The Alchemists Secret | Page 9

Father, the boss of the stone-crusher? What has
become of him?"
"Oh! that little game of hide and seek is still going on, but I have not
lost hope even yet. God's mills grind slowly and we must abide His
own good time, His own good time."

"HE HATH PUT DOWN THE MIGHTY."
"Magnificat anima mea Dominum." The exquisite voice rose and fell
daintily on the incense-laden air.
"Et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo," responded the chorus
in triumphant harmony.
It was a Sunday evening in early June and the hour for Vesper service
at Saint Zita's convent. Reverend Mother mounted the staircase leading
to the chapel, then paused, with her hand upon the door, to listen as the
wonderful soprano again took up the refrain:
"Quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae."

"Poor child, poor child," whispered Reverend Mother, opening the door
and gliding noiselessly to her stall, where she knelt with bowed head
and prayed as she had never prayed before; prayed in fear and
trembling for the future of the girl whose voice had earned for her the
title of "the nightingale of Saint Zita's."
Reverend Mother had always dreaded the day when she must part with
this dearly loved child who had been entrusted to her care some ten
years before. A gentleman had come to Saint Zita's bringing with him
his little daughter of six. A man of grave, even stern aspect, there was
yet a look in his eyes which filled the nun's heart with a great pity; it
was the look of one who had suffered deeply and in silence. He was a
man of few words and his errand was quickly explained. He was
obliged to be absent from home the greater part of the time and could
not attend to the education of his little girl as he would like to do. His
wife was not of our faith and was also too busily occupied to look after
the child. He did not mention that her occupation was that of society
butterfly, who sacrificed homelife, husband and child in the pursuit of
pleasure. Would Reverend Mother kindly undertake the charge of his
little Nita's education, spiritual as well as intellectual? Would she be to
the child what father and mother ought to be and could not?
Reverend Mother had gladly undertaken the task, and since then Nita
had never been separated from her even for a day. During the vacations,
when other pupils scattered far and wide to their various homes, Nita
had remained at the convent, roaming at will through the deserted
class-room and beautiful grounds. She was the pet and darling of the
entire community. In the long summer afternoons when the nuns
carried their sewing out to the orchard behind the house, or to the pine
grove on the hill, where one could obtain such a lovely view of the
river, Nita would flit about amongst them like a veritable woodland
fairy. Her snatches of song and merry laughter made sylvan echoes ring
and brought smiles to the faces of the simple women who watched her
with loving sympathetic glances.
Many a time, especially of late, had Reverend Mother looked at her
with anxious foreboding in her eyes. What would the future hold for

this child of hers, endowed as she was with singular beauty and a
wonderful voice? She was a docile child, sunny and sweet-tempered,
and that very pliancy of nature was what caused the nun many a
moment of uneasiness. What would become of her once she had left the
shelter of her convent home and was exposed to the influence of the
light-hearted, merry, soulless mother from whom she had inherited her
beauty; the mother whose only god was pleasure, whose one ambition
was to be the best dressed, the most popular, the most envied woman in
her set. The only hope lay in keeping Nita at the convent as long as
possible, or at least until her character had developed sufficiently to
enable her to enter her mother's world and hold her own against it. Still,
Reverend Mother dreaded the day when she must part with her child,
and now that the parting had come so unexpectedly, so much sooner
than she had anticipated, it was doubly hard to bear.
The nun knelt in the chapel that June evening and prayed with all her
heart, not only for the future of the girl whose voice filled the air with
such exquisite melody, but also for help to break to that girl as gently
as possible the sad news awaiting her. Word had just arrived that her
father lay dangerously ill and Nita must hasten to his bedside if she
wished to see him once more in this world. The carriage was waiting
and Nita