dying; and I am lost!”

It was indeed an awful thing to see that old sinner tearing his own hands, rolling on his bed as if he had been on burning coals, with all the marks of the most frightful despair on his face, crying, ”I am lost! Oh, my G.o.d, I am lost!”

I was glad that the claps of thunder, which were shaking the house and roaring without ceasing, prevented the people outside the room from hearing those cries of desolation from that priest, whom every one considered a great saint.

When it seemed to me that his terror had somewhat subsided, and that his mind was calmed a little, I said to him, ”My dear friend, you must not give yourself up to such despair. Our merciful G.o.d has promised to forgive the repenting sinner who comes to Him, even at the last hour of the day.

Address yourself to the Virgin Mary, she will ask and obtain your pardon.”

”Do you not think that it is too late to ask pardon? The doctor has honestly warned me that death is very near, and I feel I am just now dying!

Is it not too late to ask and obtain pardon?” asked the dying priest.

”No, my dear sir, it is not too late, if you sincerely regret your sins.