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"No need of violence, Señor. Why could not you wait in Christian patience?" "Look here, my good friend. I came not all the way from Mexico to listen to a lecture; and you will do well to save your canting for a better time and a worse man. So, Mazzolin, just open the door of this cursed den."
A wooden cross suspended from the wall, a stone bench, and table, on which lay a rosary and crucifix, and a small vessel of holy water, formed the entire furniture. Before this table sat Father Mazzolin, his face buried in his hands. Her step, light as it was, startled him; yet without rising, he murmured, "Benedicit." "Bueño dios, Padre."
"For my sake, Florence, if not for your own, will you promise to be guided by Father Mazzolin?" "Do you mean in matters of religion, my father?" "I mean in all things: matters of interest, as well as matters of faith. He will assist you much, if you will but follow his advice and directions."
"Come, Florry, this is no place for us now; even the churchyard is not sacred. Come home." "Florence, dare you curse your own father?" The girl's lips quivered, but no sound came forth she seemed stunned. "You would usurp the prerogatives of Jehovah, Father Mazzolin; but your threat is vain. You cannot bless or damn my uncle at will. How dare you, guilty as you are, hold such impious language?"
And Father Mazzolin, fully satisfied that the organ of reverence was altogether omitted in his cranium, thought it best to comply. "Ha! you can understand Irish logic as well as the next brave one." And he entered, followed by the Padre, who ground his teeth with mortification.
Father Mazzolin drew forth the letter, and read it attentively for the third time, then held it over one of the twelve candles, and deliberately burnt it, muttering the while, "Ashes tell no tales."
I know you all: you are a blessed, holy brotherhood, truly. Have I not seen your letters to Mexico, you canting scoundrel?" He shook the Padre violently as he delivered this benediction. Now Father Mazzolin, like many of his sex, was fond of supporting his dignity, and reverence for his sacred person was especially inculcated by his teachings.
Her face was deadly pale, and the black eyes glittered strangely. "I have knelt to thee for the last time, Father Mazzolin. Long enough you have crushed me to the earth; one short month of seeming servitude, and I am free. Think you I too cannot see the gathering tempest? for long I have watched it rise.
"What tidings do you bring me?" said Father Mazzolin. The Mexican handed him a letter, and then, as if much fatigued, leaned heavily against the wall, and wiped his brow with a large blue cotton handkerchief. As the priest turned away and perused his letter, a smile of triumphant joy irradiated his face, and a momentary flush tinged his dark cheek.
Father Mazzolin pointed out the passage no later than last week, to remove the doubts which I confess I entertained, as to whether it was proper and in accordance with the practise of the Fathers to implore such intercession." "And does your conviction rest on so frail a basis? Hear what the Rev. Dr.
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