i f6c06dd9cf3fe221 by Unknown (the false prince .TXT) 📕

she wondered. No; God, as she saw Him now, wasn't that kind of a god.

He said, "I have given you a life and a conscience by which to steer it. Whether you arrive at your destination by way of the Catholic religion, the Protestant religion, or by way of no recognised sect whatever, as long as you recognise you are steering for me, that is all that matters." She knew He understood all things, her sickness of heart now, her burning desire of a few weeks ago.

Was it only a few weeks ago since she had stood in this room, clasping Rodney's letter to her? It had said: Seven days, beloved . Seven days 1 In a short while, seven days. I can't believe it. We must spend every minute together. Arrange for someone to look after your mother and Annie; offer any sum you like, only get someone. Now don't be silly about this. I read your special letter every night. You'll never really know all it means to me. Her special letter! The letter which had taken so long to write; hours of thinking and rewriting when a look would have conveyed all there was to say. There had been nothing restrained about that letter; her battered- down emotions had overflowed; and when his reply came the house had become bright with her singing and happy laughter, except when Tim was in.

She had set about preparing herself for their meeting; for nearly two years there had been no time to spend on herself. Each moment was taken up with nursing and work and with washing to eke out their existence. So she had feverishly tried to make up for lost time;

her weekly bath had become a nightly affair, the work it entailed on top of the grind of the day becoming a pleasure. After the washing she would fill the boiler with dean water, and a dying fire would heat it sufficiently. The tin bath had to be carried to her room, then the water, bucket after bucket.

Years before she had swung the cracked mirror back and forth and had seen that she was beautiful. Now she i79

swung it again . but more shyly, for she swung it with the knowledge of what she was searching for. It was eleven years since she had desired to see the reflection of her body. But, as she looked at it now, she knew it had much more to offer than when she was seventeen.

It was firm, and moulded like live ivory. From her breast, over the curve of her stomach, down to the rise of her thighs, was a continued modulation. Her face was thinner, but still without a line, and her hair was alive and winging. Only one thing marred the whole, her beauty stopped at her wrists. Her hands were red and coarse cinders and soda water had taken their toll of them. Nightly, before get ting into bed, she sat and rubbed grease into them. In the morning they would look paler, but by evening they were white, with the skin crinkled into little folds. Then, freed from the water and pushing the flat iron, they would harden and redden once more.

Annie hurried into the room.

"The priest's downstairs, Kate."

"Well," answered Kate, shortly, 'he certainly knows his way up. "

But it's Father Bailey, Kate. "

"Oh." Kate rose and went downstairs.

"Hallo there, Kate!" said Father Bailey.

"I thought I'd look in and see your mother; Father O'Malley is laid up with rheumatism."

"Oh yes. Father. Will you come up?"

She held the door open for him. Before mounting he turned and faced her: "You're having a hard time, Kate, aren't you?"

She didn't answer; his sympathy was more unnerving than Father O'Malley's censure.

"Won't you come to mass and try to find peace that way?"

She shook her head: "I can't. Father."

"Why not, Kate?"

"I don't believe in any of the things I used to."

He looked at her, long and steadily.

"You're passing through one of the bad patches, aren't you? And you think you're alone; you don't think any one's ever been through your particular kind of misery before. But it happens to most of us.... I know, for I've been through it."

Kate looked at him in surprise.

"Don't let suffering make you hard, Kate. Let it rather be an academy of sympathy.... No man dare look God in the face and say he has never doubted Him, Kate."

"It isn't that I doubt the existence of God, Father ... it's ... oh, I can't explain it!" She put her hand wearily to her head.

"I know, I know. It's the Catholic way of looking at Him that you are doubting.... Yes, if you think at all, that comes too, sooner or later.

But if you'll only keep on praying, Kate, He'll put that right.

Keep knocking and the door will be opened . He'll give you the faith to see clearly and to trust simply, and you'll find that the way He dictates is for your own good. If you rebel against life, struggle against the tide, time and again you will find yourself thrust into black despair. It is as if God wants you to work along certain channels, and either through obstinacy, misdirection of will, or fear, you will not allow yourself to be led. Kate, He knows what makes for your ultimate good . for the good of the soul, that must live on, if we believe in anything. Stop fighting, and come to mass, Kate. "

"I can't. Father."

"What's made you like this, Kate? I've known and watched you since you were a child."

She was about to answer, "Priests and teachers have made me like this,"

but