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About The American. (Omaha, Nebraska) 1891-1899 | View Entire Issue (March 29, 1895)
THE AMERICAN. 3 IN THE Clutch of Rome. lYlPTHH.HT:l t BY GONAI. S." CHAPTER XIII Continued. THK TEMlTltSSS FOILKIV Suddenly, be became conwinua that the floor wa surging and swaying under bin feet. And he half fell with Ida Olm y still cla.-ed in his arms on to a divan. The siiken wall teemed be be closing in on them. The Egyptian lamp swung violently to and fro. A low rumbling noise fell um their ears. A marble cupid came tumbling down from a bracket and birui k Ida O'.nev. who was pale and vivid with fright, on the shoulders. She stai U d up mutter ing: "For Gad's sake, let us go to the Btrect." Hut, before she could reach the door and succeed in oecing it, the earth quake had sent its force. In the con fusion and bubble of tongues which fol lowed, Father St. John inide his adieus and escaped from the hout-e. The heaviest ciirthiuiikc that had visited San Franebco for several years had saved him from utter ruin, lie pulled his bat low over his eyes and hurried to his own home. A revulsion of feel ing had come to him, and he was filled with loathing for himself aud for the woman whom the earthquake had Bnatched from his grasp. He passed a painted harlot standing under the blaze of a street lamp. She said something to him as he hurried by. In those gleaming eyes and blackened brows and red-bedaubed mouth, he seemed to see a hideous likeness of Ida Olney. Arriving at his home, he found Mrs. Glbbs waiting up for him by the fire. A longing came over him, man thougn ho was, and priest to whom had been entrusted the eternal salvation of souls, to kneel at the feet of the comfortable and motherly woman, and sob out his trouble with his head on her lap as he had often poured out to her the troubles of his childhood. The good woman looked at him as he entered the room and uttered an exclamation at his pale lace and heavy eyes, under which black circles had formed. Her first thought was of some calamity of the earthquake. "Are you hurt, Fabio?" "Am I hurt, No," he answered wear ily, "why do you ask me?" And he took a low chair by her side. "Oh, you look dreadful bad, and the earthquake, you know, was quite se vere. I thought perhaps something had befallen you in It." "Harm befallen me in the earth quake! I shall offer up prayers to night and bless it." Mrs. Gibbs looked steadily at her nursling a moment, then got up and put her hand on his head. It was burning hot. "Fabio St. John, there is something the matter with you. You are as white as wax aud your flesh is burning hot. Go to your room at once and take off your shoes. I am going to give you a hot foot-bath and a glass of hot lemon ade." St. John caught the skirt of her dres as she started to leave the room. "Listen to me a moment, Mother Kate, I am not sick in body, but in mind. Your medicine would be useless. I want meditation and prayer. I have been called tonight to witness th re suit of wrong doing atd evil thinking. I am grieved that there is so much sin in the world' and I have not the power to wipe it out. I thank God for tie earthquake, because when Ho caused the earth to tremble, it must warn His sinful creatures that He can bo as ter rible in His wrath, as He can be mu nificieutj in His goodness. Are you ' satisfied now, Mother Kate, that the medicine I'want is not for the body, but something to strengthen my spiritual faith to enable me the better to conquer sin?" and Father Fabio stood up and put his slim, white hands on Mother Kate's broad shoulders. "Don't be making yourself sick, dar ling, over the misdeeds of others; sure you do your duty as priest if ever human did; and it's puffed up with pride, I am, when I see you standing before the holy altar, so pure and good, and I re member that I helped to bring you up to it," and a tear came into her earnest, grey eyes. Poor Fabio winced. The praise his old nurse had given him tonight (though site never dreamed it, good soul) reminded him of the bitter pills she had swathed in syrup and beguiled him into taking, in his infancy. He took his hands from her shoulders, and said: "Pray for me still, Mother Kate; even as you prayed for me when I was a child, for I am a weak sinful mortal like all the rest." Mrs. Gibbs shook her head incredu lously, but bade her one-time charge good night, with a hope that the saints would send him 6weel sleep. This young priest whom she believed the saints had elected to glory Iron his earliest infancy could do no wrong. Prayer for him, from such as sho, would be a presumption against the Hjly Ghost. Father St. John went to the coldness and privacy of his sleeping room. It was characteristic of the man that while he, in a measure, censured the wnmnn, who had bidden him eat of the fair, forbidden fruit, that hi sense of deepest di'ust wa for his own weak ness. No moral rviupiing of hi own conscience, no tviut-icbraiuv of his prietly vows, no thought of an out raged God. had prevented him from conimiiting a dark crime. Miserable exounder of truth was he, who had proved himself unable to withstand the gret temptation. He fell prostrate before a large, iron crucifix; but no audible words of prayer fell from his lips or even formed in his mind, lie felt his humiliation too deep for words. The Lord Jesus, who was more prone 'o forgive than to punish, could we the agony of his soul. If Father St John had leen a cloist ered monk, his was the nature to have inflicted the most U rrible tortures ;n his body to kill the evil in the mind. For nearly an hour, ho lay on the tl.mr before the image of the bieid ng Saviour, in the coldness and silence of the night; and then a sense of thai p aee which passeth all undeisUrding. came over him, and ho raised himself to his knei s. Surely, the IjtiI had for given him as He forgave the lhii foil the cro.-s beside Him, Bt the eleventh hour. The light from the gas jet Il luminated the face of the Chrbt, which seemed to tear ujion it a smile of pa tient forgiveness. The young priest arose from his devotions, calm, but filled with an ineffable sadness. Alas! lie knew that never again would ho be quite the same. The tusto of that for bidden fruit would linger forever on his lips, and the fierce heat from the fire of passion hud left scars that time could not efface. Very different were the feelings of Ida Olney that night when quiet had been restored in her household, and she was in the privacy of her sleeping room. Half undressed, sho sat before the fire living over again iu keen imag ination, the bliss of the moments before that horrid and untimely shaking up of the earth. Father St. John had blessed the earthquake; Ida Olnty, when her fright had passed away, had cursed it; but the evening had been a triumph. She never for an instant doubted, that the victory over the priest was com plete. His caresses had all the warmth of the conqueror instead of the con quered. In the midst of her voluptuous retro spection, her husband entered the room. She greeted him with a smile instead of the usual frown, and pleasant words, instead of covert sneers, passed between this ill-assorted pair, as they prepared to retire. Ida Olney, for one night at least, was quietly at peace with herself, her husband, and the world. CHAPTER XIV. WITH GLEAMING EYES AND SCARLET MOUTH. Ida Olney waited in impatient ecs tacy, in her odorous room in the sub dued rose light for her lover, as she now thought him, for two consecutive nights. Then her confidence gave place to doubt. Then she sent a note to the priest asking hicn for a visit. Father St. John answered her note by a letter. Mrs. Oincy grew palo as the paper on which it was written, as she read. For some moments she sat in dazed despair looking at the death warrant of her hopes. Then she care fully read between the lines, in the hope of finding some covert but untx presscd desire, that she would again bring him, in spite of himself, under the magic of hei beaJty. Her reading was in vain. A baleful light came into her eyej and the angry scarlet in her cheeks. There was absolutely nothing in the' letter that would compromise her. With great delicacy the priest had worded his letter. It ran thus: My Deak Daughter: I, your priest, do most humbly beg your pardon for my dire misconduct when last in your presence. 1 forgot my obligation to my God, an i to you, my faithful parishioner. That moment of madness has revealed to me that I am the weakest of mortals, though I carry, as it were, the burning torch which lights others to pUees of safety. "That night when you dismissed me from your home, I prayed long to the Heavenly Host to root out the evil in me. I think the blessed virgin inter ceded for me and I am forgiven, for most truly do I repent. Will not you also forgive? "I have given myself a penance which, believe me, will not be light. Never again will I see you, except in the presence of others. Never again will I enter your home, unless, bidden there by the urgencies of extreme sick ness or death. As a priest, I command you to make your sacred confessional to another. I tell you positively that I feel myself unworthy, under the cir cumstances, to listen to, and absolve you from any of your light offences. I shall cherish your forgiveness in my heart and you kno.v it is a duty to forgive but nothicg can change my determination to punish myself by in structing your spiritual guidance to some one more worthy than I to guide. Yours most humbly, Fahio St. John " Well Mrs. Olney remeinhered the few words she had used that had brought her this letter instead of the priest. No one could injure her by reading them. Even in her !ovo-sick longing for the priest's love, caution was on the alert. "You fonlUh priest," h mun.il, "I'll ruin you with jour atictitled self ab negating let Ut, whose lone, all things considered, is a vlltf Iiisu!t to mo," and Ida Olney p;otd the letter in the Itosom of her gown and resolved In her min. 1 how she should proc-ed to ruin, Irreti -lovably, the man who had scorned her love, sho would p that evening U the ii'-eh bishop. L'ko Potiphar's wife, the would show the garment this Saint Joseph had left lu her hcid. Then, in the midst of these drem of revenge, a vision of the young, bund some priest came to her and she lived over again those voluptuous moments, so rudely interrupted. Then, lu a frenzy of desire, she exclaimed aloud: "I cannot give him up. I w ill make one mora apieal. Here I am with U auty and youth and great wealth of my own, and it won't bring me the thing 1 most desire on earth; the love o' this otic man." She glanced at the cioek. It was the noon hour. Father St. John would be at home. She hurriedly wrote the fol low ii g win ds: "Come to me before I sleep, Father, for I am sorely in need of your counsel. It is your duty to visit those who u-k your aid." Then slit.' dispatched a servant with it to St. John's residence with instruc tions to wait for an answer. An anry flush dyed the young priest's f,tee as he read this second message of Ida Olney 's. Truly this woman was lost to all deli cacy. Some harsh measure must be employed to recall her to herself. So, Iu his disgust and anger, he wrote: "You must find a balm of your own for your troubles. I cannot help you. I will confess your imago haunts mo; so does that of another. When 1 left you, that now hated night, I saw a brazen, painted parody on womankind, who, scorning all gilded veiling, stood boldly under the blaze of a street lamp and spoke to me as I hurried by. I have a certain respect for this image which conies to mo side bv side with your own, for she at least was honest In her depravity." When the answer to her note came to her, Mrs. Olney sat for some minutes with it in her hand, longing yet dread ing to open it. At last, with trembling fingers and quickly-beating heart, she broke the seal. Like a flash she read and understood the import of those scorching words. No need to read be tween the lines. She could not under stand, or, if understanding, her de depraved and selfish nature could not appreciate the innate delicacy of the former letter of the young priest.whlch had spared her all and himself nothing. But tliis brutal plainness. She became fairly insane in her anger. She tore the note into fragments and threw them into the grate. "I wish I could throw him after them," she said, between her clenched teeth. NThen, like an angry tigress, she walked up and down the room. Her little lap dog came gamboling after her. A vicious kick from her slippered foot sent the little creature yelping the length of the room. "How dared he, wretched priest that he is, tell me, one of the first in the state, that my image and that of a com mon strcet-walkeroccupied histhoughts together? What low bred effrontery to even call to my mind, that such filth exists." Then the strained tension broke, and she flung herself down on the couch and hysterical sobs and Hoods of tears burst from her. Sobs and tears of anger and humiliation. " Gradually she grew culmer and there were long intervals between the convulsive shuddering, till, with a final gasp, she arose to ef face the ravages her fierce anger and hot tears had left in her face and attire. She had now no feciing for the young, handsome priest, but icy hatred and a strong desire for revenge. (Thus, women like Ida Olney love). Mrs. Ol ney resolved to lose no time in seeking her vengeance. That very evening the self-accusing letter of Father St. John should be 'n the hands of the arch bishop. She was entire mistress of her time and her actions. Her husband was out of the city. She ordered her carriage for seven o'clock, and sent word tt) the archbishop that business of importance connected with the church demanded that she see him that even ing, and that she would do herself the honor to call at his residence. Half past seven found Mrs. Olney in the red reception room of the Episcopal residence, and his grace calmly waiting his wealthy guest's pleasure to make known her business with him. After a little desultory conversation, Mrs. Ol ney, with a lady-like blush anu a modest drooping of her eyes, said: "I have called, your grace, to speak with you upon a matter which is both painful and delicate. I scarcely know how to teil you, what I believe it to oe my duty to lay before you." "Speak freely to me, my daughter, of whatever your conscience prompts you to speak.'1 "Well, your grace, with sorrow do I say it, young Father Fabio, whom we all I more than any thought so pure and above all sin, is a base itnposter, and worse." The archbishop leaned anxiously for ward. "You are making a grave charge, my daughter; take care that it Is well founJcd." "I have good prtof of what I am about, t relate t you, sir. The fa-t lht I mm a wife ,. he a priest, I as not protected lle from gross insult. I stia'l kc, p riothii'g hack from your I'ru. e I waive ail falsi mod. sty. I have been troubled with grave doubt of things divine for some time. 1 have striven in every way that tiio c hurt" i pr.-MTilfs to overcome these heretical tetideiicU-it. i have bared my heart to this serpent in the sacred lies of the confessional. "Two nighU ago, votir grace, 1 sent for this priest and, I suposetl, holy man, to bring mo that spiritual food my soul longed for, and to strengthen my unlu'lief by the power of God, with which I believed him Invested. Sud denly, while I was ln sHching him to he!p mo, he sprung from his chair like a n.Hiimun, aid fell on his knees in-fore me, and overwhelmed mo w ith conftw :.'iis of love. For a few minutes I was too dumbfounded to speak. Then, 1 pushed him violently from me and sprang from my chair to leave the rttim, b it he was on his feet in an in stant and throwing his arms around me, he held me in a grasp of iron, and stl!' ii mo with ills polluting kisses. "Hut the great God made His wrath manifest. The earthquake so tilled the impious wretch with fright that he Hung me from him and rushed oi.t of the house. The next morning, I re-ceiv.-d this. I give it to you, for I know it will bo difficult for you to lielleve that one of such seeming purity cun conceal so much baseness." Archbishop O'Cunor, whose counten ance Krtrayed disgust and anger, took the letter Mrs. Olney hold out to him. Ho read It through carefully twice, folded it and placed it In his Kickct. "Have you mentioned this matter to your husband, Mrs. Olney?" "Certainly not. I think this a mat ter for your grace to settle. Do you suppose I want my name mixed up in tliis affair, as it would bo if my husband should tako a husband's revenge and shout him? No; I want revenge of an otht r kind. I want this would-be-thought saint expelled from the priest hood." "Pardon me, Madam, but the church must be tho judge to sentenco this ac cused man. This grave charge shall be fully investigated;" and his grace shot a peculiar look from his expressive graf eyes full at Ida Olney, who was indignant at the cool way the preluto was treating the matter. "Your grace, lam surprised to find that you are apparently so little abash ed by what I thought was an unpardon able offense in a priest of our holy church. Perhaps you are accustomed to complaints of this kind." "Madam," said tho archbishop, very oalmly, "you have the honor, or the misfortune, to bring mo tho only com plaint of the kind, and I have been In tho church for many years. I must ro peat, tho matter demands a thorough investigation " Mrs. Olney, flushed and angry, arose to her feet as was her custom when excited. "What do you mean, sir, by an in vestigation? Have I not told you that he offered mc a daughter of his church, looking to him for light and guidance, tho vilest insult a man can offer to a woman? Have I not given into your hands his own self-condemnation? I tell you if that man is not quietly ex pelled from the priesthood, I will ap peal to the pope himself, and I will tell him that you, archbishop of California, condone and excuse the breaking of priestly vows." "My dear Madam, I must beg you to remember that I have neither condoned nor ex used tho sin of this priest; and I must also bear you to remember that a gentleman car-mot remain seated while a lady is standing, and I am fatigued with the labors of the day." Ida Olney glanced angrily at his ,,'race, and resumed her seat. The archbishop took Father St. John's let ter from his pocket. "Let us carefully dissect this letter of Father St. John's. He assures you that he is truly repentant; that he prayed earnestly to the court of Heaven for forgiveness, and that his heart tells him that the holy mother interceded for him. Cannot you, child of earth, be as magnanimous as the sinless one? He assures you, that he never, on any pre text, will intrude on your presence again. That he will not even confess you, being unworthy so to do. Can not your woman's heart forgive this weak priest, whoso passion for you, a beauti ful daughter of earth, made him forget Heaven, and allow the church to punish him? I assure you, she inflicts no light punishments on those who sin in her sacred name, as may seem good toher." As he plead for the priest, the arch bishop was reading the very soul of the woman before him with his piercing eyes, and he knew every word that he uttered was adding fuel to the vengeful fire. lie knew, priest as he was, that of all the sins of man, a woman finds that of guilty love for herself the easiest to forgive. Knowing this, he drew his own conclusions. "I am a'wife, your grace. This man's love God forgive the word is a vile insult to mo, even if he were n t a priest; and I will not consent to live in the same city with him. and meet him day in and year out; and if you, an ec clesiastic of hitrh degree, think him lit, after performing some beggarly pen amv, to stand U-for the holy altar, in the vestments of a priest, and to ad tulu'ster t he snerament, .sinful, weak woman as I am, do liot Hut I will yield thin fur. Send him to some re mote pastorate in a foreign country. I know tho eburch Is ever In need of money. I will give to her without s'.lnt. If you will remove this man from rav sight, and I know, your churchmen can uecomplish what you will." Ills grace acknowledged the compli ment with a how. Then said: "My daughter, according to your complaint, and his own written admis sion, Father St. John has Kvn guilty of breaking his most sacred obligations as a priest, lie shall bo most severe rep rlmaniled, 1 promise you, but granting, for the sake of argument, that I liuve tho Hwer to remove him without pub licity entirely from your path, do you think him worthy to (mi-form his holy offices in some re molt parish, among the HHir and lowly? If he could not hold you saen d, ito you not fear for some young and Ignorant girl, who may come under his teaching?" "No," Interrupted Mrs. Olney, pas sionately, "1 cart; nothing for his worthiness or uiiworthliiesH, no I never sim him again. I demand uml I may remind you that I have great wealth ami influence -that you remove this priest from the city, or, If you fear for young Innoci nee, your grace, from tho priesthood, or I appeal to his holiness. In that case, you may (I ml your own seat totter under you. Good night, your grace." And Ida Olney gathered her clonk aliout her and swept haught ily towards the door. I tut liefore she could reach It, the archbishop had intercepted her, locked tho door and put the key in his ockot. Ida Olney stood staring at him lu aston ishment and rage. Then, when she lound voice: "What do you mean, Sir, by such ruffianly conduct? Unlock that door at once, or I shall scream for assistance." The archbishop came close to her and looked her straight In tho eyes. "Pardon me, for locking the ;door, Mth. Olney, us I shall pardon you, for calling me a rudlan; and now, as an archbishop of tho infallible church to which you belong, I command you to 1)0 seatod and listen to mo, and If you will give me your word as a lady not to at tempt to leave the room till I think you are in a fit state so to do, I will unlock that door." (To bo Continued.) "IN THE CLUTCH OF ROME," l published In hook form, paper cover, and can ! hatl hy HemlttiK 'Si reals In rush to tli. Amkbican I'eiii.isiiiMi Company. 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At the opening of the state senate on the morning of tho day of wbl h tho fjneral of thn Uttt I Ionian Catholic Itlshop Moiiogue wa to lake place at Sacramento, Mr. Martin arose and, ro gurdlcMtof the Immense nimiunt of un finished business on hand, and the very little tlmii left in which to ilems.. of It moved that tho senate ta'o a n" r un til 10 o'clock, out of resjHi t for tie- dead bishop, an.l to give thn wiiHtors an 0 portuniiy of attending the funeral ser vices. Ho followed the motion with a xech In which he menacingly declared that the action of the senate in lhecate would show whether or not it wa-i under A. P. A. domination. After such an insulting attempt at intimidation no true American could of course vote for the proposition, and so It was defeated, as was also a motion that when tho senate adjourn it do so out of respect to tho lute bishop. Senator Seymour, In speaking of tho motion, said, "I am not a member of either tho Catholic church or the A. P. A., and 1 don't think any church matter should be in troduced Into legislative affairs." This Is another of tin) frequently occurring epi-otles showing the orsistcnco of Homo, and Indicating what will yet lie. the consequences If Americans are not on the alert, and If they do not liextlr themselves with something like tho In dustry their enemies lire practicing.- Aincriran l'ulriot. Errors of Youth.! 2 H'HUORS FKOM 1 Hmcas Ittlity, Yout&;aI IndiscteliCiiS. Last IMml BE YOUR OWN PHYSICIAN. Many turn, ftm ihr -tt--ti of ymitlihil ttnprti itfiti'l, titvft liri.iljthl Bltt hi! ft Km tif wrafciiMi that ha rwlurnl tlif (t-mial mv"1''11' ' i""'''1 " itlui-t a i moat ftfty I'tlxr (tiara-f: ami (! rra. oaiiM of tli lrHill rt-Hy fvrr (K ing uaixTtttl, ttn-y are iI.mHhi.! fur rvn vfliiiifr but ttn ri(I't hit ring iiirciti-titP rul-(f' atl h.(ntal jiradiei WD Itavf fjiardvi-ri-'l m w at.1 rinn-ri.lrfctt-il rlii (llM. 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