The London Welshman

Your face haunts me day and night, I cannot read, I cannot write, I cannot speak,—I can do nothing but think of you, YOU, day and night. Won't you take pity on me, Norah ? Don't let an ignorant prejudice spoil our lives." "And do you think so much of me," said Norah, gravely, when you ask me to sin against my consience and throw away the love of God for the love of man ? It is no prejudice or ignorance, tho' I am not learned like you, but God's own truth in my heart that keeps me back." The minister's last hope was fled. He was bewildered, daunted, made desperate. He could think of nothing except that he was losing his Norah. Then let us go away, darling he impulsively cried, to a new land where we can be free to love one another. Let us go to the western plains of America. I can farm and keep you and the children that God may send us- And how then ?" asked Norah. Wouldn't you be miserable thinking your wife's soul was lost and your children, mayhap, learning from their mother to follow the man of sin- No, no passionately interrupted the minister. What care I for anything but your love? You are more to me, Norah, than all the creeds of the world. I love you more than sect or nation or religion itself I would risk my soul for your love "Oh. shame to you exclaimed Norah, "and you a Christian minister. Such love is impious and can only end in misery. No, Davie dear, we must not marry. The good God has meant us to be apart, though we need not love each other the less- Then you do love me, my darling ?" cried David, all aglow with tenderness, kindling at the first response to his love. "I love thee, Davie anwyl," said Norah in her charming Welsh, made poignant by a touch of the soft brogue of Munster, I love thee more than all the world, more than myself or my own soul- Then let us get married and go away to a freer land than this- But I love thy soul more than my own she continued, for thou art a good man and may become a saint of God. I know thee, Davie,thy consience would never rest wert thou to do this thing. Thou hast thy work before thee in Wales. Thou must go on with it, and if I can't help thee, I shall not stand in thy way." Her face shone with the divine light of self- sacrifice. More than ever she reminded the minister of the sweet pictures of the Madonna he had once seen in London. The minister bowed his head in shame. God forgive me, darling," he exclaimed, I am mad with love of thee. I have tempted thee to thy perdition, I who thought myself a chosen vessel of God. I am not worthy of thy love- He broke down sobbing. "And if not of thy love, still less of the love of Christ," he went on. "How dare I preach to others when I am so unworthy ? How can 1 threaten sinners when I am the vilest of all ? "Davie anwyl," said Norah, gently, "and what need to threaten when Jesus came to save ? That was the last word of love that the Rev. David Gwyn whispered to mortal ear. Neither he nor Norah ever married. They saw but little of each other during all the long years that followed. The priest came up once a quarter to Velindre. The death of Jerry and his wife, and the departure of their two sons to America, made no difference in the practice. Norah remained to the end a staunch Catholic-the only one in Llanelwid and in all the parishes around. The Rev. David Gwyn was a changed man after 1860. He no longer thundered from Sinai, or denounced heresy and human errors. He was tolerant of all weaknesses, and ever reminded his flock that in the father's house there are many mansions. He grew old serenely in his manse, mellowed by time, ripening and sweeten- ing in the quiet autumn of his days. When Norah became bedridden, he refused to allow her to be taken to the workhouse. Out of his slender stipend he provided for all her simple wants, and called constantly at the cottage till the end. Norah's last conscious words-a little before the priest arrived to administer extreme unction-were addressed to the minister. Davie anwyl," she said, we have been apart for long, long years. Forgive me if I judged wrong. I did it for the best. And we shall soon meet never to part again." Amen," solemnly responded the minister. Two simple headstones stand side by side in the churchyard at Llanelwid. One marks the grave of Norah O'Brien. The other is in memory of the Rev. David Gwyn, who died on January 20, 1904, aged 74 years. "They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided." Next Week will appear No. 6 of the Series- "TREVOR'S GREAT SPEECH."