near the large hall, and carefully laid her on a bed hrriedly prepared for their dying mistress. The maids here undressed her, washed the wound and bandaged it again. One of the troopers galloped to the nearby cloister of St. Gergon, to fetch one of the monks. Kuno tortured by the agonies of his reawakened conscience — still lay near the spot, where his wife had fallen. He who had till now been so cruel to his wife; who had never shown her any love, and considered her but an incumbrance; he who before had cared but little for the life of others, now saw, crazed by sorrow, and touched through God's grace to sincere repentance, the abyss into which his wild life had thrown him. "Murderer of your wife!" this horrible word even filled his ears, so that he would not listen to the words of sympathy and consolation of his men. Then Mathilde's waiting maid neared with the words: "Sire, your dying wife wishes to speak to you." This call roused him, and he rushed into the room where his wife lay. "Mathilde, dearest Mathilde! Mercy! Forgive your murderer!" With these words suffused with tears, he cast himself down before her bed, hid his head in his hands, and wept most bitterly. His dying wife looked at him full of tenderness. "Kuno" she said, touching his head, "hear me, be quiet, I forgive you most willingly.' "I liberated the prisoners last night, and after it was done, I prayed to God most fervently that he might illuminate your heart, and lead you back from your dangerous course." "I have offered myself to the Lord for a sacrifice, and behold, he has accepted my sacrifice." Wild, heartrending cries of the knight interrupted her words. "Do not weep any more, Kuno" she continued "look at me." "I cannot, I must not! Woe to me, a murderer, woe!" he replied. "Yes, Kuno! look at me, I wish it" she insisted with utmost effort and determination. Then he raised his countenance with tears and looked up to her. "My last hour is rapidly approaching; can I leave this world, with the assurance, that you will lead a different life now? Will you promise me, Kuno, to lead a peaceful, God-fearing life, in the future?" deep root in her bosom. Soon the priest gave the sign for the attendants to enter. The pages came with lighted tapers and knelt, forming a circle with the woman. On the table covered with snow-white linen, lay the body of our Lord. Like a child, the knight, allowed himself to be led to the bed of his wife, and there knelt down in deepest sorrow. Mathilde received her Redeemer, with heavenly devotion, and silently repeated the prayers with the priest. She was scarcely able now to make a sign with the hand, towards the direction, where her husband knelt, "Kuno!" she whispered "keep your promise I die gladly for you farewell." A wild tremor went through her body, then she laid her head back on the pillow, closed her eyes and fell to her last slumber like a tired child The sacrifice was completed. CHAPTER V. The mortal remains of Mathilde were interred in the nearby cloister of Nethermunster. When the last sounds of the choir of the cloister la dies had died away, and the mourners who had come to the funeral had departed, Kuno still knelt at the grave of his wife and wet the cold marble with his tears. God alone knew what transformation had taken place in Kuno's heart during the last few days. So much everybody that saw him recognized, he was no longer the much-feared robber-baron. He seemed to have aged a decade of years. Furrows formed in his countenance, and were unmistakable signs of the indescrible sorrow of his heart Having thus prayed for hours, he went back to the Luetzelburg. The next morning he sent away his troopers, servants and maids. All his ill-gotten gain he had already returned as far as possible, and had sent word to Hohensteiner, that he was going to give up the castle. In the afternoon the new occupant of the castle arrived, and Kuno left the Luetzelburg, poor and lonly, like he had come. He was dressed in his best mail and rode his favorite charger. Arrived at Nethermunster, Kuno presented his horse to the cloister and passed the whole night in full armor at his wife's grave. But when the morning sun began to shine through the stained glass windows, he took off harnish, helmet and sword and hung them up over the grave of his wife. Then he put on a hairshirt the garb of penitents and presented himself at the confessional, to tell the priest the story of his wild life and the sad events of the last few days, and often was his confession interrupted by loud sobs. When he had finished this holy business, and had from the priest's lips received forgiveness of the merciful God, he went to St. Odilias convent, to ask pardon of the victims of his last sally. One morning, as the sun was rising over the golden fields of Alsace, Kuno saw from afar the towers of Nethermunster. At their sight he fell on his knees and wept. And when the silvery sounds of the cloister bells swept over the surrounding country, a feeling possessed him, as though Mathilde's spirit were meeting him, as a messenger of divine love to lead him into the sanctuary, where her mortal remains awaited eternal glory. Weeping and praying he entered the church and knelt before the grave of his wife. Then his eyes beheld a second grave, upon the plain stone slab of which the few words were hewn: "Roderick awaits here, aside of his mistress, the day of resurrection." "Rest quietly, thou good, faithful man" the penitent whispered, and may the Lord be to me as merciful a judge, as he surely has been to thee and Mathilde, so that we may meet again in the eternal fatherland." After a long and fervent prayer he started for St. Odilia's to make a pilgrimage to the venerable tomb of the great patroness of Alsace. As he was climbing up the mountain, his mind occupied with pious meditation, the bells of the mountain church commenced to ring, and their resonant voices vibrated far over mount and valley, inviting all to the Lord's service. Strange feelings seized the pilgrim. Suddenly the wild remorse that had taken hold of him the few days after his wife's death, broke out anew, as though the sounds of the bells had torn open the old wounds and caused them to bleed again. Involuntarily he hastened his steps. When he entered the venerable convent church filled with worshipers, and his glance reached the large sanctuary he understood why the sound of the bells had caused him such feelings of sorrow. At the foot of the altar among choir sisters knelt the innocent virgin whom he had-just a year ago surprised and forciblydrag | ged to his castle. The bridal veil covered Elsie's head, she was about to unite herself with her Lord and Redeemer by taking the vows of perpetual obedience and chastity. Like the torrent from the rocky crevice, so tears gushed from the pilgrim's eyes, and trembling with anguish of soul, he fell to the ground and pressed his face, hot with tears, to the cold marble. Those around him looked on with astonishment, but no one knew the strange pilgrim. While he was yet prostrated on the ground, praying and weeping, of a sudden the magnificent organ inthe Catholic church knows so befittingly to end toned the mighty hymn of triumph with which her grand ceremonial, and as the Words "Te Deum laudamus" sung by the bishop and taken up in the vernacular by the whole congregation, swept through the convent church, they also awakened in Kuno's aching heart the gladdening echos of hope, so that he dried his tears and rising joined in the hymn of praise to God, | A few days later in the lonely forest valley near the cloister Nethermunster, arose a cell, built of rough logs, in which Kuno commenced his days as the penitent hermit. Every morning brought him to the grave of Mathilde; neither storm nor rain, neither snow or ice, kept him back. Thus years passed, and the high erect figure of the former knight became bent more and more; his beard grew longer and hung in silvery waves upon his breast; at last he had to use a cane, but still he came. The very sight of him often moved passersby to penance, the living example of heroic penance procured many blessings for the inhabitants of the country. One nice summer morning the old hermit did not appear He found the Apostolic Church. "Is hatred for the Catholics essential to a good Presbyterian?" she retorted. "It would seem so, Madam, judging from the line of conduct followed by your preacher." T was about fifty years ago. when Rev. | prived of a father's protection, in a word, he de James B. Donelan, at that time parish priest clared that he could not, would not, live in the in Washington, made the acquaintance of same house, if she became a Catholic, but a Mrs. Dr. J. He had frequently heard would leave her, and forever. This was a of this excellent lady, but never had chanc- dreadful trial, for she knew him to be incapable ed to meet her. Mrs. J. was attending the of breaking his word, yet though she loved him Presbyterian church on Ninth street, where the dearly, she loved God more, and after sufficient bigot John C. Smith was preacher. After the instruction, Mrs. J. was solemnly baptized and usual formalities of the introduction were pas- received in the one fold. The Doctor was insed, Father Donelan, in half solemn, half jesting formed of the occurrence on the same day. In manner, remarked that Mrs. J. could not by the most pathetic terms, he proceeded to inany possibility be a good Presbyterian, for she form her of the terrible consequences of her did not hate the Catholics enough. action. He directly settled upon her an ample provison for the support of herself and the children, and after all necessary painful arrangements, took leave of her. Both were in tears "The only request" he said, "I make, now that I go a wanderer on the face of the earth, is that you will not raise our dear little children Catholics Kissing his little boys, one of seven and the other of three years, and again embracing his wife, he said firmly: "You have destroyed your family, you have broken my heart. Farewell, forever." There was one of the practices of the Church against which Dr. J. had the most unrelenting antipathy, this is what he termed the worshipping of the Saints. When he left his house, it was with the fixed intention of never again recognizing his wife. In all this, he was perfectly sincere, he thought it his solemn duty. He believed that the Catholic Church was the mother of abominations, spoken of in the Bible, and he considered it only his duty to hate and oppose it, as also to shun the company of those who went with it. Some days after his departure from his home, he went to seek comfort from his preacher, Mr. John C. Smith. He was received very kindly, and the subject of his wife's perversion was of course freely discussed. Mrs. J. was too sensible a woman not to feel the truth of the remark, and far too good a Christian not to be influenced by its force. The conversation however changed as if by mutual consent. Mrs. J. remembered this word. Till now she had never had misgivings regarding her religion. She and her worthy husband had been raised Huguenots in South Carolina. They knew nothing else, and were satisfied that they were right enough. This charge, however, so true and unchristian, Mrs. J. could not forget. She began to think, to pray, to read, to examine, and finally to seek information and instruction from Father Donelan. Doctor J. discovering the change in his wife's religious sentiments became perfectly indignant. He loved her too much, he respected his wife too highly, to say even an unkind word to her: yet his conduct was of the most fearfully cruel character. He appealed to her regard for him and his position in society, his poor little children who would certainly be de cere a man as Dr. J. is soon told. He discovered to his horror that his church was not Apostolic. He found that there was however one truly Apostolic Church, and after three weeks of earnest, prayerful study, he was immovably fixed in his convictions that this was the Roman Catholic Church! The sequel is short. Dr. J. repaired to St. Inigo's, rear the site of old St. Mary's city, established by Lord Baltimore at the mouth of the Potomac, where he could spend a week with good Father Carbery, the universal friend and favorite, to be instructed and baptized. After a week of retreat and instruction, he was received by baptism into the church he had so much persecuted, and admitted to First Communion. His poor wife knew nothing of all this, but was endeavoring to conform her will to the dispensation of Divine Providence, and submit piously and, as much as possible in retirement from the world, to her sad condition. The Doctor informed his Reverence that he had resolved never more to acknowledge his wife, which resolution was applauded by the quasiminister, with the added suggestion that by a little adroit manoeuvering, he could secure a divorce. The interview had lasted now more than an hour, when the Dr. remarked that he he regretted one thing very much. If he had been better posted regarding the Apostolicity of his church, he might perhaps have preventted the sad calamity that had befallen him. Mrs. J. had been led to believe that the Catholic Church was the Apostolic church, and when he had attempted to disprove her assertion, he had failed signally. Mr. Smith was requested to tell him the proofs, he of course had them always ready. Mr. Smith replied in a strong, vindicative, and double distilled Presbyterian onslaught upon the scarlet woman of Babylon. He could scarcely express the height or depth of his hate for the monster, the mother of iniqui- One morning she was as usual at Holy ties, drunk with the blood of her abominations, Mass; she was praying for her husband, she was and much more of this sort of tirade, when Dr. supplicating with tears for his conversion. Some J., begging pardon for the interruption, intimat- one entered the pew in which she knelt, she ed that all this he had heard over and over again, rose to give more room; and, as she did but that it would be such a comfort to him, if he so, she turned a little towards the individual. only had the proofs of the Apostolicity of his Who was it? She looked! Gracious Heaven! church. He knew well, the Presbyterian was it was her husband. His countenance mild, his the Apostolic church, but he was not posted expression kind, and more than all, he knelt in the arguments. Mr. Smith opened a second down and blessed himself! "Dearest Charles, valley of expletives or explosives, as you will, what are you doing," she almost gasped. "Mary but had absolutely nothing to say about the let us thank God together, for by His grace Apostolicity of the Presbyterian heresy. Dr. J. I am a Catholic. Speak not, dear one, I'll exbecame a little impatient at first then finding | plain all." This was too much joy for the womthat his endeavors to obtain information were an; tears chocked her breathing, she sobbed aloud. futile, he grew indignant, finally, after quite a Some months after his conversion, when Dr. J. lenghtened effort, he politely bowed himself and his wife were preparing for confirmation, out of the parson's presence, shocked and dis- he assured his pastor, Father Donelan, that one gusted with the utter ignorance of the man whom of the most pleasing and satisfactory practices till now he had looked upon as a prodigy. Yet of the church to him was the intercession of the he was by no means staggered in his belief. saints. Dr. J. and his exellent lady continued His parson was ignorant, but his religion was to be bright examples of the efficacy of the Apostolic. He now resolved to look up these Divine Grace until their old age and happy arguments for himself. Of course the story of death. AVE MARIA. the consequenees of such an inquiry by so sin THE MOTHER DIED. & Before that sad day, when the Angel of Death Before that dark day, - did I wander afar And I wearied of joys. I grew sick of delights, But since, from our midst, from the arms of our love The shade of our dearest pass'd outward forever, Let me flee where I will (like the windbeaten dove), Indifferent, tho' weary, wherever I may roam O Friend! as you sit at your desolate hearth, In the long, lonesome days that are certain to come. |