Part 130 (1/2)
”But,” objected the penitent, ”it would be a sin to leave them here.
They can be sold to feed the poor.”
”Mary, fix thine eye on this crucifix, and trample those devilish baubles beneath thy feet.”
She hesitated; but soon threw them down and trampled on them.
”Now open the window and fling them out on that dung-hill. 'Tis well done. So pa.s.s the wages of sin from thy hands, its glittering yoke from thy neck, its pollution from thy soul. Away, daughter of St. Francis, we tarry in this vile place too long.” She followed him.
But they were not clear yet.
At first the landlord was so astounded at seeing a black friar and a grey nun pa.s.s through his kitchen from the inside, that he gaped, and muttered ”Why, what mummery is this?” But he soon comprehended the matter, and whipped in between the fugitives and the door. ”What ho!
Reuben! Carl! Gavin! here is a false friar spiriting away our Janet.”
The men came running in with threatening looks. The friar rushed at them crucifix in hand. ”Forbear,” he cried, in a stentorian voice. ”She is a holy nun returning to her vows. The hand that touches her cowl, or her robe, to stay her, it shall wither, his body shall lie unburied, cursed by Rome, and his soul shall roast in eternal fire.” They shrank back as if a flame had met them. ”And thou--miserable panderer!--”
He did not end the sentence in words, but seized the man by the neck, and, strong as a lion in his moments of hot excitement, whirled him furiously from the door and sent him all across the room, pitching headforemost on to the stone floor; then tore the door open and carried the screaming nun out into the road. ”Hus.h.!.+ poor trembler,” he gasped; ”they dare not molest thee on the high road. Away!”
The landlord lay terrified, half stunned, and bleeding: and Mary, though she often looked back apprehensively, saw no more of him.
On the road he bade her observe his impetuosity.
”Hitherto,” said he, ”we have spoken of thy faults: now for mine. My choler is ungovernable; furious. It is by the grace of G.o.d I am not a murderer. I repent the next moment; but a moment too late is all too late. Mary, had the churls laid finger on thee, I should have scattered their brains with my crucifix. Oh, I know myself, go to; and tremble at myself. There lurketh a wild beast beneath this black gown of mine.”
”Alas, father,” said Mary, ”were you other than you are I had been lost.
To take me from that place needed a man wary as a fox; yet bold as a lion.”
Clement reflected. ”Thus much is certain: G.o.d chooseth well his fleshly instruments: and with imperfect hearts doeth his perfect work. Glory be to G.o.d!”
When they were near the convent Mary suddenly stopped, and seized the friar's arm, and began to cry. He looked at her kindly, and told her she had nothing to fear. It would be the happiest day she had ever spent. He then made her sit down and compose herself till he should return. He entered the convent, and desired to see the abbess.
”My sister, give the glory to G.o.d: Mary is at the gate.”
The astonishment and delight of the abbess were unbounded. She yielded at once to Clement's earnest request that the road of penitence might be smoothed at first to this unstable wanderer, and, after some opposition, she entered heartily into his views as to her actual reception. To give time for their little preparations Clement went slowly back, and seating himself by Mary soothed her: and heard her confession.
”The abbess has granted me that you shall propose your own penance.”
”It shall be none the lighter,” said she.
”I trow not,” said he: ”but that is future: to-day is given to joy alone.”
He then led her round the building to the abbess's postern. As they went they heard musical instruments and singing.
”'Tis a feast-day,” said Mary: ”and I come to mar it.”
”Hardly,” said Clement, smiling; ”seeing that you are the queen of the fete.”