The Alchemist's Secret

by Isabel Cecilia Williams

The crowd of penitents melted away one by one, the few last stragglers had been heard, and still the priest waited in his confessional. The boy might possibly come even yet, his boy whom he had loved with a special affection ever since he was a tiny little chap first learning his prayers in the baby class of the Sunday-school. Why was it he had not been able to hold the boy? Why had he not been able to prevent his wandering away with bad companions, this absolute neglect of all religious duties on the part of his boy? Why could he not succeed in bringing him back again even though the boy had wandered far afield?

Father Xavier had hoped much from this Christmas eve, for Tim had promised faithfully to make his confession and to start anew in the path from which his feet had strayed. Tim had promised it as his Christmas gift to the Father. Yes, Tim had promised, but Tim had broken his promise.

With a sigh of utter weariness, weariness of body, weariness of mind, Father Xavier rose and left the confessional. He glanced over the church; it was empty. He glanced towards the altar and his eyes rested on the sanctuary lamp which appeared to be burning with unwonted brightness.

The hour was late, much later than he was accustomed to keep the church open, still he lingered, unwilling to give up a last forlorn hope that his boy might yet keep his promise. With eyes fixed on the Tabernacle door, the priest knelt and commenced to recite the rosary, pleading, pleading for his boy. The joyful mysteries were finished and no one came; the sorrowful, still no one; finally, the glorious mysteries, and still the priest was alone.

With one last appeal for the welfare of that wandering soul, Father Xavier rose from his knees and walked to the door of the church to close it for the night. He passed out on the steps and stood for a moment listening to a band of roisterers that were coming up the street disturbing the peaceful quiet of the night with their noisy songs and laughter. Where was his boy at that moment? He might possibly be with this very band of half-drunken revellers who were even now passing by and would soon be swallowed up in the darkness of the street. If not with this band, he was probably wandering somewhere with another just like it. Where was his boy at that moment? The priest turned, re-entered the church, and locking the door, passed up the aisle extinguishing the lights as he went along. He stood before the altar and once more looked at the sanctuary lamp. It was certainly burning with unusual brightness to-night. It set weird, fantastic shadows dancing along the walls and peopled the dim recesses of the church with goblin shapes. It seemed beckoning to him, calling to him, drawing him gradually to the steps of the altar, where he sank upon his knees to pray once more for his wandering boy.

For yet an hour the priest lingered before the Tabernacle. Then, utterly worn out in mind and body, he passed through the sacristy, locked the door, and mounted the steps of his own house to seek a few hours of rest before commencing the arduous duties of Christmas day.

The church and rectory were situated on a hill and the priest stood in his doorway and looked down upon the town below. It was now after midnight, but many lights were still burning and the faint sound of distant merry-making reached the priest's ears. Was his boy down there among the revellers?

Beyond the town lay the river, frozen, dark and still; and beyond that again shone the lights of the neighboring city. Was his boy over there beyond that dark, silent river? Was he over there in the city in some one of those dens of iniquity which had lured so many young men to their ruin?

Well, wherever the boy was he must be left now to the care of God and his angel for Father Xavier had done all he could that night; and the priest went in and closed the door.

At that same moment, in a little cottage at the other end of the town, a sleepless mother rose from her knees beside the kitchen table and passed slowly up the stairs to her own room. The children and the eldest girl were long since asleep, but the mother could not rest for thinking of her wayward boy. Where was he to-night; where at this very moment? And he had promised, promised faithfully to turn over a new leaf with this Christmas eve. Christmas eve was here, nay, it was come and gone for midnight had sounded and it was now Christmas morning. Still, this night must be for her as all those other nights when she had lain awake hour after hour listening in silent anguish for the footstep that did not come. She had hoped much from that promise of his to Father Xavier and to her, and her disappointment was proportionately bitter.