On the Church Steps

ht for. It was hard to raise her dear little head from my shoulder when the last moment came, and to rush down stair

"What might have been" went down the cabin stairs with me; and as I threw my wr

how the last two weeks had filled all the future with dreams. "I must have a genius for ca

ious metal-covered trunks marked M--. I remem

had left the dock, that a turn in my solitary walk

you had sailed in the Russia! Bes

ed, "that you were go

rned Bessie alone, but Fanny apparently took it as a compliment, and looked

you something else

ear of your good prospect. Do

anny Meyrick's way. "Good prospect!" Heavens! was t

ny other woman. But a lingering suspicion that perhaps the subject was a distasteful one to Fanny Meyrick made m

way. She was a most provokingly good sailor, too. Other women stayed below or were carried in limp bundles to the d

as she knew of my engagement, such avoidance was anything but complimentary to her. Loyalty to her sex wou

ling was only one of girlish gratitude, however needless

amrock, an Irish priest, long resident in America, and bound now for Maynooth. How he had obtained an intr

f Froude's "tonsured peasants," as I looked down at the square shoulders, the stout, short figure and the broad beardlessness of the face of the

young priests at his heels. They were on their dignity always, and, though bound to hold him in reverence a

y manner had a dash of manliness which I had not thought to find. Accomplished in various tongues, rattling off a gay little chanson or an Irish song, it was a sight to see t

of at first and declined an introduction. "Father Shamrock! An Irish priest! How can Miss Meyrick walk with him and present him as she does?" But the party of recalcit

is cloth. He would have made a famous diplomat but for the one quality of devotion that was lacking. I us

, Father Shamrock, Fanny Meyrick, a young Russian and myself: I forget a vigilant duenna, the only woman on board unreconciled to Father Shamrock. She lay prone on one of the sea

ome story he was telling, of which I gathered, as he went on, that it was of a young lady, a rich and brilliant society woman. "Shot right through the heart

she had expected to see him again before his regiment marched. She threw herself on her knees and made confession; and then she to

em at my feet. 'Take them, Father, for the Church: if I fin

we brought him home with us. Poor boy! beyond recognition, except for the ring he wore; but she gave him the last kis

r eyes, "did she not die behind the bars? To be s

y-"but little sympathy with the conventual system for spirits like hers. She would have wasted and worn away in the offices of prayer. She needed action. And she had the full of it in her calling. She w

d figure that was conspicuous even in her serge dress. She read a book of Hour

and she would have none to relieve her at her post. So, when I returned after three months' absence, I was shocked at the change: she was dying of their family disease. 'It is better, so,' she said, 'dear

Bessie? Why should the Sister's veiled figure and

recked. Something there was in the portrait of the sweet singleness, the noble scorn

n the same key of mother Church. I listene

our sympathies, to label them "Dangerous." Why should we turn the cold shoulder? are we so true to our ideals? But one glance at the young priests as they sat crouching in the outer cabin, telling their beads and crossing themselves with the vehemence

drawn nearer and nearer, and as the narrator's voice sank into s

y, and, to break the spell, I asked her if she wanted to tak

ith the ship's motion, which was pronounced by a sa

ake it to-night," said the sailor. "It is too rou

if wakening from a dream, "that the Chur