Sister Carmen | Page 8

child's early
associations are still holding sway in her heart, and make great excuse
for her? Brother Mauer, you remember, went away from the mission to
his plantation, where, although he did not sever himself from our
communion, there was not much to remind him of his religious
obligations. His last wife, a hot-blooded Creole, could not be
considered much help as regards keeping the faith. She loved best to
swing herself into the saddle and gallop away over the plains. She
would sing her glowing Spanish songs to the accompaniment of the
mandolin; or else she would dance like a fairy, her foot scarce seeming
to touch the floor as she floated along, to the sound of the tambourine
played by her old negro duenna. She was too beautiful for him to
restrain, in dancing, riding, or anything. Too beautiful!" he repeated,
becoming more and more enthusiastic. "I have seen her often, when
summoned to the plantation on professional duty as a physician; and
there was little Carmen, always with her mother, and following her in
everything. She learned to dance and sing in true Spanish style, and she
seemed to feel all the beauty and fascination of it."
Suddenly he paused, as if becoming conscious of his unwonted
animation under the wondering gaze of Sister Agatha's grave eyes.
Heaving a deep sigh, he had again recourse to his old trick of brushing
an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, and then continued in the
orthodox, placid manner:
"It was a fearful sin for a member of our faith to fall into, and Brother
Mauer should have resisted the temptation. I spoke to him frequently

about it, but he had lost all power of self-control. He was too much
absorbed in love for his wife, and therefore it was a mercy to his soul
and Carmen's that this Spanish girl died, and the child was placed here,
under our discipline, where she may yet be won over to a spiritual life,"
he concluded, and cast a humble, sanctimonious look on Sister Agatha.
"Where were you when her mother died?" asked the Sister. "Were you
with her?"
"No; she has been dead about ten years, and I left Jamaica some time
before that, as my health could not stand the climate. I went from there
to the northern part of the United States. From Bethlehem, where I
remained several years, I went back to the old place, and when I got
there Carmen was a wee little maiden, and I was told that Brother
Mauer had left Jamaica for the East Indies."
"Well, surely the Lord called him to be His instrument," interrupted
Sister Agatha. "It was wonderful how he was seized with such an
irrepressible desire to be a missionary. And as far as we can know, he
has worked without flagging for the faith. All news from him has
ceased for some time now; and is it not strange that he has never made
any application for money? He took only a very small sum with him
when he went on his mission, and the large sum which the sale of his
lands in Jamaica brought is still in a bank in this country."
"Has he, then, left nothing for Carmen?"
"We receive a certain interest from the money, for her support and
education," replied Agatha, "but it is, comparatively speaking, very
little. The money must have accumulated to an immense sum by this
time. If her father is dead, Carmen must be a very wealthy
heiress--another temptation for her, poor child! It is strange we hear
nothing from Brother Mauer. I feel sure he must be dead--died while
working for his Lord!"
As she spoke, Jonathan's eyes flashed, and he suddenly lifted his head;
but remembering where he was, he immediately resumed his usual
pious bearing, and, when Agatha ceased speaking, said, with something

like a sigh:
"He was my friend!"
A pause ensued, during which he seemed lost in reflection.
"It does seem as if we have lost him," he continued, "and Carmen must
be an orphan. Poor child! Bear so much the more leniently with her,
dear Sister; and if from time to time you observe signs of her early
training, and that her impulses carry her sometimes beyond what is
quite becoming, remember she will find in me a guide who is ever
ready to lead her in the right way."
"Truly, you are still the same faithful friend to her father, for you have
so much consideration for his child," said Agatha, deeply affected. "But
believe me, dear Brother, I also love the girl with my whole heart, and
am the more anxious for that reason, lest her natural inclinations may
lead her into error. But to whom shall I direct her for guidance,