In his unstrung and despondent mood, one trifling circumstance affected
him with an idle pang. The doves had at first been faithful to their
lost mistress. They failed not to sit in a row upon her window-sill,
or to alight on the shrine, or the church-angels, and on the roofs
and portals of the neighboring houses, in evident expectation of her
reappearance. After the second week, however, they began to take flight,
and dropping off by pairs, betook themselves to other dove-cotes. Only a
single dove remained, and brooded drearily beneath the shrine. The
flock that had departed were like the many hopes that had vanished
from Kenyon's heart; the one that still lingered, and looked so
wretched,--was it a Hope, or already a Despair?
In the street, one day, the sculptor met a priest of mild and venerable
aspect; and as his mind dwelt continually upon Hilda, and was especially
active in bringing up all incidents that had ever been connected with
her, it immediately struck him that this was the very father with whom
he had seen her at the confessional. Such trust did Hilda inspire
in him, that Kenyon had never asked what was the subject of the
communication between herself and this old priest. He had no reason for
imagining that it could have any relation with her disappearance,
so long subsequently; but, being thus brought face to face with a
personage, mysteriously associated, as he now remembered, with her whom
he had lost, an impulse ran before his thoughts and led the sculptor to
address him.
It might be that the reverend kindliness of the old man's expression
took Kenyon's heart by surprise; at all events, he spoke as if there
were a recognized acquaintanceship, and an object of mutual interest
between them.
"She has gone from me, father," said he.
"Of whom do you speak, my son?" inquired the priest.
"Of that sweet girl," answered Kenyon, "who knelt to you at the
confessional. Surely you remember her, among all the mortals to whose
confessions you have listened! For she alone could have had no sins to
reveal."
"Yes; I remember," said the priest, with a gleam of recollection in his
eyes. "She was made to bear a miraculous testimony to the efficacy of
the divine ordinances of the Church, by seizing forcibly upon one of
them, and finding immediate relief from it, heretic though she was.
It is my purpose to publish a brief narrative of this miracle, for
the edification of mankind, in Latin, Italian, and English, from the
printing press of the Propaganda. Poor child! Setting apart her heresy,
she was spotless, as you say. And is she dead?"
"Heaven forbid, father!" exclaimed Kenyon, shrinking back. "But she has
gone from me, I know not whither. It may be--yes, the idea seizes upon
my mind--that what she revealed to you will suggest some clew to the
mystery of her disappearance.'"