A year had elapsed. The abbess of the convent of Santa Inés and the
daughter of Maese Pérez were speaking in a whisper, only half visible
in the shadows of the choir. The bells with loud voices were calling
to the faithful from the height of the steeple. Every now and then
one or two persons crossed the now silent and deserted portico; and
after taking holy water, they chose their place in the corner of the
nave, where a few neighbors were quietly waiting for midnight Mass to
begin.
"Do you see," the abbess was saying, "your fears are supremely
childish. There is scarcely a soul in the church. You should have
more self-confidence. All Seville is at the cathedral to-night. Play
for us, my child,--it is just as though we were alone. Why do you
sigh? What is the matter with you? Speak."
"I am afraid!" exclaimed the girl, in a shaken voice.
"Afraid? Why, what do you mean? Afraid of what?"
"I do not know,--of something supernatural. Last night--listen. I had
heard you say that you were anxious to have me play for midnight
Mass this Christmas Eve; and, proud of the distinction, I thought I
would first try the registers and practise a little, that I might
surprise you and do you honor to-day. I came to the choir alone; I
opened the door which leads to the organ-loft. The cathedral clock
just then was striking the hour; I do not know what hour, but the
strokes were many, many, and so sad! The bells went on ringing during
all the time that I stood petrified on the threshold. It seemed an
age to me! The church was empty and dark. Far away, yonder, a little
light glimmered like a star, lost in the night of the sky. It was
the dying light of the lamp which burns before the high altar. By
its faint reflection, which only added to the profound horror of the
darkness, I saw,--yes, I saw it, Mother; do not doubt me,--I saw a
man, who, sitting with his back to where I stood, was running one
hand along the keys of the organ, while he touched the stops with the
other, and the organ sounded, but in a most indescribable manner.
Every note was like a sob stifled within the metal pipes, which
vibrated, reproducing the tone, muffled, almost imperceptible, but
with wonderful accuracy.
"The cathedral clock was still striking the hour, and the man was
still trying the keys. I could even hear his breathing.
"The blood in my veins was frozen with horror. I felt a chill run
through my body; my head was hot; I tried to scream, but I could not,
for the man sitting there had turned his face and was looking at me.
No; I do not mean that; he was not looking, for he was blind. It was
my father!"
"Come, come, sister, you must try and banish these foolish fancies
with which the arch-enemy tries to disturb our weak imaginations. Say
a _Pater-noster_ and an _Ave-Maria_ to the archangel Saint Michael,
captain of the celestial hosts, that he may succor you from evil
spirits. Wear on your neck a scapular touched by the relics of San
Pacomio, the counsellor against temptations; and go, my child, go
and take your place at the organ. Mass is about to begin, and the
faithful are waiting with impatience. Your father is in heaven; and
it is far more likely that from the home of the blessed he will
inspire you on this holy night rather than appear to you to give you
a fright."
The abbess went to take her seat in the choir in the midst of the
sisterhood. The daughter of Maese Pérez opened the door of the
organ-loft with trembling hand, and sat on the stool before the
organ. Mass began.
Mass began, and nothing unusual occurred until the time of the
consecration. At that moment the organ sounded, and with the first
sound came a shriek from the organ-loft.
The abbess, the nuns, and some of the faithful ran to the organ.
"Look at him! look at him!" cried the girl, whose eyes, starting
from their sockets, were fixed upon the stool from which she had
just risen in terror. She stood clinging with convulsed hands to the
railing of the loft.
All eyes were turned upon the point which she indicated. There was no
one at the organ, and still it went on sounding, like the voices of
archangels, in a burst of mystic joy.
* * * * *
"Did I not tell you so, one and a thousand times, my good Doña
Baltasara,--did I not tell you so? There is some mystery in all this.
Listen. What! Did you not attend Mass last night? Anyway, I presume
you know what occurred. Why, it is the talk of Seville to-day. The
archbishop is furious, and with good reason. Think of his having
missed the Mass at Santa Inés,--of his not having witnessed the
miracle; and all for what, pray? That he might sit and listen to a
perfect charivari; for according to those who were present and who
told me of it, the new organist's playing was nothing else. But I
said so all the time. That squint-eye never could have played the
music we heard together last Christmas Eve at Santa Inés. It was a
lie! That music came from another soul. There is a mystery in all
this, my dear,--a mystery, believe me."
Yes, and so there was. A deep mystery, a beautiful mystery, which was
the soul of Maese Pérez.
[Illustration]