CHAPTER III

IT is a ride the children can never forget, fraught with its delicious excitement, as the great car plunges its way across the moorland, and up and down the deep, rutty lanes. It is all like a dream, and Herr Conradstein, muffled in his furs, might be St. Nicholas himself. They flash through Marlstoke, and can only lean out, and signal to an open-mouthed carter, leaving him scarce recovered from his wonderment when they are at their destination.

At the cottage the chauffeur is bidden to lift them carefully out, and their kind friend waves his hand in farewell; he will not enter, despite their entreaties.

The gentleman is doubtless as impatient as his driver to get back to a comfortable fireside; it is an unpleasant shock to the latter when he is ordered to pull up before the little inn, whilst his fare descends, presumably to explore Kemp's Cross.

"A bit dotty, I reckon," the chauffeur says to mine host, who has come out to receive them, jerking his thumb towards the retreating figure, walking alertly down the main street.

Kemp's Cross is a village so remote that it has undergone little change since the days when some forgotten worthy erected that now crumbling sacred edifice. The same families intermarry, follow the callings of their ancestors, and the majority have never changed their religious belief: they are what their forefathers were when the West country rose, loyal to the old Faith. When the parish church passed into other hands the Catholics worshipped by stealth, at the Hall, where some faithful priest was always found, ready to risk life itself to bring the Bread of Life to the perishing. With the coming of better times a former squire had built the present chapel, but its unobtrusiveness testifies to the difficulties which even then attended the open practice of the ancient rites.

The stranger presently stumbles upon the humble building, hidden in a back lane, and pauses to survey its forlorn, decaying aspect An old woman is coming out, her face is lined and wrinkled, but it bears the impress of a great peace. What would not the great singer give to look like that? In answer to his questions she tells him that Father Seaton is within. It is the hour for confessions, afterwards there will be Benediction.

He turns away, wanders aimlessly the length of the street, then, as if taking a sudden resolve, hastily retraces his steps,

and softly pushing open the door of the church, he goes in. It is late before he comes out and returns to the waiting car. He is grave and pre-occupied, but the moody shadow on his countenance has lifted, and in its place is a reflection of that peace which he has desired, sought, and obtained.

The first thing he does on re-entering his room is to take from its frame the photo on the mantelpiece. Its seductive beauty seems intensified, as for an instant he holds it, and yet it is not of her that he is thinking as he slowly drops it into the heart of the blazing fire and watches it burn to ashes. Then he sits down and writes two letters, and both are refusals. He will not go to Monaco, and he instructs Messrs. Graham to take no further legal proceedings.

Herr Conradstein's valet is used to his master's whims and quick changes of purpose, but even he is startled when next day that gentleman starts for town with no luggage save a dressingbag, and leaving Jules, the indispensable, behind. "Mais c'est Madame Inez, sans doute," thinks the latter, shaking his head, for Jules has not approved of her influence over a master whom he adores.

It is not, however, to the flat of Inez Alvarez that Herr Conradstein bends his steps later on, but to a dingy street, and it is at one of the gloomiest houses that he makes enquiry for Madame Meyer.

Yes-she is in-and his heart beats as it has never beaten for many a day, as unannounced he goes up the narrow stair. It is such a bare room to which he is directed, but he only gathers a vague impression of its poverty as he gently opens the door, for all his gaze fastens on the woman who sits drooping so wearily by the fireless hearth, and who turns a listless, hopeless face towards the intruder.

But even as he looks, there leaps into it the light of recognition, and something else which transfigures it with a wondrous radiance. He has left a girl, but in that brief instant there stands revealed a woman-a woman who, through suffering, has gained a soul, together with that mighty love which many waters cannot quench. It is only for a second he beholds her thus; then a veil falls, and hides the secret. She stiffens, and coldly averts her face, as coming forward he kneels beside her chair, and, taking her limp hand, covers it with burning kisses.

Gretchen, I have come back! I have been mad, wicked, but say it is not too late to begin afresh. Ach; du mein Herz, say thou wilt forgive thine unworthy husband!”

VOL. XLII.-No. 487

He does not spare himself the recital of his follies; it is a full confession that he pours forth, full as that made before Heaven, and as she listens she knows that not only has he come back to her, but that already he has come back, as the Prodigal, to the Divine Father.

His voice is husky as he tells how the children's carol awoke the memories of the past, pierced the crust of worldliness, and led him to repentance, and her hand trembles in his.

Yet there is a struggle in her breast, and pride—striving against love-forbids a too easy surrender.

She remains mute, but slowly, surely, her Guardian Angel draws her towards the repentant husband, still pleading before her, and suddenly, with a sob, she turns, and throws herself upon his breast.

"We have both something to forgive, Conrad," she whispers, "but we have both learnt lessons, and, God helping us, we will learn together what love will teach us in the days to come."

So they stand, heart to heart, cementing a new and better union whilst the wordless thanksgiving of their souls goes up to Heaven:

Adoremus Dominum.

The new year has scarce dawned when Westquay is placarded with the announcement that Herr Conradstein will give a concert in the Public Rooms. As it is well known that his appearances are usually confined to the great cities, it causes no small surprise. The wonder becomes augmented when it becomes further known that it is in aid of the building fund of an obscure Catholic mission. Where is Kemp's Cross? and why should Conradstein, of all people, interest himself in it? Is he turning religious?

There are some strange rumours flying about. What is this story of a wife turning up? and is it true that he has broken with Inez Alvarez, and that the star has betaken herself to Monaco in a rage?

Altogether the world interests itself greatly in the singer's affairs, and the sense of mystery increases the desire to see and hear him. The tickets sell like wild-fire, at exorbitant prices, and the manager is pale with envy when he thinks of such a golden harvest diverted from his hands.

It is a wonderful concert, talked of for long afterwards, for Conradstein surpasses himself, and the enthusiasm is unbounded. It is noticed that as he bows his thanks for recall after recall his eyes seek one spot in the crowded hall where a lady, young

and graceful, sits between two children. Their seats have been specially reserved-for Madame Meyer, and Philip and Winifred Nosworthy. Who are they? people ask, and receiving no answer, indulge in strange speculations, which yet fall short of the stranger truth.

After this the future of the new church is assured, and gifts come pouring in at such a rate that Father Seaton laughingly declares he shall soon need a secretary to acknowledge them. He feels like singing his Nunc Dimittis as the work nears completion, and yet it is with regret that he prepares to bid farewell to the scene of many hallowed memories. One recent Christmas dwells in his mind when the old, draughty, ill-ventilated building seemed as the very gate of heaven, and he makes his daily thanksgiving for a wanderer that day returned to the fold. Those who were present will never forget the glorious voice of a stranger who sang Adeste Fideles, and how they seemed to hear the angels themselves bidding them adore, with a fervour of adoration which laid them prostrate in soul, and then lifted them up to behold the glory of the Lord.

It is a very beautiful church which stands in the village of Kemp's Cross to-day, and visitors flock to it from Westquay, attracted by the romantic story of its foundation It has leaked out that it owes its erection mainly to the efforts of two children whose simple song touched a great singer's heart. The world knows how a Christmas carol evoked a generous response but it does not guess that it awoke deeper chords, fulfilling God's purposes in a human soul; restoring a lost faith, and winning for the altar of sacrifice the fairest gift of all, even "a contrite and humble heart," which, "O God, Thou wilt not despise."

Herr Conrad Meyer and his wife have been once and again to Kemp's Cross, to the delight of Father Seaton and Philip and Winnie; but they are much in Germany now, and there is a baby Conrad to keep them in the beautiful home which the singer has purchased near his old parents. More and more he loves to retire thither, and is seldom heard now on the stage, though he sings often for charitable purposes, and for the glory of God. And as Christmas comes round, in the little sanctuary amidst the mountains, he sings again the hymn that wrought wonders, when it brought to him the message of God "out of the mouth of babes."

EMMA O'HARA.

A

TO PROTECT GIRL EMIGRANTS

COPY of the Second Annual Report of the Liverpool Branch of the Catholic Women's League of Great Britain has reached us. The Branch is under the presidency of an old friend of the readers of the IRISH MONTHLY, Mrs. Francis Blundell, better known to some of them as M. E. Francis, the writer of charming stories. The activities of the Branch are devoted to helping Catholic girls, who are emigrating, to avoid the dangers to which they might be exposed, and to obtain employment for them in their new homes. St. Zita's Girls' Club; Hospital Visiting, St. Brigid's "School for Mothers"; the Debating Class, are other objects with which the members occupy themselves. Perhaps the point to which. we should like to call special attention is the help given to girl emigrants. The Branch is naturally unwilling to use means of bringing these advantages under the notice of Irish girls, lest there should be any suspicion that they in any way wished to encourage emigration. At the same time it is of great importance that those who have made up their minds to emigrate should be in a position to avail themselves of the advantages which the Catholic Women's League Emigration Society offers -seeing that it is the only Catholic Society which interests itself with women emigrants who are over 18. For this reason we think it well to bring the Society under the notice of our many readers amongst the clergy and in the convents who must frequently be called upon to advise those who intend to emigrate. The Patrons of the Society are His Eminence Cardinal Bourne and the Bishops of England. We take the following from one of the hand-bills issued by the Society:

Emigrant Parties sail Monthly (from April to October inclusive). Good Catholic situations in Canada ensured on arrival. Good wages. Advanced passage money whenever necessary.

The Emigrants are met at Liverpool by Catholic C.W.L. Staff, are lodged overnight in Catholic hotels, travel out in specially reserved quarters under care of Catholic Escort, are met on arrival by Catholics and placed in communication with Priest or Convent nearest their destination, and (in the chief Canadian Centres) can lodge in Catholic Hostels in the intervals of employment.

Apply:-THE SECRETARY,

CATHOLIC WOMEN'S LEAGUE EMIGRATION SOCIETY, 116 VICTORIA STREET,

LONDON, S.W.

Or to

MRS. CAREY,

THE GROVES, GRASSENDALE,

LIVERPOOL.