Sister Dolorosa, and Posthumous FameAllen, James Lane
Religion
Sister Dolorosa, and Posthumous Fame
Allen, James Lane
Kentucky -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
For a moment, trembling, not before the image on the wall, but before
that vivid mirror which memory and fancy set before every woman when no
real mirror is nigh, she indulged her self-surrender to thoughts that
covered her, on face and neck, with a rosy cloud more maidenly than the
white mist of the veil. Then, as if recalled by some lightning stroke of
conscience, with fearful fingers she lifted off the veil, extinguished
the lamp, and, groping her way on tiptoe to the bedside, stood beside
it, afraid to lie down, afraid to pray, her eyes wide open in the
darkness.
V.
Sleep gathers up the soft threads of passion that have been spun by us
during the day, and weaves them into a tapestry of dreams on which we
see the history of our own characters. We awake to find our wills more
inextricably caught in the tissues of their own past; we stir, and
discover that we are the heirs to our dead selves of yesterday, with a
larger inheritance of transmitted purpose.
When Gordon awoke the next morning, among his first thoughts was the
idea of going on to join his friends that day, and this thought now
caused him unexpected depression. Had he been older, he might have
accepted this unwillingness to go away as the best reason for leaving;
but, young, and habitually self-indulgent towards his desires when they
were not connected with vice, he did not trouble himself with any
forecast of consequences.
"You ought not to go away to-day," the old housewife said to him in the
morning, wishing to detain him through love of his company. "To-morrow
will be Sunday, and you ought to go to vespers and hear Sister Dolorosa
sing. There is not such another voice in any convent in Kentucky."
"I will stay," he replied quickly; and the next afternoon he was seated
in the rear of the convent church, surrounded by rural Catholic
worshippers who had assembled from the neighbourhood. The entire front
of the nave on one side was filled with the black-veiled Sisters of the
order; that on the other with the white-veiled novices--two
far-journeying companies of consecrated souls who reminded him in the
most solemn way how remote, how inaccessible, was that young pilgrim
among them of whom for a long time now he had been solely thinking. With
these two companies of sacrificial souls before him he understood her
character in a new light.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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