LIGHT AFTER DARKNESS.
Mr. Rush was privately informed that his rival was to canvass "Stony
Creek" precinct on the following day. Accordingly he was up before
daylight, drank half a dozen raw eggs, for which he had a particular
passion, mounted his horse, and left Windsor behind, before Mr. Sharp
had opened his eyes. Before leaving, however, the politician shook his
wife by the arm; there was no need, although, for she had not slept, and
thus addressed her:
"Althea, I am going to 'Stony Creek' that I may head that fellow. Don't
fail to attend the Mission to-day; and do, for goodness' sake, hold your
head up, and not fall fast asleep as you did last night. You acted like
a mummy. Don't know when I shall be back; you need not look for me. Have
you heard what I said? Don't forget now about turning in with the
idolaters, look at the old Jesuit, and pretend to hear what he says, if
you don't."
Althea breathed a sigh of relief as she found herself thus unexpectedly
left alone for the day. She would surely avail herself of the
permission, command rather, to go to St. Mary's. She had not slept, nor
felt need of sleep; she had never been so wide awake; indeed, it was as
if she were just awakened from a life-long slumber.
While still meditating upon her pillow, the six o'clock bell rang; this
reminded her that Mass had been appointed for that hour. She would go.
She dressed hurriedly, and proceeding to the kitchen, told Mary, who was
a Catholic, that she might postpone breakfast, and come with her to
Mass. Mary looked up with a pleased surprise and cheerful "Yes ma'am,"
and was soon in readiness.
Althea understood nothing whatever of the ceremony of the Mass; nor, on
this morning, did she seek to understand it. It was not for this purpose
she had come to St. Mary's. It was to feel again a sense of that strange
nearness to her uncle and her child; to feel again near to Heaven and to
God. And, though her conscience had been painfully aroused, though she
felt keenly a thousand stings and reproaches, which would probably but
be renewed and heightened by this repeated visit, she would not have
remained away, not though her dearest wishes could have been realized in
an hour.
Althea remained absorbed in deep thought and reflection through the
first, second, and third Mass; the quiet intervals were all the same to
her. She was heedless of those who came in or who went out, as well as
of those who knelt around the confessionals, except now and then to
wonder, as she chanced to meet some tearful eye, if the world held
another heart so lonely, desolate, hopeless as her own.
Hopeless? She recalled the day when she had beheld the space of blue in
the sky--the hole in the day, Pug-on-a-kesheik, thus termed by her
Chippewa friends--which she had taken as a token that her love for
Hubert was no sin. She recalled the momentary joy that had animated her
as she, in imagination, clasped that love to her heart, as a gain for
her loss, as a balm for her bitter sorrow. She remembered how she had
even dropped upon her knees in thankfulness to heaven for having given
her such a comfort in the midst of her grief. Should _she_ have scruples
when ministers of God had lifted up holy hands and sanctified such
unions? Thus had her first sense of horror been blunted, and blushless
become her keen, womanly shame.
Why then, with a sense of the presence of the glorified spirits of her
uncle and child, assumed that caressed infatuation, that which she had
deemed a higher, nobler love, proportions of gigantic horror? Why had
she spat out as gall and wormwood the sweet morsel she had rolled under
her tongue? Why, giving up her only joy, trampling down with all her
strength and might the one hope of her existence, had she returned to
this strange house, wherein she could but beat her breast and cry out
"unworthy, unworthy"? Was she the first woman who had mistaken dross for
gold; and, finding her error, might not she, like others, fling it aside
for the shining ore that lay in her path? Should her hand still grasp
the piercing thorn, when the rose bloomed temptingly before her?
Thus listened Althea to human sophistry, until God spoke to her through
the lips of the Jesuit priest. And he said, slowly and solemnly,
grasping in his right hand the emblem of our religion:
"And unto the married I command, yet not I, but the Lord, let not the
wife depart from her husband. But if she separate, let her remain
unmarried, or be reconciled to her husband; and let not the husband put
away his wife."
Had these words come down from the heavens in tones of thunder they
could not have produced upon Althea a more stunning effect. Was she here
to recognize the hand of God? Had _He_ inspired this priest to speak
upon a subject that was thrilling her with pain, doubt, and fear?
A masterly discourse followed upon the indissolubility of the marriage
tie. "Shall it be insisted upon then, do you say," toward the close of
his impassioned words, "that a woman shall suffer insult, effects of
drunkenness, abuse of all kinds? This is hard, indeed, but there is
something worse than that; for a suffering wife to break the law of God,
and marry another husband! For, whether is it not better to suffer than
to sin? Wherefore came our blessed Lord upon earth, but to save us from
the effects of our transgressions? He laid down his life that we might
live. He suffered that we might rejoice. But He suffered not the death
of the Cross that we might enjoy to the utmost the pleasures of _this_
life. He endured not the bloody sweat, the scourgings, scoffs,
revilings, and all the attendancies of betrayal, trial, and crucifixion,
that, with impunity, we might set at defiance His divine law, and live
in open rebellion to the Christian rule He came to establish. God
Almighty help us, if we expect to get to heaven in any other way than by
the Cross of Christ! Think of it! The Cross of Christ! Can you associate
with those words, so dear, so sublime, to every Catholic heart, aught of
this world's ease, or luxury, or happiness? How many thousands saintly
souls have flung aside all that the world could offer sweet and
beautiful to embrace this hard, this cruel Cross! And meet they no
reward? Hard Cross and cruel to eyes not comprehending, because separate
from transitory joys, but yielding balm and incense sweeter and more as
most closely pressed to the heart. And woman, first at the sepulchre,
first in every good word and work, is it not _her_ glory to suffer for
the Cross of Christ? How much has she of His spirit, who cannot bear
without rising anger one unkind word or provoking act? Who gives taunt
for taunt, and blow for blow? Who disregards His express commands,
availing herself of the civil law of divorce, which she knows to be at
open variance with 'Let not the wife separate from her husband: but if
she separate, let her remain unmarried, or else let her be reconciled
unto her husband!'
"What is termed in Jurisprudence the common law, falls sometimes heavily
in individual cases; but for that reason would we do away with it
altogether? The law of the indissoluble tie of marriage does, we admit,
fall heavily upon some, yea, many lives; should we, therefore, infer
God's dictation to be erring, and practice the human law opposing His
own? Supposing in some instances, a life to be made happier, even
better; would that compensate for the abolishment of a law upon which
rests the general happiness of domestic society--nay, upon which rests
society itself? Better that few should suffer than that anarchy prevail.
Better that all should understand the marriage bond to be indissoluble
but by death, that it may be assumed carefully and solemnly as a
life-affair of the utmost moment, and not entered into with thoughtless
levity as a bargain that may be broken to-morrow. In a life-journey so
intimate, patience, forbearance, meekness, long-suffering are requisite.
These are Christian virtues which will render any yoke easy and every
burden light. No Christian nation should legalize divorce. No true
Christian will avail himself of the law of divorce. In the eye of every
Christian man or woman, whosoever is married to him or her that 'has
been put away' is one of whom it is said, 'they shall never enter the
Kingdom of Heaven.' Be not deceived. Even though those called and
calling themselves ministers of God blaspheme Heaven by professing to
bless such unhallowed unions, they are of the spirit of darkness, and
lead unto moral death.
"Were there but this life, the case would be different. You could live
and be merry, because to-morrow you die. It is upon this principle the
divorce law has obtained. The world and Christianity are at variance.
The one offers you comfort and ease, the other a continual conflict with
the flesh and the devil. In the end, the world's votary shall vainly beg
for a drop of water to cool the parched tongue; while the Christian
warrior, having lain aside buckler and shield, reposes under the green
palms of victory and peace in the Kingdom of Infinite Love."
The noble follower of St. Loyola might reasonably find fault with the
above, as a citation of his words. But they so glowed and sparkled that
they could be caught only in fragments and snatches; imperfect as they
are, we trust they convey an idea of what was impressed upon the mind of
Althea when the Jesuit closed--"in the name of the Father, and of the
Son and of the Holy Ghost."
Althea was stricken--not blind as was the persecutor of the
Christians--but with a steady lightning-flash of light that was
intensely distressing. It discovered to her her heart full of sin and
shame. It betrayed the slippery sands upon which her feet were treading.
It revealed the gulf into which she had been about to plunge. Upon such
a flood of light she could not close her eyes. She reflected that Paul
had cried, "Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do," and he had been sent
to Ananias, the priest, "who would tell him what he was to do." She did
not stop to marvel why the Lord had not Himself told him what to do
directly, but instinctively did what Paul did, obeyed instructions and
sought the priest.
It was now nearly noon. Althea had been sleepless, and had not tasted
food since the preceding evening. She looked around for Mary, that she
might accompany her to the priest's house, where she rightly supposed
the Missioner to have taken up his abode. She saw not Mary, who had gone
home before the sermon, supposing that as her mistress had had no
breakfast, she must stand in need of dinner. Instead of Mary, Althea
beheld Kitty Brett, one of Mary's comrades, whom she had often seen at
her house.
Kitty Brett had one of the sunniest faces in the world; and it smiled
all over with willingness as Althea made her request. O yes, she would
go right over with her, and, if she wished, would introduce her to
Father Ryan, the parish priest, whom she would at first be likely to
see. Moreover, her mistress had gone to the country with her children,
so she had nothing to prevent her remaining during the little time Mrs.
Rush might wish to prolong her visit.
Father Ryan evinced no surprise, however much he might have felt, on
meeting this unaccustomed visitor. Althea was in a state for no
preambles and no delays. She at once inquired if she could be permitted
an interview with the Missioner.
The priest hesitated for a moment. Had she been a Catholic, he would
have put her off until after the laborer of the morning had been
refreshed. Reflecting, he withdrew, and very soon after, invited her
into another room, where she found herself alone with the true priest of
God.
Oh! Althea, thy mother, who gave thee to God at the first moment of thy
existence, and at the last of hers, who had aspirations for the truth
which God may have regarded, must have wept tears of joy, and called
upon the angels of Heaven to rejoice over her daughter that repented.