THE MOAN OF 
 THE TIBER 
 
 By 
 
 GUY FITCH PHELPS 
 
 Author of "The Black Prophet," 
 "The Angel o Deadman," Etc. 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1917 
 The Standard Publishing Company
 
 5141051 
 
 URl 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 To my boyhood friend, George Grant Rose, 
 my life companion, whose unchanging loyalty 
 and love have been to me a ceaseless joy and 
 strength. Together we have followed the 
 dim trails of the West, slept in the bunch grass 
 and listened to the cosmic sorrow in the pines.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAGE 
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 9 
 
 I THE CURTAIN 19 
 
 II THE EGGS OF THE ASP 24 
 
 III THE PLAYERS AND THEIR PARTS 30 
 
 IV THE HOUSE OF TEARS 35 
 
 V THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 50 
 
 VI THE WINGS OF LOVE 66 
 
 VII BREAKING THE IRON JAW ,,,,,,,,,,,, 76
 
 PREFACE 
 
 pERSONS unacquainted with the sinister 
 * facts concerning the Houses of the Good 
 Shepherd prisons as they are operated to-day 
 in the United States, for the benefit of Rome, 
 may imagine that some of the scenes in this 
 story especially descriptive of the treatment 
 of the inmates of the Houses of the Good 
 Shepherd are exaggerated. Those, however, 
 who have personally investigated conditions, 
 and especially those who have investigated 
 the numerous cases where girls have escaped, 
 or attempted escape, during the past five 
 years will agree that the description given by 
 Mr. Phelps is an understatement rather than 
 an overstatement of the facts. 
 
 The Menace, during the past five years, 
 has had its commissioners thoroughly investi 
 gate a number of instances connected with 
 various Houses of the Good Shepherd in dif 
 ferent parts of the country, when girls, at the 
 hazard of their lives, have jumped from win 
 dows and otherwise attempted to escape, and 
 these stories reveal conditions graver and 
 more terrible than the vivid pen pictures
 
 PREFACE 
 
 given by Mr. Phelps in "The Moan of the 
 Tiber." Indeed, his story is based on facts, 
 and as a general statement is history rather 
 than fiction. 
 
 The Bouses of the Good Shepherd, with 
 their laundries and workshops, are enormous 
 revenue-yielding institutions which escape 
 taxation, and enable Rome to further fatten 
 on the unpaid toil of the little child slaves.
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 FITCH PHELPS, the author of "The 
 Black Prophet" and that great temper 
 ance-reform story, * The Angel Deadman, 
 is one of the most interesting personalities 
 among the popular writers of the day. 
 
 While his earlier romances struck a 
 responsive heart-chord and won many warm 
 friends among lovers of strong, fine, pure 
 and inspiring fiction, it was not till the 
 publication of "The Black Prophet" in the 
 Menace, when millions of eager Americans 
 read this most powerful and convincing of 
 all anti-Papal romances, that he leaped into 
 nation-wide popularity. When the book ap 
 peared, there was an instantaneous demand 
 for it from every corner in the land and 
 from many foreign countries. 
 
 This demand has steadily grown, and 
 several editions have already been called for, 
 yet we believe that its present success is but 
 a prophecy of its future circulation. Indeed, 
 we shall not be surprised if its sales run up 
 into the hundreds of thousands, for it com 
 bines the two elements of strength and popu 
 larity in such marked degree that it will 
 doubtless soon be counted, in point of sales, x i 
 with "Uncle Tom s Cabin" and Edward 
 Bellamy s "Looking Backward."
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 Heretofore, Eugene Sue s distinctly great 
 expose of the secret workings of the Jesuits, 
 and the political intrigues of the Roman 
 machine, as portrayed in "The Wandering 
 Jew," was the one great anti-Papal novel 
 of wo rid- wide fame. "The Black Prophet," 
 however, eclipses this romance in many 
 respects. It is direct, vivid and enthralling. 
 It strips the mask of hypocritical pretense 
 from the age-long, persecuting, intolerant, 
 reason-blighting, civilization-retarding, polit 
 ico-religious machine known as the Roman 
 hierarchy in such a manner as to startle the 
 sleeping Protestants that have been drugged 
 by the most cunning Jesuitical propaganda 
 the world has ever seen. 
 
 Here is the truth. Here are facts facts 
 that are part of the history of the hour, pre 
 sented so graphically that the reader can not 
 forget. Here, also, we are taken behind the 
 curtains, and behold the Roman hierarchy, 
 and its great political arm, the Knights of 
 Columbus, at work in secret conclave. Never 
 has there been presented a truer or more 
 vivid and convincing picture of the mighty 
 nation-wide, autocratic and anti-democratic 
 machine of Rome as is presented in the pages 
 of this wonderful romance, which is truer 
 than conventional history. 
 
 There is, however, another element of 
 strength in "The Black Prophet." It is one 
 of the most thrillingly interesting love stories 
 of the day. Here the lover of powerful, 
 virile romance will follow with breathless 
 interest the career of the clean, truth-loving, 
 
 10
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 idealistic priest, Mark Gordon, and the beau 
 tiful heiress who is urged into the convent 
 by harpies of avarice and sensuality, only to 
 be rescued when all doors of opportunity for 
 escape seemed to be closed, and hope surren 
 dering to despair. 
 
 This story alone would give Mr. Phelps 
 a permanent place among our novel-writers. 
 
 But it is with the man, rather than with his 
 work, that we are at present concerned. The 
 reading public is always interested in the 
 personality of a favorite author, and one of 
 the first questions people interested in great 
 ethical and reformative issues ask relates to 
 the writer s integrity as an author. Is he 
 sincere? Is he in earnest, or simply seeking 
 fame or wealth for himself? So, before notic 
 ing the story of his life, let it be said that 
 Guy Fitch Phelps is a militant and funda 
 mental Protestant Democrat. Into the mighty 
 cause of freedom and unsullied Christianity 
 the work of restoring and preserving the 
 glorious heritage bequeathed to the world 
 by the author of the Declaration of Independ 
 ence and his copatriots Mr. Phelps has 
 thrown his whole life, with its wealth of 
 moral idealism, its rich imagination, and 
 virile, untainted and brilliant intellectual 
 power. 
 
 Mr. Phelps loves the Christianity of 
 Christ and the primitive church with the 
 love and passion of a John Huss or a Savon 
 arola, and his devotion to our liberal Democ-* 
 racy is as whole-souled as was that of Patrick 
 Henry, James Otis or Samuel Adams. It is 
 
 11
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 this loyalty to the religion of Christ and 
 the Democracy of Jefferson that compelled 
 the young novelist to pour his whole soul 
 into the writing of "The Black Prophet," 
 and which makes it the most vital and worth 
 while message in fiction, dealing with the 
 menace of political Eomanism and Jesuitical 
 intrigue. 
 
 The stern moral idealism which has come 
 to him as a heritige from two noble parents 
 gives him enviable pre-eminence among the 
 present-day novelists, most of whose works 
 are conspicuously lacking in spiritual enthu 
 siasm and robust ethical truths. 
 
 Mr. Phelps mother was a Scotchwoman 
 of marked mental ability, with imagination 
 and intense moral convictions. His father 
 was of pure New England stock, possessing 
 much of the pioneer spirit of the Pilgrims 
 and Puritans, and not a little of their loyalty, 
 devotion to duty and austere morality. 
 
 The Scotch, like the Welsh, Irish and the 
 people of Brittany in France, are of Celtic 
 origin, and thus it is not surprising to find 
 among these people children of intense feel 
 ing or deep emotions, who possessed the fine 
 poetical imagination that flowered in the 
 verse of Robert Burns, and it is out of the 
 unsullied life of lofty idealism which marked 
 the Pilgrims, Puritans and Quakers that there 
 came that wonderful florescence of poetry 
 which gave distinction to the New England of 
 the nineteenth century in the works of Henry 
 W. Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, John 
 Greenleaf Whittier, Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
 
 12
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes and William Cullen 
 Bryant. It is therefore not surprising to 
 find in Guy Fitch Phelps a writer who pos 
 sesses much of moral firmness, rectitude, a 
 passion for truth and hatred of hypocrisy, 
 combined with the poetic imagination of the 
 land of Burns and that of Longfellow, Whit- 
 tier and Lowell. 
 
 Born in Kansas, his parents, under the 
 compulsion of the daring pioneer spirit, left 
 the Sunflower State in 1880, and trekked 
 across the plains to the rough and virgin 
 Territory of Idaho. 
 
 The first settlement was made at the min 
 ing-camp of Bellevue. This camp, though 
 only a few months old when the family 
 arrived, swarmed with daring desperadoes 
 and adventurous spirits miners, gamblers 
 and men and women with shady reputations. 
 With that period of his boyhood days, Mr. 
 Phelps, in recounting his early life, says: 
 
 "There was no railroad through the Ter 
 ritory at that time, so that all the supplies 
 for the region were freighted in by ox and 
 mule teams from Kelton, Utah. Though 
 quite young, I recall the wild life of the place 
 with a relish. I enjoyed it then. Having a 
 nature which responded to excitement, I 
 drank in the thrilling features of it. Here 
 I saw many fights, and had the rather ghastly 
 privilege of seeing two men killed in shooting 
 scranes in the street. These grew out of 
 gambling rows." 
 
 As we can well imagine, Bellevue was 
 not a place after the heart of parents of New 
 
 13
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 England and Scottish blood and moral ideal 
 ism, so, after a year and a half s sojourn, the 
 father sold out his business and pushed west 
 ward one hundred miles, settling near Boise 
 City, the capital of the then Territory. 
 
 The country," says the novelist, con 
 tinuing his reminiscences, "was delightfully 
 wild. Deer roamed over the mountains in 
 countless thousands. This is strictly true. 
 I have killed more than three hundred of 
 them. All kinds of wild animals, cougars, 
 bear, wolves and wildcats thronged the can 
 yons and hills. Cattle kings, as we called 
 them, had hundreds of thousands of cattle 
 running on the range. Horsemen, also, had 
 scores of thousands of horses on the bunch 
 grass. There in that romantic and blessed 
 spot I grew up. Our house was a stopping- 
 place for the riders and strangers who passed. 
 My father s door was always open. Our few 
 neighbors would come in, and the evening 
 would be spent singing songs and telling 
 stories. Shut away from the great world, 
 we grew together. There were ten of us. A 
 stream of periodicals came with every mail, 
 and reading became a passion." 
 
 The mother of Mr. Phelps was a gifted 
 writer of verse. She wrote under the name 
 of "Naomi McDonald Phelps," and contrib 
 uted many beautiful and popular poems to 
 temperance, religious and reformative period 
 icals. You may find her picture and some of 
 her best known lines in that fine anthology of 
 our verse, "Poets of America." Her verse 
 is marked by fine intuitive qualities, beauty 
 
 14
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 of diction, and purity and spirituality in 
 thought and sentiment. Much of the mother s 
 intellect and power of feeling was trans 
 mitted to the son. 
 
 In the new home, Guy Fitch Phelps spent 
 his most susceptible years. In referring to 
 this charmed spot and these years so rich 
 in wealth for the sensitive imagination, the 
 author says : 
 
 "Thus I was reared in the most romantic 
 of places, with the sanity of virgin nature 
 environing me, and the wonderful wild life 
 touching me at every turn with its magic 
 charm. I learned to dream, to hate injustice, 
 to love nature, to weave romances, and my 
 soul grew. Over those cloud-kissed and 
 eternal mountains I roamed. I followed the 
 round-ups. I became an excellent horseman, 
 and I pride myself yet that few can swing 
 to the saddle with a better knowledge of its 
 meaning. I followed the dim trails, and have 
 often slept in the bunch grass without cover 
 or pillow, my horse feeding at the end of a 
 rope, beside me. 
 
 "As a hunter, I have had some thrilling 
 little experiences. I was charged once by a 
 wild cow, and shot her six feet from the 
 muzzle of the gun. I was once compelled to 
 keep a wounded buck from killing me by 
 holding his horns. My ability to do this was 
 due to the fact that one of his hind legs was 
 broken. I have been thrown from horses in 
 all conditions and places. Never badly hurt. 
 The camp fire was then, and is now, my chief 
 delight. I know all the charm and passion 
 
 15
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 of the unstained wild. It is impossible to 
 describe it: the sunshine streaming over the 
 lifeful hollows, where the bucks lie in their 
 cool beds ; the cherry thickets, where the bear 
 feed on wild fruit; the springs, sighed over 
 by aspens, where the grouse lead their broods 
 at ten in the morning ; the vales and hollows, 
 tracked with deer, and the dry foothills, 
 inhabited by those white wraiths called ante 
 lope. There I have ridden alone, singing the 
 songs of sentiment which circulated through 
 the West. I have written since I can remem 
 ber. I have always loved it. The struggle to 
 get knowledge; the pushing out against the 
 closed doors on every hand; the sweet ro 
 mances which have lingered in my life like the 
 fragrance of flowers around the vase ; with all 
 the wild, sad pain which must mingle in such 
 a cup as mine these things live in my memory 
 and are part of my life. I detest forms and 
 ceremonies. I have no use whatever for a 
 cowardly ministry. I can not endure any 
 kind of a machine. I am a product of the 
 West. I was born in it. There I have lived. 
 I know all the charm and wonder and romance 
 of the dim trails which lead on into the back 
 of Beyond." 
 
 The above personal confession is as inter 
 esting as it is self-revealing. 
 
 Like Edwin Markham, democracy s great 
 est poet, Guy Fitch Phelps is a true child of 
 the great and imagination-fostering West. 
 Primeval nature and the character-developing 
 influences of normal life in a rugged, pictur 
 esque and virgin mountain land did far more 
 
 16
 
 A TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 for these authors than man-made universities, 
 environed by the temptations and moral-ener 
 vating influences of city life, and, in the case 
 of each of these gifted writers, the after 
 schooling, valuable as it was, counted far less 
 than nature s gift, in the university where 
 mountain and sky, rocks and streams, the 
 virgin forest, the untrammeled life and ever- 
 changing flora of free nature were teachers 
 who confirmed the lessons of the great Book, 
 which for centuries has been the fountain of 
 inspiration and spiritual life for earth s up 
 ward struggling millions, and which will be 
 the fountain of inspiration and uplift for ages 
 yet to come. 
 
 AURORA, Mo, B, 0. FLOWER. 
 
 *A.< 4
 
 I 
 
 THE CURTAIN 
 
 TV/fARION ALLISON looked down into her 
 *** mother s face. It was full of peace. 
 Some tears fell upon the glass. She removed 
 them with a subdued motion. Her grief was 
 not of the boisterous kind. She had grown 
 accustomed to disappointment, and her sub 
 mission was that which comes of great 
 denials. 
 
 During the illness which had terminated 
 in death, Marion had been the sick woman s 
 constant companion. She had witnessed the 
 pain and increasing weakness. Then came 
 the hour when the mysterious curtain had 
 dropped between them. A heavy ache filled 
 her heart. However, necessity compelled her 
 to think. She glanced about the room. The 
 barren walls and soiled paper bore evidence 
 of the past and seemed prophetic of the 
 future. With a sob, she turned to the en 
 larged picti re of a man. The face was frank 
 and clean. The eyes were full of an almost 
 boyish confidence. That was her father before 
 the meshes of bibulous politics had ensnared 
 him in the meshes of manhood s worst sur 
 render. At least, she was proud of the pic 
 ture. Then came memories of the time when 
 he used to take her on his knees and talk 
 
 19
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 to her, but that was before the coming of 
 the shadow. 
 
 With a fresh rush of tears, she turned to 
 the pastel near by. It was plain that her 
 mother sat for it before the sorrow which 
 led to her death had begun. The features 
 were laughing and comely. Going to the 
 window, Marion looked out on what seemed 
 to be an endless reach of fields goldened with 
 flowers. How beautiful nature was. The 
 wretchedness of her own life was like a dis 
 cord in the natural harmony. A bird settled 
 on an evergreen and burst into song. The 
 sound brought a feeling of isolation, yet a 
 sacrament of mist which still clung to the 
 distant hills created a sense of rest in her 
 heavy heart. If only she could mingle with 
 its remoteness and be lost! 
 
 Hearing a step, she turned about. The 
 woman v/ho had watched beside her mother 
 during the night had come in to say that 
 she must go. The time for the service was 
 near. Marion spoke some broken words 
 expressing gratitude. 
 
 A little later, the few who lived near and 
 were interested began to come in. When the 
 minister arrived he found a dozen women 
 gathered in the room. There was a business 
 like brevity about the service which was 
 almost an affront. The pastor had many 
 such calls. His remarks were commonplace 
 enough, and, save for the sobbing of a few, 
 there was little evidence of sympathy. 
 
 The procession consisted of the hearse and 
 two carriages. The afternoon sun was mov- 
 
 20
 
 THE CURTAIN 
 
 ing swiftly to its setting. It had been impos 
 sible to secure even these two carriages 
 before, owing to the fact that all the vehicles 
 in the city and neighboring towns had been 
 employed to do honor to the interment of a 
 distiller, famous alike for his vast estates 
 and many gifts bestowed on the religious 
 projects of St. Patrick s Church, of which he 
 was a devout member. Archbishop Crastie 
 himself had administered extreme unction, 
 and would later conduct masses for the dead. 
 The deceased had made ample provision that 
 prayers should be said for his soul, looking 
 to purgatorial adjustments. The widow had 
 arranged for a thousand candles to be kept 
 burning in the different churches for a week. 
 When the undertaker briefly explained the 
 cause of the delay, Marion glanced at her 
 father. He sat limply in a corner. She knew 
 that he had emptied many bottles, to the 
 degradation of himself and family, with the 
 name of this same distiller on them. 
 
 Marion walked to the carriage between 
 her father and George Ainsley, on whose arm 
 she leaned. He had hurried back from col 
 lege to be with her in this time of trouble, 
 and she was greatly sustained by his quiet 
 strength. After the ceremonies at the grave, 
 its location being in a remote corner of the 
 Lone Pine Cemetery, they were whirled back 
 to the shabby house where William Allison 
 had placed those dependent upon him. 
 
 That night George and Marion discussed 
 their future. He must finish college. That 
 would mean two more years. Then he would 
 
 21
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 come for her. Till that time she would remain 
 with her father. In case of need she was to 
 let him know at once. George Ainsley had 
 always felt a great pity for William Allison. 
 The man had once been strong. He remem 
 bered when he came with his family to church 
 and was respected. Then he recalled the 
 steps by which he had gone down. There had 
 been the demand of the political machine, with 
 its commercial and religious combinations re 
 volving around Archbishop Crastie and the 
 dead distiller. He had taken the platform to 
 denounce the unholy alliance. This had 
 brought him into sharp conflict with the de 
 fenders of church and state, and put his name 
 under the ban of the hierarchy. 
 
 It was in those days he had first met 
 Marion. She was only a girl then, but 
 thoughtful and sincere. Even now she had 
 the mien of one much beyond her years. The 
 invisible something which was plotting to 
 control the free institutions of the country 
 had spread a net in which her father s feet 
 had become tangled, and the woman he loved 
 was an innocent sufferer because of it. He 
 grew hot with indignation. Some day, in her 
 name, he would strike, and strike hard. He 
 little kne under what strange circumstances 
 he would repeat that vow. 
 
 When the time came for him to go they 
 walked out under the stars. The night wind 
 was moving the evergreens which fringed the 
 lawn. From far away came the sound of the 
 river, a threnody which hinted of some world 
 sorrow of which Marion felt herself a part. 
 
 22
 
 THE CURTAIN 
 
 Below, the city lights spangled the dusk like 
 a shower of fireflies. 
 
 "You will hear from me soon, Marion," 
 he promised, drawing her to him very gently, 
 and touching her forehead and hair with his 
 lips. 
 
 "Do write often, George, for you know 
 it will be so lonely now," she pleaded. And 
 then, with a little catch in her voice: "Are 
 you real sure that that it does not make 
 any difference? You know mother was 
 good?" 
 
 He placed his fingers on her lips: "Dear 
 Marion, you must not think of such a thing. 
 For your father, I feel a great sympathy. 
 There is a chance that he may reform. In 
 fact, I have always expected it. But what has 
 that to do with you? I know you are worthy, 
 and I love you, dear. 
 
 She watched him go down the path which 
 led timidly away toward the city, her lashes 
 wet. How strong and noble he looked. God 
 had been very good to her in permitting him 
 to come into her life, and she would do her 
 best to be worthy of his love. 
 
 23
 
 II 
 
 THE EGGS OF THE ASP 
 
 OSS BAKEE, confidential man of the 
 
 Light & Power Company, and general 
 manager of all the interests of the city 
 machine, climbed into his auto and was 
 whirled away. 
 
 He sat in the back seat stoical and expres 
 sionless. He did not see the throngs through 
 which he was passing, nor did he notice the 
 prominent business places. These were as 
 familiar to him as the steps at his front 
 door, as were the flamboyant resorts farther 
 down, where the clearer waters of the better 
 elements met the rile of the mudflats and 
 hell s acreage of the North End. He was 
 well acquainted, too, with every wheel within 
 a wheel which went to make up the political 
 and religious whole of which he, for no mean 
 price, was the political overseer. 
 
 The elections were at hand, and Boss 
 Baker was very busy. He had just received 
 a call over the , nhone from no less a person 
 age than Archbishop Crastie himself, and 
 everything else had been put aside to attend 
 to this important matter. 
 
 In front of the episcopal residence he 
 alighted, glanced at his watch, and gave 
 directions for the machine to be back in an 
 
 24
 
 THE EGGS OF THE ASP 
 
 hour. Then he climbed the steps as fast as 
 his corpulency would permit, and was re 
 ceived by the prelate himself. 
 
 Formalities were dispensed with. These 
 men understood each other perfectly. They 
 had met under such circumstances before. 
 The archbishop led the way into his private 
 office and indicated a chair with an authori 
 tative gesture. There was a table between 
 them. The boss took cigars from his pocket 
 mechanically, and gave one to the priest. 
 
 "You wanted to see me, Your Grace?" 
 he asked, blowing a cloud of smoke toward 
 the ceiling. 
 
 "On very important matters. There are 
 several things which demand our attention. 
 The situation requires a united effort to 
 adjust it satisfactorily." 
 
 "Proceed." 
 
 The tone indicated perfect willingness on 
 the part of the politician. The archbishop 
 looked keenly at his visitor. 
 
 "First, then, I call your attention to the 
 fact that a new element is making itself felt 
 in the city. I have it from my assistants that 
 a bill is to be presented at the next session 
 of the Legislature demanding the opening 
 of our Holy Houses. This infamous measure 
 must be killed! Understand? Killed; and 
 those bigots who are agitating it defeated so 
 utterly that they will never again seek office. 
 In this I pledge you the support of practically 
 the entire Catholic vote." 
 
 The politician removed the cigar from his 
 lips. 
 
 25
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 "Have you a list of the supporters of this 
 measure ?" 
 
 The prelate took a paper from the drawer 
 and pushed it across the table. "You will 
 find them there, with their counties." 
 
 The politician ran them over briefly. "All 
 known to me," he commented, suggestively, 
 "but it will take funds to accomplish their 
 defeat." 
 
 "I understand that very well. You shall 
 have what you need. The Catholic Church 
 has means of securing revenue." 
 
 "What else, Your Grace!" The words 
 were full of condescension. 
 
 "Simply that, with the return of other 
 judicial favorites of ours, you must see to 
 it that Mr. Gatenby is reinstated as juvenile 
 judge. Much depends on this. Besides, he 
 is a faithful son of the church. You demand 
 funds. That is very well, but where are they 
 to come from? I said we have resources. 
 We have, one of which is our Houses of the 
 Good Shepherd. But how shall we operate 
 these benevolent institutions without some 
 one to do the work? You begin to see what 
 I mean ? The juvenile court makes it possible 
 to do this." 
 
 The archbishop looked at his visitor 
 sharply. 
 
 "We must have the revenue from these 
 institutions to meet the political reform de 
 mands which are coming upon us. Besides, 
 I have a number of building schemes which 
 must be completed. There is St. Mary s 
 Cathedral, which will be the pride of Holy 
 
 26
 
 THE EGGS OF THE ASP 
 
 Mother when finished. I am depending on 
 these places, at least in part, for the funds 
 to accomplish this. May all the saints be 
 propitious! You can see the importance of 
 having a Catholic for this office. I shall see 
 that you have every assistance." 
 
 "It will not be difficult to arrange that, 
 Bishop. Is there anything else?" 
 
 "There is; a very important matter, by 
 the way. I need not tell you that there is a 
 heretical element working in the city. Because 
 of this opposition to the true church we must 
 act very wisely. Catholics should not take a 
 position w^hich will subject them to open 
 hostility, when they can accomplish their 
 ends very well without it. I am informed 
 that a Mrs. Bolton is very anxious to secure 
 the position of city matron and general pro 
 bation officer. She is a prominent member 
 of a large sect. That is very good. Let her 
 have it. In that way we can shut the mouths 
 of the Protestant dogs who yelp at the heels 
 of the true church. I shall impress her with 
 the fact that she holds her place by my 
 consent. 
 
 "There is this other matter also: we 
 need an appropriation for our House of 
 Good Shepherd. That must come through 
 the Legislature. See that the candidates are 
 pledged in regard to this. We will have our 
 own men in the seats to present the measure. 
 I am done." 
 
 Archbishop Crastie settled back in his 
 chair with a gesture of finality. The politician 
 collected himself. 
 
 27
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 There are a couple of things which 
 should have the support of the church as 
 well as these, for I am of the opinion that 
 both are vital to your interests. To begin 
 with, there is a strong temperance sentiment 
 working. I have reason to believe that a 
 prohibition measure will be up at the next 
 session. I think this might affect a large 
 Catholic constituency. Am I right?" 
 
 "Most assuredly. Fully two-thirds of the 
 saloon men in the State are members of the 
 church. You can see what the cutting off 
 of that revenue would mean to us. That 
 fanatical movement must be defeated at all 
 costs." 
 
 "You may be sure of our efforts along 
 that line, but I am not overconfident of the 
 result. The measure is well supported." 
 
 Then be ready with an amendment which 
 will take the limit off for sacramental pur 
 poses. If necessary, I shall array the entire 
 Catholic vote against it and force the con 
 cession by way of the recall." 
 
 "Very good. My other proposition is the 
 securing of certain important rights-of-way 
 for the Light & Power Company, and to do 
 this there must be some special legislating 
 done. I wish to be assured of your support 
 in this matter, Bishop." 
 
 "Have no doubt of that. The president 
 of that company is a communicant of St. 
 Patrick s. I have administered the sacrament 
 to him myself. We have already discussed 
 the situation in the presence of several of the 
 stockholders. As you know, the company 
 
 28
 
 THE EGGS OF THE ASP 
 
 controls a big per cent, of the candidates in 
 the State. It is to be understood that they 
 favor our appropriation measure and oppose 
 the others I have named. I hope we can 
 co-operate in these things. 
 
 The politician rose, glanced at his watch 
 from habit, and went out. The prelate fol 
 lowed to the door, closing it noiselessly. The 
 trade had been made, and the boss was on his 
 way to carry out his part of it. 
 
 29
 
 Ill 
 
 THE PLAYERS AND THEIR PARTS 
 
 ARCHBISHOP CRASTIE did not send 
 ** Mrs. Bolton a written invitation to call 
 upon him, neither did he communicate with 
 her over the telephone; nevertheless, she 
 came. It was all natural enough. She was 
 busy preparing a way, in the wilderness of 
 conflicting interests and aspiring candidates, 
 to the desired appointment. Which position 
 was not to be despised, inasmuch as it prom 
 ised a round eighteen hundred dollars per an 
 num and traveling expenses. 
 
 In her gyrations she inevitably crossed 
 the trail of Boss Baker and certain prominent 
 police commissioners. What more natural 
 than that she should be made to feel in a 
 vague way that it would be well to see His 
 Grace, the Archbishop? Priding herself on 
 possessing an assurance which braved all 
 odds, she secured the prelate s ear over the 
 telephone and arranged for a meeting. 
 
 Nevertheless, her Protestant heart flut 
 tered with fear as she climbed the broad 
 steps and touched the bell. Stepping back, 
 she glanced at the church which stood on the 
 corner. Its massive walls and high, narrow 
 windows suggested ancient dungeons and 
 Inquisitional history. Was it not the boast 
 
 30
 
 THE PLAYERS AND THEIR PARTS 
 
 of Rome that she made no changes? She had 
 just begun to contemplate the nunnery, which 
 stood on the opposite side of the episcopal 
 residence, marking with a feeling of dread 
 the twelve-foot wall which shut the building 
 in and the undesired world out, when the 
 door opened, and she was ushered into the 
 presence of Archbishop Crastie. 
 
 Before she could begin the introduction 
 which she had prepared, the prelate made it 
 unnecessary by addressing her: "I suppose 
 you are Mrs. Bolton?" Eeading in her face 
 that he was correct, he led the way into his 
 private office. The archbishop was imposing 
 ly gowned, and from his neck hung a gorgeous 
 gold cross. He motioned her to a seat, taking 
 one himself. Then he turned his deep-set 
 eyes upon her. 
 
 "You wish to discuss something with me, 
 Mrs. Bolton?" 
 
 "If I might take a few minutes of your 
 time. 
 
 "Proceed." 
 
 The crustiness of his manner was discon 
 certing, even to the well-developed self-pos 
 session of Mrs. Bolton. 
 
 "Perhaps you are aware that I desire the 
 position of city matron and general probation 
 officer? It is regarding this matter that I 
 called." 
 
 "Why do you, a Protestant, come to me? 
 Are not your own ministers able to arrange 
 this for you?" 
 
 Mrs. Bolton was decidedly embarrassed, 
 as her flushed cheeks indicated. 
 
 31
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 "I I felt that you might be interested 
 in such matters; that is why I came." 
 
 The archbishop relaxed in a sinister smile. 
 
 And right you are; we do take an inter 
 est in public affairs and the well-being of the 
 community. That is our doctrine. All offices 
 should receive their tenure from the altar. 
 You wish my influence in securing this posi 
 tion. I might be of assistance to you, but 
 first we must understand each other. You 
 belong to a very prominent sect. You may 
 have been, in this day of enmity to Holy 
 Church, fed on the poison of lies and vile 
 slanders against the characters of nuns and 
 priests. The true and blessed church of 
 Christ may have been held up to you as the 
 sum of apostasy. It is possible you have 
 read of horror-chambers and tortures. Per 
 haps you have believed these infamies. All 
 are the detestable lies of the enemies of true 
 religion, seeking to arouse prejudice." 
 
 The prelate changed his position and the 
 movement caused the gold cross about his neck 
 to glitter brilliantly. Mrs. Bolton was finding 
 it hard to formulate a reply. It was unneces 
 sary, for the archbishop continued : 
 
 "You see, the church desires to be of real 
 assistance in the government of the city, as 
 well as the State, and with this in view she 
 has made herself a power in the community, 
 and, I might add, the larger life of the nation. 
 Of this we are justly proud. It is the will of 
 God. If you secure this position, you will 
 find it necessary to co-operate with the judge 
 of the juvenile court. Understand? Cases 
 
 32
 
 THE PLAYERS AND THEIR PARTS 
 
 come under the inspection of the police, and 
 these are reported to yon and, together with 
 the jndge, you dispose of them. Thanks to 
 the church founded upon the blessed Saint 
 Peter, there is a place where these outcasts 
 can go. Destitute of maternal care, they find 
 the bosom of a better mother in the church. 
 Left without a father s protection, they are 
 given the defense of our benevolent institu 
 tions. Judges recognize this and are glad to 
 avail themselves of the charity we offer. Ah, 
 madam, the church has been slandered most 
 wickedly. When you come to understand 
 our teachings and practices, you will see that 
 all you have heard are lies; the accursed lies 
 of heretics! Do you think you can work 
 harmoniously with the juvenile court?" 
 
 "I am quite clear that we are to operate 
 in the same field, and it is my purpose to be 
 faithful in the administration of my office." 
 
 The veiled nature of the reply seemed to 
 please the prelate. His face was drawn into 
 what answered for a smile as he rose. 
 
 1 I think it can be arranged, and, if you 
 give satisfaction, I see no reason why you 
 can not retain the position indefinitely. How 
 ever, you must see that there is no discord in 
 the performance of your work. Otherwise, 
 there would have to be an adjustment. 
 
 She was bowed out very coldly. On her 
 way home in the car, she had time to go over 
 the interview. After all, what did it matter 
 if the church was interested? Things were 
 just as they were, and the position was worth 
 having. Like a majority of her Protestant 
 
 3 33
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 neighbors, Mrs. Bolton was quite ignorant of 
 the complex character of city politics. She 
 desired an office, and she understood instinc 
 tively that the way into it was along the line 
 she was following. This had included Arch 
 bishop Crastie. So far as the conceit of the 
 dignitary was concerned, she cared little for 
 that. His church, as such, meant nothing to 
 her. If their institutions were benevolent, 
 well and good. That was outside of her con 
 cern. 
 
 The elections came, and the results were 
 quite satisfactory to Mrs. Bolton, as well as 
 the archbishop, for the inspection measure 
 was defeated by a handsome majority, follow 
 ing a vindictive speech by Representative 
 Pillinger. The appropriation for the House 
 of the Good Shepherd was duly granted, while 
 the temperance measures were tabled indefi 
 nitely, and the Light & Power Company were 
 made sure of their franchises. The new chief 
 of police was a loyal son of the church pre 
 sided over by Archbishop Crastie, and Mrs. 
 Bolton was duly installed in the coveted 
 position. The actors had played their parts 
 well. Boss Baker congratulated himself, and 
 thought complacently of the fat roll of bills 
 in his safety deposit box at the First National 
 Bank. 
 
 34
 
 IV 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 TV/TARION ALLISON settled down to the 
 *** dreary routine of her task, which con 
 sisted in keeping up the wretched house 
 which she was compelled to call home, and 
 making things as comfortable as she could 
 for her father. 
 
 For a few weeks after his wife s death 
 he tried to master his appetite. During that 
 time he found employment, and his wages 
 supplied the home with modest comforts. But 
 the inevitable relapse came, and the wavering 
 hope in Marion s heart died out. Then the 
 responsibility of providing the things needed 
 settled upon her, and she struggled bravely 
 to meet the demands. 
 
 Marion was visited occasionally by Mrs. 
 Holliday, who occupied quarters in the neigh 
 borhood. Her manner was in a way kind, 
 though Marion was conscious of an uneasy 
 feeling in her presence. At such times the 
 woman took occasion to laud the tenets of 
 her faith and the charitable work of those in 
 charge of the holy houses. Marion listened 
 without special interest. Her own creed was 
 quite clearly denned, along with a very pro 
 nounced belief in the need of the Reformation. 
 In these she remained unmoved by the appeals 
 
 35
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 of the would-be missionary, little dreaming of 
 the net which was being spread for her, and 
 which would ensnare her life in its meshes. 
 
 One evening in the gathering twilight a 
 sister from the penal convent entered the 
 home of Mrs. Holliday and talked a long time 
 very earnestly. The following morning, Mrs. 
 Bolton was called before the juvenile court 
 and informed of a case which had been re 
 ported. The party was in great poverty. 
 Her father was a drunkard, and her means 
 of support such that the matter would have 
 to be looked into. Citizens living in the com 
 munity had informed the judge of the con 
 ditions, and she was therefore instructed to 
 appear in court with the subject at once. 
 
 True to the manner of questionable 
 actions, Mrs. Bolton gave Marion no satis 
 faction when questioned regarding the mean 
 ing of her call to the juvenile court. What 
 did they want of her? Perhaps her father 
 was in trouble and she was being forced into 
 the public gaze. As is the way of one who 
 has suffered much, she accompanied her con 
 ductor in silence. It was something connected 
 with the thing which had broken her mother s 
 heart. They had suffered together, and she 
 must still endure it. 
 
 Marion was surprised to find the room 
 deserted, save for the presence of Mrs. Hol 
 liday. Her father was not here. What did 
 it mean? She turned toward the judge 
 and found his glance fixed upon her. He 
 was evidently interested. Marion was 
 motioned to a seat. The probation officer 
 
 36
 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 remained standing. At a gesture from the 
 judge, Mrs. Bolton began to rehearse the 
 case. She had investigated on her own 
 account; then she had talked to Mrs. Holli- 
 day, who lived near. Matters were in bad 
 condition. They were not as they should be. 
 Even from the standpoint of the proper, there 
 ought to be a change, to say nothing of the 
 inability of the father to provide for his 
 daughter. The man was a notorious drunk 
 ard, and the young woman should have pro 
 tection. This was confirmed by Mrs. Holliday 
 in a brief statement. 
 
 Marion heard all this in speechless aston 
 ishment. What were these people concocting 
 against her? She would know. A dread of 
 that august thing known as "contempt of 
 court" almost overcame her, yet she rose 
 and began to speak. Instantly the face of 
 the judge clouded. She was commanded to 
 be silent. In such cases the court was em 
 powered to act. His office had been created 
 for that purpose. She must submit to his 
 judgment in the matter. He planned for her 
 good. Provisions had been made for those 
 in her condition. The probation officer would 
 please do her duty. The aid of an officer was 
 solicited and granted. The commitment was 
 to be indefinite. If it could be shown the 
 court in the future that conditions were what 
 they should be, there might be opportunity 
 for a new adjustment. The case was dis 
 missed abruptly. 
 
 Marion would have renewed her demand 
 for an explanation, but Mrs. Bolton prevented 
 
 37
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 it with a warning that further resistance to 
 the will of the court would subject her to con 
 tempt, and that she would be compelled to 
 obey. 
 
 As they descended the steps of the court 
 house Marion was thinking very fast. She 
 found it impossible to bring order out of the 
 chaos into which her thoughts had been 
 thrown. She was being forced away from 
 her home contrary to her will. Against this 
 she rebelled. An officer in uniform awaited 
 them on the sidewalk. An automobile stood 
 at the curb in throbbing readiness. Marion 
 turned upon Mrs. Bolton with another demand 
 for an explanation. 
 
 "What right have you to hale people to 
 court and pass sentence against them when 
 they are not charged with a transgression of 
 law?" 
 
 "I am acting in the line of my duty. You 
 heard the decree of the court. That is final. 
 Come on ; I have no time to waste. 
 
 The officer strode forward. 
 
 "Cut that out and move along," he com 
 manded, domineeringly, pushing the resisting 
 girl toward the machine and slamming the 
 door when she had entered. The next instant 
 they were whirled away, whither Marion 
 knew not. 
 
 "Where are you taking me?" she demand 
 ed, her indignation flaming. 
 
 "To an institution provided for those in 
 your condition. I hope you will make no 
 trouble, but obey the rules and do what you 
 are told. You will find that the better way. 
 
 38
 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 Some girls whom we commit are foolish 
 enough to rebel, and they suffer much incon 
 venience as a result." 
 
 "Are you in the habit of committing 
 individuals against their wishes?" 
 
 "To be sure. That is our business. 
 Folks are usually committed against their 
 wishes. The city has intrusted these things 
 to us. We use our judgment in the matter. 
 It so happens that we believe you would be 
 better off in one of our institutions for 
 awhile. 
 
 Marion s eyes flamed. With a quick spring 
 she was through the door of the car and in 
 the act of leaping to the road, when the hand 
 of the officer gripped her arm savagely, caus 
 ing intense pain. 
 
 "Get back in here, you d d heretic," he 
 growled through shut teeth. 
 
 Finding it useless to struggle, Marion re 
 signed herself to her fate. Intently she pon 
 dered the word "heretic." Why had this 
 man called her that? Instinctively she asso 
 ciated his brutality with the term. Then she 
 thought of George Ainsley. He must know 
 what had become of her. Her silence would 
 cause him great anxiety. 
 
 "I have friends who must be told where 
 I am. I must send letters to them," Marion 
 ventured. 
 
 The chilly smile of the probation officer 
 was accompanied by the unfeeling laugh of 
 the policeman. 
 
 "You can talk that over with those in 
 authority," Mrs. Bolton replied very suavely, 
 
 39
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 while the patrolman looked at Marion in a 
 way which sent the hot blood to her cheeks 
 in a protesting flood. 
 
 Just then the car came to a standstill 
 before a massive iron gate. The officer 
 opened the door and commanded Marion to 
 get out. She obeyed, followed by Mrs. Bolton. 
 They were before a stone wall some ten 
 feet high. A subdued moan, which Marion 
 recognized as the sound of machinery, came 
 to her ears. Then the gate opened and she 
 was forced through. It was closed and locked 
 immediately. Some nuns in white garb came 
 toward her. 
 
 "Where am I?" Marion demanded. 
 
 "This is the House of the Good Shep 
 herd," one of the women replied. 
 
 "Why have they brought me to this 
 prison?" Marion questioned indignantly. 
 
 "This is a place for such as you," the 
 nun answered. 
 
 By this time the door had been reached. 
 It opened and closed behind the trembling 
 girl. She was immediately conducted into 
 the presence of the stern-faced mother 
 superior. At sight of the unfeeling features 
 all the indignation and sense of injustice 
 which burned within Marion s finely strung 
 nature found voice in passionate protest, 
 during which the compressed lips and narrow 
 ing eyelids of Mother Elizabeth boded ill for 
 the unfortunate girl. 
 
 "You are a Protestant, the child of a 
 heretic, and you manifest their accursed 
 spirit. Here you must learn obedience, and 
 
 40
 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 punishments and proper discipline will bring 
 you to it." 
 
 At this Marion gave way to a flood of 
 resentment which was interrupted by a sting 
 ing blow on the lips, administered by a nun 
 at the nod of the superior, who then, in a 
 voice which was vibrant with anger, com 
 manded that the cat-o -nine be brought. A 
 nun hastened to obey. 
 
 "She will have to be taught her lesson 
 at once. St. Frances, see that this stubborn 
 ness is thoroughly subdued." The superior 
 then stepped back, while a swarm of nuns 
 overpowered Marion. 
 
 Stretched over a couch, with most of her 
 garments removed, the lash fell with horrible 
 torture upon her quivering flesh. The pain 
 caused her to cry out. The agony was fear 
 ful. Every lash left a long purple welt, from 
 which the blood oozed like water from a 
 sponge. After this she was dragged, almost 
 fainting, to the dungeon under the stairs, 
 where she was thrown on the cement floor 
 and left in total darkness. There in the 
 silence she lay, racked with pain and dread. 
 Her wounds brought on a chill and she shook 
 as if in an ague. Hours passed. At last she 
 must have swooned, for when she regained 
 consciousness several nuns were about her. 
 She was commanded to get up. When she 
 could not do this they assisted her savagely. 
 Almost unable to stand, she was dragged to 
 the bathtub and washed. Afterward, a nau 
 seating mixture of food was forced upon her. 
 Then she was told to kneel and kiss the floor 
 
 41
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 in the presence of Mother Elizabeth. Again 
 Marion rebelled. Then she was returned to 
 the bath and forced under cold water. Too 
 much exhausted to make further resistance, 
 Marion was hurried into a room and left. 
 The apartment contained a couch covered 
 with a thin mattress. She threw herself upon 
 this and gave way to weakness. 
 
 The next morning she was again supplied 
 with coarse food, and, though faint from 
 hunger, she could swallow only a small por 
 tion of it. Once more she was commanded 
 to kneel and kiss the floor before the superior. 
 Again Marion refused, and this time a num 
 ber of nuns threw themselves upon her and 
 forced her face against the boards. 
 
 Take her to the laundry," Mother Eliz 
 abeth commanded. "She ll find it will pay 
 to observe the rules. If there is any further 
 trouble, I ll consult Father Black. I think 
 he may be able to provide discipline which 
 will bring this heret ; to her senses." 
 
 Marion was suddenly alive to her situ 
 ation. She had been taught the methods of 
 the priesthood. She had read of the Inqui 
 sition and its horrors. One of her earliest 
 recollections was the picture of a chamber of 
 tortures. There were half a dozen frocked 
 priests, who were hovering about a victim 
 whose feet were being slowly roasted. Near 
 by a martyr was suspended upon pulleys, his 
 arms twisted from their sockets. She had 
 often wondered if this could be true. Later, 
 when she grew older, it had been her habit 
 to study the faces of priests, and what she 
 
 42
 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 saw in their shifting glances and features 
 convinced her that they were given to deeds 
 that were evil. She had seen Father Black, 
 and she shuddered at his overhanging brows 
 and sinister expression. By every instinct 
 of her nature she had read him for a degen 
 erate. What would be her fate if she were 
 given into his hands ? She trembled at the 
 thought. Anything but that! 
 
 Then began a round of starvation, mis 
 treatment and wretchedness. Marion was 
 taken by several nuns and conducted out of 
 the nunnery. Each door was securely locked 
 after they passed through it. Outside, she 
 found herself between two high board fences, 
 spiked with iron along the top so that no 
 one could climb over. A score of yards away 
 was a dull gray building, from which came 
 the purring sound she had heard outside. 
 Beyond that was the stone wall which en 
 closed the entire plant with ten feet of 
 solid masonry. Throwing caution to the 
 winds, Marion turned upon the nuns. 
 
 "If this place is a benevolent institution, 
 why have you surrounded it with this wall? 
 Why did you put those iron palings on top 
 of the fences?" 
 
 The only answer she received was to be 
 handled more savagely than before. At the 
 end of the passage they came to a door. This, 
 also, was locked. A nun opened it, and 
 Marion was thrust through. Inside was a 
 second door. Here the nun who carried the 
 keys turned to Marion with a malicious 
 expression. 
 
 43
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 "You will understand all about the walls 
 in a little while without being told. See that 
 you get out your allotment, or it will be the 
 worse for you. Remember, we will have none 
 of your heretic manners here." 
 
 To this Marion had no wish to reply, 
 for her eyes were fixed wonderingly on what 
 she saw before her. Scores of small girls 
 were bent over power-driven machines, mak 
 ing shirts. Marion noticed their wasted 
 bodies and staring, hopeless eyes. She saw 
 their shrunken shoulders and withered hands. 
 It was horrible! Over this aggregation of 
 blighted childhood several nuns presided. 
 They were moving about, urging the toilers 
 to greater exertions. Marion knew that back 
 of the nuns and the machines was the church, 
 with Father Black, and all like him, deep in 
 old wine and worse. The story of the Inqui 
 sition was true, after all. She was looking 
 upon it in modern form with her own eyes. 
 
 Passing through this department, they 
 came to a door, also locked. Here Marion 
 was forced into another large room, where 
 the crash of more than fifty machines came 
 to her ears. At each one a girl presided. 
 She saw in the faces of these toilers the 
 same dejection and wordless misery. It was 
 evident that fearful wrongs were being per 
 petrated on these helpless victims. Marion 
 wondered how many had been committed as 
 she had been. What terrible perversion of 
 law and justice was this that she, a Protes 
 tant, a member of a large denomination, could 
 be imprisoned without cause, and made to 
 
 44
 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 toil for this so-called church institution to the 
 enriching of the priests and all at the head 
 of the hierarchy? Hot indignation stirred in 
 her soul. She would defy them, and at the 
 first opportunity escape at any cost. Then 
 she recalled the threat of the superior and 
 quailed before what it promised. Anything 
 but that ! God help her ! She had read things 
 in Father Black s eyes which made her 
 remember. 
 
 Marion was assigned to one of the ma 
 chines in the laundry. The smell of foul 
 steam filled her lungs with a choking odor. 
 Glancing about, she saw other girls at 
 machines, some younger, some older than 
 herself. One brought some pieces for the 
 mangle. Marion noticed that her fingers were 
 gone. Every face wore an expression of 
 hopelessness. Nuns moved about domineer 
 ingly, their faces set in a feelingless immo 
 bility. Marion began her task, having first 
 sworn within herself that she would not sub 
 mit to her condition beyond the first oppor 
 tunity to escape from it. 
 
 At noon they sat down to food which 
 consisted of refuse begged from the restau 
 rants and groceries of the city. It was dan 
 gerous from decay and poison. Marion 
 studied the others. They were wretchedly 
 starved, and each ate with the instinct of 
 some wild creature which contends for its 
 share of the kill. Some were shorn of their 
 hair, the haggled manner in which it had been 
 removed indicating that it was done as a 
 punishment. Others bore marks of beatings. 
 
 45
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 On every hand there was a cringing obedience 
 to the nuns, who administered chastisement 
 at will. Every hour the horror grew. 
 
 Little girls, who had been given such 
 heavy tasks that they could not accomplish 
 them in the time demanded, were punished by 
 having their hands tied behind them and 
 being forced to kneel before the image of 
 the Virgin for long periods of time. The 
 days passed. Marion was being rapidly 
 initiated into an inferno of wretchedness and 
 tears which she had never dreamed existed. 
 Always, night and day, there was the scream 
 of anguished girlhood in some corner of the 
 building; always some one was receiving 
 chastisement at the hands of the nuns. Some 
 with enough spirit left to rebel were thrown 
 into the dungeon under the stairs, where 
 they were forced to endure the horror of 
 darkness and loneliness for even a week, fed 
 upon bread and water. Others were whipped 
 unthinkably, and all for the most trivial in 
 fractions of the rules, or a failure to accom 
 plish the tasks assigned them. These were 
 often so great that twelve hours before the 
 machines were not enough to accomplish them. 
 In the night the little sufferers cried in their 
 sleep, or begged piteously for mercy. Some 
 called for their mothers or playmates. These 
 unconscious complaints were promptly hushed 
 by the soft-gliding nuns, who hovered over 
 the tiny slaves like spirits of ill-omen. 
 
 With every opportunity which presented 
 itself Marion studied her surroundings. She 
 noticed that trees grew close to the back 
 
 46
 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 wall. If she could escape from the building, 
 she might get over the barrier by one of 
 these. All about her were suffering in a 
 variety of ways. They were starved, broken 
 in spirit, whipped and driven relentlessly by 
 the gain-getters of the institution, who in 
 turn were driven by the hierarchy. Marion 
 came in for a double portion of abuse. She 
 was constantly reviled for being a Protestant 
 and her burden made exceedingly hard. 
 Exasperated beyond all endurance, she had 
 rebelled, only to be subjected to the most 
 inhuman cruelties. For days she languished 
 in the dungeon, suffering the horrors of the 
 darkness, and feverish from the effects of 
 the lash, which had torn her flesh once more. 
 A day and a night she was denied water. 
 Terrible thirst parched her lips and throat. 
 Her head beat as if to burst. At last she 
 became unconscious. From such inquisitional 
 experiences she was taken back to the laundry 
 and compelled to work extra hours. At all 
 costs she must get out of her prison. In all 
 this no kind word was spoken, either to 
 herself or the others. Marion wept much, and 
 her heart longed for George Ainsley. If only 
 he knew where she was and how she was 
 suffering, he would accomplish her release at 
 any cost. Even in her wretchedness his love 
 was a great consolation. There was this one 
 star left shining in her darkness. 
 
 Watching her chance, she found oppor 
 tunity to examine a certain window which 
 opened at the rear of the sleeping quarters. 
 All the windows were barred, and, in addition, 
 
 47
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 there was a steel mesh and locked shutters 
 inside, but for some reason these had been 
 removed temporarily from this one window, 
 which was hidden from observation by an 
 angle in the wall. Marion knew that the 
 place would be secured again within a few 
 hours. 
 
 At noon she speculated on the distance 
 from the window to the ground. It would be 
 a full twenty-feet drop. This would endanger 
 life and limbs, yet she determined to risk it. 
 During the day a few words passed between 
 her and a girl who, like herself, had suffered 
 much because she had resisted the nuns. It 
 was agreed that they would take the leap 
 together. The hour following the noon meal 
 was set as the time for the venture. 
 Marion s heart beat very fast as she rose 
 from the table. Her companion s expression 
 indicated that she was ready. Hurrying 
 through the building, they passed into the 
 quarters, and, without more than glancing 
 about, they climbed upon the sill. Waiting a 
 few seconds for her companion to make the 
 drop, Marion was startled by the sound of 
 steps. Glancing back, she saw two nuns 
 running toward her. Leaning out, she 
 glimpsed her companion running across the 
 yard. Then, with a gasp of fear, Marion 
 fell. It seemed she was whirling through 
 space endlessly. Then came a severe wrench 
 of her body, with a keen pain in the spine 
 and a sense of nausea. Unable to rise, she 
 lay upon the ground, while a dread of coming 
 tortures filled her mind. There the nuns 
 
 48
 
 THE HOUSE OF TEARS 
 
 found her and dragged her back. Then fol 
 lowed unmerciful lashings and two days in 
 the dungeon, after her fingers had been 
 severely beaten with the edge of a rule. 
 Again fever made its appearance, and she 
 was taken to a bed, with the promise that 
 when she left it her disciplining would be 
 continued. 
 
 49
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 GEORGE AINSLEY returned to college 
 very happy in the vow which the woman 
 he loved had made. Life held much for him. 
 He entered upon his tasks with resolution, 
 because every effort brought closer the com 
 ing of Marion Allison into his life. He 
 placed her picture in his room where he 
 could lift his glance to it at any time, and 
 the fine eyes, with their cloudy beauty, 
 seemed to smile him encouragement. 
 
 For some time her letters arrived regu 
 larly, then they ceased abruptly. For awhile 
 he continued to write, thinking that she had 
 been unexpectedly hindered in some way. 
 But, when a month passed without a letter, he 
 grew alarmed, and resolved to return and 
 investigate the strange silence. 
 
 When he arrived at the Allison home he 
 found that her father had just returned 
 from a prolonged debauch and was unable 
 to give any account, either of his daughter 
 or himself. Inquiry among the neighbors 
 revealed nothing. Mrs. Holliday was very 
 cold in her manner and practically closed the 
 door in his face. George ascribed the 
 woman s deportment to the fact that he had 
 once exposed the political machinations of 
 
 50
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 her church. A car came by and he boarded 
 it. Once in the city, he hurried toward the 
 office of Mrs. Bolton, the probation officer 
 and general city matron. He found the lady 
 very busy! When he insisted upon a few 
 minutes interview, he was finally admitted. 
 She received him with a stiff professionalism 
 which irritated him. In reply to his request 
 for aid in discovering the whereabouts of 
 Marion Allison, he was told, with a little 
 change of tone, that she had been committed 
 to the House of the Good Shepherd. While 
 she was imparting this information, the pro 
 bation officer studied her visitor narrowly. 
 She was looking for those danger-signals 
 which corrupt practice always considers 
 worthy of attention. 
 
 For a time George sat speechless. He 
 was trying to grasp the meaning of what 
 he had heard. Then it dawned upon his 
 mind clearly. A high color mounted to his 
 temples. Anger was kindling in him. Then 
 he asked a question with terrific directness : 
 
 Why did you put her in that institu 
 tion?" 
 
 Mrs. Bolton moved uneasily. "It was 
 all a matter of lawful procedure, Mr. Ainsley. 
 I understand a complaint was sent in by 
 those living near. I had nothing to do with 
 the case except to bring her before Judge 
 Gatenby. Witnesses who were present con 
 vinced the court that she should be provided 
 for. That is all I know about it. She was 
 committed something over a month ago. * 
 
 "Who were the witnesses ?" 
 
 51
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 Again Mrs. Bolton showed agitation. 
 "Why, I don t just recall. Mrs. Holliday 
 was one." 
 
 "I see; a Roman Catholic. The case is 
 becoming clearer. Judge Gatenby is also 
 a member of that church. Who took Miss 
 Allison to the House of the Good Shepherd?" 
 His question was fearfully direct. 
 
 Mrs. Bolton hesitated. "I was required 
 to be with her. However, an officer had 
 charge of the case." 
 
 "Did she make any effort to escape?" 
 
 "Once she tried to leap from the 
 machine. 
 
 "Who prevented her?" 
 
 "The officer. It would have been fatal." 
 
 George continued to look searchingly at 
 the woman for some time without speaking, 
 then he said, very deliberately: 
 
 "So you, a prominent member of a large 
 Protestant church, had part in this bit of 
 priestly railroading, did you? I have not a 
 doubt but you received your appointment 
 because of promises made to Archbishop 
 Crastie and his satellites before election." 
 
 It was Mrs. Bolton s chance to play the 
 injured dignity role, and she endeavored to 
 do so. 
 
 "I refuse to take an insult at your hands, 
 Mr. Ainsley. It is understood that where a 
 man fails to be a gentleman he should be 
 treated as something else. I have the power 
 to place you under arrest, which I shall do 
 if you refuse to go now. 
 
 George rose. His anger awed her. What 
 
 52
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 she read in his eyes caused her to forget her 
 police powers. 
 
 * Then, proceed, he began, with an effort 
 to control his voice, for I refuse to leave 
 this office till I have told you that I know 
 you to be a tool of the Roman hierarchy. 
 You intimate that I am not a gentleman. 
 What claim could I make to that character 
 were I to permit you and your pirate ring 
 to crush the woman of my heart? I firmly 
 believe you were closeted with Archbishop 
 Crastie before you dared even to hope for 
 this office. Judge Gatenby is a Catholic, a 
 tool of the priests, and the spirit of a Jesuit 
 is in him. You are the blind which makes 
 it possible for these killers of children to 
 secure their victims for those untaxed slave- 
 pens, the Houses of the Good Shepherd. The 
 f rocked pirates who are slaughtering these 
 helpless creatures are hiding in your Protes 
 tant shadow. You are kept in the foreground 
 so the opponents of romanism will be lulled 
 to sleep. You threaten me with arrest. I 
 defy you. More, I serve notice that you shall 
 stand exposed before an aroused public. The 
 time has come when this outrage against 
 freedom must stop. I shall spoil your game 
 of graft and greed." 
 
 Mrs. Bolton had risen, and stood, very 
 white and silent before her visitor, whose 
 blazing eyes held her speechless, while his 
 words frightened her. Subconsciously, she 
 was asking herself what this man could do. 
 The dread of the guilty was upon her the 
 fear of exposure. When his quick steps had 
 
 53
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 died out in the hall, she sat down and tried 
 to collect herself. All bad systems had been 
 compelled to submit to public scrutiny, sooner 
 or later, and it might be that such was at 
 hand for the methods by which the Catholic 
 Church secured laborers for the Houses of 
 the Good Shepherd. Something must be 
 done to head this off. She took up the phone 
 and called a number. A hurried conversation 
 with Archbishop Crastie followed, the replies 
 of Mrs. Bolton indicating that he was asking 
 many questions. Three minutes after the 
 probation officer had hung up, the prelate 
 was in communication with Mother Elizabeth 
 at the House of the Good Shepherd. The 
 courage of one man had startled the sleeping 
 dragons, and the machinery of falsehood and 
 evasion was set in motion. 
 
 Once in the street, George realized that 
 he had spoken words which it would be most 
 difficult to follow out. He was aware that 
 nations had not been able to dethrone the 
 institution against w r hich he was about to 
 set himself. A sense of helplessness came 
 over him. Obeying an impulse, he turned 
 into a side street and made his way toward 
 the residence of Marion s pastor. The house 
 stood in the shadow of the great building 
 which lifted an imposing steeple high above 
 the city. The minister received him in a 
 very affable manner, ushering him into a 
 cool parlor, well furnished with deep, restful 
 chairs. George shattered the expectation of 
 a matrimonial fee which he saw in the 
 pastor s face: 
 
 54
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 "I am not here to arrange for marriage," 
 he began, with spirit. "Rather, I came to 
 tell you that the woman to whom I have made 
 my vow has been railroaded into a House of 
 the Good Shepherd, and I am here to ask 
 your aid in an effort to release her." The 
 minister blanched with apprehension. George 
 continued: "I was at school doing post 
 graduate work in the study of law, and in 
 my absence Miss Allison was imprisoned in 
 that institution against her will, and for no 
 cause whatever. Her father is a man of dis 
 sipated habits, as you doubtless know, and 
 this gave the priestly thieves who run that 
 slave-pen their chance. Not hearing from 
 her, I returned to investigate. Your city 
 probation officer has just told me where she 
 is. Now, I am here to ask you, her pastor, 
 what you are willing to do to help get her 
 out." 
 
 The minister winced under the question. 
 "It is too bad, Mr. Ainsley, but, really, I do 
 not see that I am in a position to take the 
 matter up just now. No doubt, the commit 
 ment was according to law. Such cases are 
 to be regretted very much." 
 
 "But, I say, you are in a position to do 
 a great deal, and right away, if you will," 
 George countered, his words carrying a chal 
 lenge. The minister flushed. 
 
 "Please state in what way." 
 
 "You are not limited to one thing; there 
 are many ways to strike. But, first, go 
 before your congregation next Sundav, hav 
 ing announced your subject, and expose this 
 
 55
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 ghastly system of robbery and imprisonment 
 without the warrant of law or justice. Ex 
 pose it, man, and show that the Catholic 
 Church is reaping untold thousands of dol 
 lars out of the flesh and blood of these help 
 less victims of their diabolical greed. Tell 
 the people how they are starved and abused. 
 Do that, and then call your fellow-ministers 
 together and tell them that one of your mem 
 bers has been imprisoned in this terrible 
 place, and ask them to back you in an effort 
 to take her out. Will you do that?" 
 
 The pastor moved nervously. "You ask 
 an impossible thing, Mr. Ainsley. You never 
 have been pastor of a large city church, and 
 have no idea of the conflicting interests which 
 demand one s tact and judgment. To do 
 as you request would make a demand for 
 my resignation a certainty." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Well, to begin with, there are business 
 interests to be considered. My official board 
 is composed largely of men engaged in mer 
 cantile enterprises. If I should speak on 
 this subject, boycott from the Catholic 
 Church would follow immediately, and the 
 whole thing would react on me. Those men 
 would utterly refuse to permit such a subject 
 to be discussed in this church." 
 
 "You confess, then, that you are com 
 pelled to submit to the dictates of this 
 dragonish mammon?" 
 
 "You put it a little strong, Mr. Ainsley." 
 
 "I ll put it stronger than that. You have 
 confessed that you are a hireling and a time- 
 
 56
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 server. The fear which prevents you from 
 telling the truth in this case keeps you from 
 telling it in others. Had you the courage 
 to face evil of another nature you would be 
 compelled to face this one. The fact that 
 you dare not touch it is evidence that you 
 take the same attitude toward other crimes 
 against humanity. You and your official 
 board are as guilty as Archbishop Crastie. 
 Why? Because he, to fill his thieving purse, 
 manipulates city politics, puts judges on the 
 bench and railroads hundreds of motherless 
 children into his slave-pens. This he does 
 for money. Very well. You and your official 
 board consent that this infamy shall continue 
 for the same reason. You are pastor of 
 this great church. You are supposed to tell 
 the truth. But, because of your salary and 
 the business interests of your members, you 
 dare not do so. How much better are you 
 than Archbishop Crastie ? He steals girls 
 that he may make money. You, and all min 
 isters like you, permit him to do so for the 
 same reason. I put it where you can see it. 
 How do you like it?" 
 
 "Well enough to refuse to permit you to 
 continue to insult me," the pastor replied, 
 rising, flushed and agitated. George got 
 up also. 
 
 "Just forget that, please. If I have 
 insulted you by enlarging on your confession, 
 how about the admission? You have said 
 you dare not bring this question into your 
 pulpit. I add that, such being the case, you 
 are unfit to bring any subject into your 
 
 57
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 pulpit. Here is one of your own members 
 imprisoned in a Roman horror-prison, and 
 yet you dare not refer to it! This same 
 cowardice keeps your mouth shut on every 
 other unpopular measure, I am sure of that. 
 What is the agony and motherless weeping 
 of those little victims over in that Catholic 
 hell to you? What do you care that young 
 women are driven like slaves at the lash s 
 end, that they are the helpless pawns of 
 priestly abuse, and crushed under the befoul 
 ing touch cT that diabolical system? How is 
 it that you do not know that hundreds are 
 kidnapped into those institutions without 
 even a. show of law? More, that the whole 
 juvenile frame-up is a Romish game to get 
 unpaid labor, and the children of Protestants, 
 where they can force them to kneel before 
 their images and crosses? Was Miss Allison 
 in need? No. If she had been, it was the 
 duty of this church to change her condition. 
 Some of that sacred business interest of 
 which you speak would come in well in such 
 a case. How did it happen? Simply through 
 a Catholic neighbor, assisted by that Protes 
 tant tool of Papal corruption, Mrs. Bolton, 
 who is also a member of your church. But 
 I serve notice that I will give it to the public. 
 I will lay bare the whole system, and the 
 criminal indifference of Protestant ministers 
 and laymen, and it will take more than a 
 bowling-alley membership and a patented 
 smile to pass you when I do." 
 
 Without giving the minister a chance to 
 reply, George left the room. He was burn- 
 
 58
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 ing with indignation. The policy of the man 
 had disgusted him. It was very plain why 
 the hierarchy was so bold in its methods. 
 When Protestants should awake and present 
 a solid front, such places as the House of the 
 Good Shepherd would be impossible. 
 
 In the street, the old feeling of insuffi 
 ciency came back to him. The city was so 
 large and complicated. How could he snap 
 the threads which held his beloved in such 
 an evil net? "Where should he begin? Hot 
 with resentment against the criminal prac 
 tices of the church which had laid its un 
 washed hands on the woman he loved, he 
 hailed a cab and gave orders to be driven 
 to Archbishop Crastie s residence. 
 
 The prelate himself opened the door 
 warily, and stood peering at his visitor with 
 crafty eyes which glittered under shaggy 
 brows. George pushed the door wider and 
 entered. 
 
 "I came to talk to you," he said, ignoring 
 the priest s effort to keep him out. 
 
 "I have no time I have no time to talk 
 to you," the Jesuit objected, moving back 
 nervously. 
 
 "You ll talk, just the same," George re 
 plied, his indignation taking on a deeper 
 heat in the presence of the man who repre 
 sented the system which had brought such 
 wretchedness upon him. 
 
 The archbishop went toward the phone, 
 but George stopped him. 
 
 "None of that. You are not dealing with 
 a defenseless woman now. Come any of 
 
 59
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 your inquisitional tricks, and I ll shake yon 
 like a rat." 
 
 The prelate backed into a side room, and 
 placed a table between them. George leaned 
 over it and fixed his glance on the face of 
 the agitated dignitary, who sank into a chair. 
 
 "You are the head of the Catholic Church 
 in this part of the country, are you not?" 
 
 "I am, sir." 
 
 "Then, you are the chief slave-master 
 over the House of the Good Shepherd in this 
 city?" 
 
 The archbishop moved uneasily, a mali 
 cious light coming into his eyes. "Dare you 
 speak so to God s minister 1 ? The institution 
 is supported by the best people, and upheld 
 by the State. Did not the Legislature give 
 it an appropriation? We care for the home 
 less and reform the wayward. The blessed 
 Saint Anna is the patron of the institution." 
 
 "I ll listen to none of your hypocritical 
 mouthings about saints. What I want to 
 know is, why you put Marion Allison in that 
 place. Had she broken any law? And, if 
 she had, what right have you to the persons 
 and toil of those under civil sentence?" 
 
 "Ask the court about that; I know noth 
 ing of the matter." 
 
 "To be sure, your slaves are too many 
 for your memory, but, yet, you are the head 
 criminal in this whole thieving scheme. Sold 
 body and soul to greed and love of power, 
 you descend to the wallows of every infamy 
 that you may realize your diabolical plans. 
 The House of the Good Shepherd is a prison, 
 
 60
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 a slave-pen, and all that is debasing and 
 immoral in one. There you crush and blight 
 the bodies and minds and souls of children, 
 chaining them to your machines by laws 
 which you have created. What is it to you 
 and your bibulous associates that the eyes 
 of your victims grow lack-luster and their 
 chests fall in? What do you care that they 
 weep for their mothers and are denied every 
 childish joy? Scores of them are there, 
 railroaded into your mill of greed because 
 they were helpless. Through your tool, Judge 
 Gatenby, and that Protestant hypocrite, Mrs. 
 Bolton, you keep your machines going with 
 unpaid toil. Look at the walls which shut 
 in your commercial hell ! See the barred and 
 locked windows. Behold your fences bristling 
 with spikes. All of which bear witness to 
 the monstrous infamy which you are prac 
 ticing. There you coin the blood of your 
 victims into silver and gold. With your 
 church on such a foundation, and your gar 
 ments clotted with the blood of these inno 
 cents, you dare lift up your befouled faces 
 to a holy God and offer your wine slops and 
 wafer deities and call it religion." 
 
 The prelate, red-faced, and stammering 
 with wrath, rose to protest, gesticulating 
 wildly. 
 
 1 Sit down!" George commanded, and the 
 bishop obeyed, impelled by the young man s 
 determination. "I am not through yet. You 
 tell me these commitments are by way of the 
 court. But you and your church made the 
 court by which they are committed. Judge 
 
 61
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 Gatenby is a Catholic. You put him on the 
 bench that you might be able to railroad 
 these helpless ones into your prison-pens. 
 Then, to hide your craft and keep the here 
 tics quiet, you made Mrs. Bolton probation 
 officer. In this way you pull the fleece over 
 the eyes of Protestants, and your steal comes 
 easy. To be sure, any one who would sell an 
 indulgence would sell a girl. 
 
 "And into Avhose hands are these forgot 
 ten ones committed? Why, those who are as 
 lost to pity as yourself. You crush these vic 
 tims of your avarice. You break their spirits ; 
 you dwarf and weaken their minds. You plan 
 deliberately to do this because you seek to 
 produce an element fit only for your prison- 
 slavery. They must be blighted and degraded 
 in order to be satisfactory to you. 
 
 "You have debauched the public con 
 science. Your apostate church is the bul 
 wark of the saloon business in the State. 
 A large proportion of the keepers of resorts 
 and dives are Catholics. Your members are 
 the chief drunkard-makers of the city. When 
 you have ruined the homes of the drinkers 
 and beggared their children, then, like vul 
 tures swooping to the prey, you take these 
 ruined ones in your hellish net and mangle 
 them in your sweatshops. 
 
 "And over all this unspeakable wicked 
 ness you spread the cloak of what you call 
 religion. With the moan of these bruised 
 ones going up to a God of pity, you con 
 tinue saying masses for souls in a purga 
 tory which does not exist. Priests who are 
 
 62
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 wine-drinkers conduct your services, and 
 you disgrace the very name of religion by 
 teaching that God will be pleased with you, 
 in spite of these practices. In your Catholic 
 saloons the creatures of passion are created 
 and trained. Then, you take this product of 
 your system and make them slaves in your 
 sweatshops, and, to cover your wickedness, 
 you call it the House of the Good Shepherd. 
 But where does the Good Shepherd appear? 
 Is he to be found in the work of forcing 
 tender girlhood to labor long and in the 
 crushing of helpless childhood? 
 
 And so are all your abominations con 
 ducted. Built upon vice and superstition, 
 your nunneries are not strangers to immo 
 rality, your own writers being witness; your 
 slave-pens open sores of cruelty and injus 
 tice; the State officers bought and sold by 
 you, and every ideal of decent government 
 outraged by your corrupt practices, you still 
 creep about your altars among your mean 
 ingless candles, muttering your gibberish and 
 becoming, if possible, ever more heathen. 
 Over all this crime and foolishness you croak 
 your blesseds and holy saints this and 
 that, as if God could be fooled by such 
 hypocrisy. 
 
 "Into your slave-pens you have rail 
 roaded Marion Allison. Her father was 
 made a drunkard in Catholic saloons. Now 
 you reach out your serpent coils and take 
 in this innocent victim of your system. You 
 plan to coin her body into money. But I am 
 here to tell you that yon will not. Take my 
 
 63
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 advice and send her to her home immediately. 
 For once you have taken the wrong person 
 in your net. Whatever the cost, she comes 
 out. Understand?" --., 
 
 The archbishop was shaking with rage, 
 his features passing through a kaleidoscope 
 of vindictive expressions. His eyes glittered 
 savagely, but the terrible anger of the man 
 .who towered above him kept him silent. 
 
 "One thing more before I go. Your 
 life shows in your face. There I see cun 
 ning and cruelty. You have every feature 
 of a degenerate. You are given to believ 
 ing the ridiculous and absurd. You may 
 deny that your church has the truth told 
 about it; continue to denounce those who 
 point out your absurdities and wickedness, 
 but one thing you can t avoid is the fact that 
 all you are is plainly written in your counte 
 nance. 
 
 Realizing that he was almost mastered 
 with a desire to strangle the prelate, George 
 left abruptly. When he had walked half a 
 dozen blocks, he began to see that his visit 
 had accomplished him nothing beyond afford 
 ing an opportunity to tell the priest what 
 he thought of him and his church. After 
 all, it would have been better to have stayed 
 away. He knew the archbishop would stop 
 at nothing in his desire for revenge, and that 
 this would fall upon Marion Allison as well 
 as himself. 
 
 He paused on a corner to think. Then, 
 obeying something which suggested itself to 
 him, he hurried in the direction of the law 
 
 64
 
 THE BUGLES OF COURAGE 
 
 firm of Huston & Coruthers. He knew these 
 men. They would be interested in his case. 
 An hour later, when he stepped from the 
 elevator, there was a new light in his face, 
 and he walked with a determined swing.
 
 VI 
 THE WINGS OF LOVE 
 
 WHEN he had time to think it over, 
 George became satisfied that any proc 
 ess by law to obtain the release of Marion 
 Allison would be long at best, and, after all, 
 very uncertain. He recalled how thoroughly 
 the hierarchy had manipulated the judiciary 
 for their interests, and that the consideration 
 of his case could be easily deferred indefi 
 nitely. 
 
 Once more he acted upon impulse. He 
 was young. The blood ran warm in his 
 veins. He was fighting for her he loved. 
 He had every assurance that his lawyers 
 would do all they could, but he was impa 
 tient. He had reason to know that Marion 
 would be in great danger and subject to fear 
 ful cruelties at the hands of those who were 
 crushing her. He must act at once. Come 
 what might, he would save her or give his 
 life in the attempt. 
 
 He was in the act of going out when the 
 postman handed him a letter. Its contents 
 proved to be startling enough. The writer 
 had escaped from the House of the Good 
 Shepherd. Marion Allison had attempted 
 the same thing and failed. She had been 
 instructed to write him in case there was a 
 
 66
 
 THE WINGS OF LOVE 
 
 miscarriage of their plans. She had seen 
 her companion on the ground, unable to rise, 
 and she knew she had been taken back into 
 the convent. The epistle had been forwarded 
 from his school address. Thrusting the mis 
 sive into his pocket, he called a taxicab, and 
 gave directions to drive to a certain address 
 with all speed. 
 
 Twenty minutes later he was in the pres 
 ence of a girl perhaps sixteen years of age. 
 Her eyes were haunted with an expression 
 of fear, and she limped as a result of her 
 drop from the window. What followed bris 
 tled with importance. First, George learned 
 that certain patriotic people were highly 
 Indignant over what she had revealed regard 
 ing the House of the Good Shepherd. He 
 took down these names. Then he drew a 
 careful plan of the institution, according to 
 her description. After this an hour was 
 spent in visiting certain numbers. Plans 
 were laid for a secret meeting that night. 
 
 By nine o clock the invited ones were all 
 present. George stated his case and received 
 the heart} sympathy of each one. Great 
 indignation was expressed. Something must 
 be done. The visit to Archbishop Crastie 
 was voted a mistake. The prelate would act 
 immediately. George saw it in the same 
 light, now that he had thought it over. Then 
 followed plans. These men were determined. 
 They were not alone. There was an organ 
 ization in the city which took just such cases 
 as this in hand. These intolerable doings of 
 Romanism must be stopped. 
 
 67
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 As the midnight hour approached, ten 
 men and a girl stole away through the dark 
 ness. Following secret ways, they came to 
 the neighborhood of the House of the Good 
 Shepherd. "While the rest remained hidden, 
 George and the girl, with one of the men, 
 crept up and reconnoitered, following the 
 line of the walls and getting the location of 
 the entrances. Then they rejoined their 
 companions. 
 
 Noiseless as wraiths, they circled the 
 walls and cut the telephone wires. Half of 
 the men were then put on guard outside, and 
 the others, with George, entered by means of 
 ladders. The five men drew together and 
 discussed the next move. They must act at 
 once. Going to the door, George knocked 
 very loudly. This was repeated several 
 times. Then came the sound of a key in the 
 lock, and the next instant a nun stood before 
 them. As she showed no surprise, it was 
 manifest that she was accustomed to night 
 committals. This was a significant revela 
 tion. The men entered at once. The woman 
 discovered the irregularity too late. 
 
 "We are here to get Marion Allison. 
 Lead us to her at once!" The nun hesitated. 
 "You must obey. Come, we mean business, 
 and we have no time to lose." 
 
 "Mother of God! Who are you?" she 
 cried, in frightened tones. 
 
 "Never mind about the mother of God; 
 it s another woman, Marion Allison, we are 
 after. Take us to her immediately. We 
 know she is here." 
 
 68
 
 THE WINGS OF LOVE 
 
 "There is no such person in this house. 
 I do not know the name." 
 
 "None of that. The records show sho 
 is here. Lead on." One of the men took the 
 woman by the arm and compelled her to 
 proceed. 
 
 At that instant a group of nuns appeared. 
 They were startled to frightened exclama 
 tions when they saw the men, and marked 
 their determined air. All protested that 
 Marion Allison was not in the building. She 
 had been removed to another place. 
 
 Believing this to be false, the nuns were 
 put into a room and a guard set over them. 
 Then began a thorough search of the prem 
 ises. At the end of an hour they found no 
 trace of the one they sought. Every minute 
 the possibility of discovery increased. Full 
 of anxiety, George led his followers to the 
 basement once more. This time they dis 
 covered the dungeon under the stairs, in 
 which the shrunken body of a little girl lay, 
 the sufferer moaning with fright and pain. 
 She was removed immediately. As they 
 returned through a dark passage, a nun 
 glided out of a side room and approached 
 George, laying her hand upon his arm. 
 
 "Will you protect me if I speak? Hist! 
 My life will be in danger! The girl you seek 
 is not here. She was removed by order of 
 the archbishop." 
 
 "Is that not a Catholic lie to protect your 
 institution? You are trained to do such 
 things when it will shield your church." 
 
 "You are right, we are taught to falsify; 
 
 69
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 but I am speaking the truth. She is gone." 
 
 "Why do you, a nun, tell me this?" 
 George asked. 
 
 "Because I am tired of it all; tired of 
 cruelty and injustice. Surely you will be 
 sufficiently glad of my aid to protect me." 
 
 "You shall not be harmed," he assured 
 her. 
 
 "If Marion Allison is not here, then, 
 where is she?" 
 
 The nun named another House of the 
 Good Shepherd miles distant. Something 
 had already alarmed the archbishop, and he 
 had ordered the transfer. 
 
 George condemned himself for his unwise 
 conduct in revealing his purpose to the 
 prelate. Yet, perhaps the woman was deceiv 
 ing him. He would be sure. Another half- 
 hour was spent in searching, but no trace of 
 Marion could be found. Then he questioned 
 certain of the inmates, who testified that she 
 had not been present at the last two meals. 
 There was a way to test the matter. If the 
 nun went with them voluntarily, he would 
 believe she told the truth; if not, he would 
 continue his search. His confidence was 
 strengthened when he saw her preparing to 
 acompany them. Outside, she repeated her 
 former statement, and gave directions re 
 garding the institution to which Marion had 
 been sent. 
 
 The men drew aside and discussed the 
 situation. There would not be time to cover 
 the distance to the other place before morn 
 ing, and it would be wise to wait till the 
 
 70
 
 THE WINGS OF LOVE 
 
 excitement which their action would create 
 might die down. To each one George ex 
 pressed his gratitude. Then he placed the 
 nun in the care of one of them, who was to 
 take her to his house. Unseen by the others, 
 he gave her some money. She would need 
 this, and more, in her coming experiences. 
 Then they separated. 
 
 George had not objected when his com 
 panions counseled delay, but in his own 
 mind he planned very differently. Going to 
 an out-of-town depot, he bought a ticket 
 which took him to within a few miles of the 
 convent the nun had named. A brisk walk 
 shortly brought him near the place. On the 
 other side were the twinkling lights of a 
 village. After making a careful examination, 
 he withdrew, as the first streaks of morning 
 lanced the east. He found a hotel apparently 
 little frequented, secured a room and threw 
 himself down to rest. 
 
 When night came again, George moved 
 through the clasping dusk toward the House 
 of the Good Shepherd. As he hurried along 
 his mind was filled with anxious thoughts. 
 He recalled the crimson line of martyrs, 
 from Huss to Ferrar, slain by the institution 
 which was seeking to crush the woman he 
 loved. All its infamy and cruelty rose before 
 him. The mystery of its iniquity baffled him. 
 How had it maintained its evil place in the 
 world through all the advancing steps of 
 civilization? Red with the blood of its 
 slaughtered millions, it still defied liberty 
 and justice by running up its ancient walls 
 
 71
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 about its prisons and crushing those who 
 dared oppose its monstrous absurdities. He 
 paused and looked up to heaven in silent 
 prayer, asking for aid. 
 
 Moving on cautiously, he approached the 
 rear of the buildings, then, keeping as close 
 as he dared, he circled around them. In this 
 way he located the gate and the inside 
 entrances. In addition to the outside wall, 
 there were board fences separating the 
 grounds. These were suggestive enough. He 
 was convinced that Marion wa* confined in 
 this place, but how was he to reach her? As 
 he stood in the darkness trying to formulate 
 some plan, he made out the form of a man 
 crouched near the gate. He smiled grimly. 
 The "beast" was guarding its interests well. 
 At a news-stand he had bought a paper and 
 read that burglars had invaded the House 
 of the Good Shepherd, having first cut the 
 wires. This falsehood covered the facts in 
 the case. A feeling of desperation took pos 
 session of him. He would rescue the woman 
 he loved or die in the attempt. 
 
 Once more he went to the rear of the 
 wall. On his way he passed a place where 
 ditchers had been at work. Their tools lay 
 scattered about. Taking a heavy bar, he 
 kept on. On reaching the wall, he looked 
 about for some means of getting over it. 
 This he accomplished by leaning a piece of 
 timber against the top. He dropped the bar, 
 end downward, and it sank into the earth 
 noiselessly. Then he swung down the length 
 of his arms and dropped without harm. He 
 
 72
 
 THE WINGS OF LOVE 
 
 was on the inside. What next! As soon 
 as his eyes became accustomed to the deeper 
 gloom he approached the nunnery. It was 
 early, and the windows were alight. At the 
 corner he paused to think. What should he 
 do? If he should break in the door, it would 
 bring great odds against him immediately. 
 Perhaps he could gain admission in the way 
 he had done the night before. He would 
 try. But first he must arrange a means of 
 escape if fortune favored him. 
 
 Returning to the wall, he placed against 
 it some empty boxes which were at hand. 
 Then he went to the door and touched the 
 bell. Soon he heard steps, and a voice full 
 of caution inquired what was wanted. 
 
 "A commitment," he replied, in a gruff 
 voice. 
 
 The ruse worked. The door opened ever 
 so little. Quick as a flash, George forced his 
 way in, and commanded the woman to keep 
 silence as she valued her life. 
 
 "Take me to Marion Allison, the girl 
 who was brought here yesterday," he com 
 manded, grasping the nun s arm. 
 
 A struggle followed, after which there 
 was the opening and closing of doors. Then 
 a cry of alarm rang through the house. 
 George had a glimpse of several garbed 
 forms flitting about. Then he heard the 
 alarm given outside. The guard would be 
 upon him in a few minutes. Throwing 
 caution to the winds, he rushed at a door 
 across the room, splintering it with the bar. 
 In this manner he made a passage for him- 
 
 6 73
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 self through the building. Before the heavy 
 tool the panels gave way like glass. A feel 
 ing of exultant power came to him. As he 
 rushed on he called Marion s name. Coming 
 to a stairway, he bounded up it. A double 
 entrace was before him. He swung the bar 
 and the doors crashed in. Again he called, 
 and this time he was answered. He heard 
 a cry of joy, and saw Marion running toward 
 him, with several nuns in pursuit. The next 
 moment they were down the stairs together. 
 Coming to a window, George demolished it. 
 Leaping out, they ran to the wall. Bounding 
 to the top, he reached down and took her 
 hands. In a trice they were over and flying 
 toward a strip of woods. The sound of 
 running men came to them. They were being 
 pursued. 
 
 Reaching the forest, they dropped down 
 a bank and crossed the bed of a stream. 
 George took up two stones, then led on into 
 the willow tangle beyond. As they entered 
 it they heard the crunching of feet in the 
 gravel. Drawing Marion aside, he stepped 
 out and waited. Two forms came crashing 
 toward them. George hurled a stone with 
 terrific force at the nearest man. He sank 
 to the earth with a groan. He met the second 
 hand to hand; they grappled, but George 
 soon overpowered and bound him. Taking an 
 automatic from the pocket of one of them, he 
 led the way into the depths of the wilderness. 
 
 After an hour they paused to rest. Sit 
 ting upon a fallen tree, he drew Marion to 
 him and listened, while she rehearsed in a 
 
 74
 
 THE WINGS OF LOVE 
 
 low, frightened voice something of the terri 
 ble experiences through which she had 
 passed. Then he kissed her forehead rever 
 ently, speaking words of comfort and assur 
 ance. 
 
 "My sweet Marion, God was indeed good 
 to permit me to save you from the bondage 
 of that awful institution. How I thank Him! 
 Never again shall they touch you, save it be 
 over my dead body." 
 
 "I was sure you would come sometime to 
 take me out, dear," she replied. "But it 
 was so dangerous. How brave and good 
 you are ! 
 
 "My darling," he replied, brokenly, "I 
 would die a thousand times, if need be, for 
 your good." 
 
 "And that is why I love you so much," 
 she answered, nestling to him, while the night 
 wind moved softly through the trees, and the 
 stars seemed very close and kind. 
 
 75
 
 VII 
 BREAKING THE IRON JAW 
 
 r jpHEY were startled by the sound of steps. 
 -* Their pursuers were persistent enough. 
 A moment later dark forms passed close to 
 them. George and Marion moved carefully 
 away in an opposite direction, but the break 
 ing of a stick revealed their presence and 
 the men were quickly after them. Turning 
 at the edge of an opening, George fired twice 
 in rapid succession. Not waiting to see what 
 the effect was, he sped on, Marion close 
 beside him. Morning found them on the 
 banks of a river. After some difficulty, they 
 persuaded a man to take them over in a 
 boat. A mile beyond, they came to a cabin. 
 The woman proved to be kind, and they 
 rested here till evening. Then they went on 
 through the forest which covered the hills. 
 Before morning they glimpsed the city s 
 lights. 
 
 Going to the west, they came out on the 
 heights above the metropolis, and, finding 
 another open door, they rested again. But, 
 fearing that the natural curiosity of the 
 people might lead to discovery, they con 
 cluded to retire to some unfrequented spot 
 and await developments. In a tangle of 
 undergrowth which had covered a small 
 
 76
 
 BREAKING THE IRON JAW 
 
 clearing they found a deserted house. Every 
 thing bore witness that the place was seldom, 
 or never, visited. Here George made Marion 
 as comfortable as possible; gave her instruc 
 tions in the use of the automatic, and stole 
 away into the city. Reaching the home of 
 one of the men who had assisted him a few 
 nights before, he was admitted, and, in due 
 time, cleverly disguised, he went to the offices 
 of his attorneys, Huston & Coruthers, who 
 greeted him warmly. 
 
 "A great mess you have kicked up, young 
 fellow. I say, a great mess," the senior 
 member bantered, slapping George on the 
 shoulder. Look at the paper there." 
 George glanced at the sensational headlines, 
 which announced that a House of the Good 
 Shepherd at a neighboring town had been 
 invaded by an infatuated desperado, and 
 that an inmate, who had been committed for 
 immoral conduct, had gone away with him. 
 This was followed by a scathing denunciation 
 of the act. There was also a lengthy editorial 
 of the same nature. George smiled. He knew 
 that the fear of Catholic boycott had forced 
 this publication, no matter what the personal 
 views of the editor might be, for the hier 
 archy censored the press, he knew. 
 
 "It is time some one caused those pirates 
 trouble," he replied. 
 
 "Right you are, young fellow; right you 
 are. Hadn t given the matter much thought 
 before, but I find that all such commitments 
 are unconstitutional, and will not stand a 
 minute under a real test of law." 
 
 77
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 "Then, force the issue!" George spoke 
 with heat. 
 
 "Trust us for that. We intend to carry 
 the case to the highest court in the land, if 
 necessary to get the decision we want. There 
 will be no need of that, however, for the 
 State is aroused. Telegrams and letters are 
 coming in. The sleeping sentiment on this 
 question is taking fire. The people are 
 demanding an investigation, and the priests 
 are shuffling about in their mother hubbards 
 at a great rate. Those pouchy rascals must 
 be taught that they are not in South America, 
 Spain or Mexico, and that we won t stand 
 for their Jesuitical work." 
 
 This was welcome news to George Ains- 
 ley, and he hurried back to communicate it 
 to Marion, taking supplies with him. He 
 found her in tears. The spot was lonely and 
 her condition miserable. The injustice of it 
 all caused him to flame with anger. What 
 was this diabolical power which took an inno 
 cent victim and crushed her in its greed-mills, 
 then hunted her like a wild beast through the 
 forest? This was evidence enough of the 
 deplorable condition of the country. 
 
 Having secured an invitation, George con 
 ducted Marion to the home of a man he 
 could trust. There she remained in hiding, 
 while he went and came, keeping in touch 
 with the developments of the case. The 
 papers were filled with the sensation. Prom 
 inent lawyers were bidding for fees by volun 
 teering opinions on each side. The hierarchy 
 rushed into print, but, as usual, in a Jesuit- 
 is
 
 BREAKING THE IRON JAW 
 
 ical manner. Nothing appeared over the 
 name of a priest, yet it was evident that the 
 streams of invective and slander issued from 
 their retreats. The storm had broken which, 
 for generations, had been gathering. The 
 tragic stories of escaped nuns, with all who 
 had been crushed and blighted in the horror- 
 chambers of Rome, were bearing fruit. The 
 people were aroused. Something would have 
 to be done. The girl who had escaped when 
 Marion failed had published her statement of 
 the cruelties of the House of the Good Shep 
 herd. Others who had feared to speak came 
 forward to corroborate the facts given. 
 Slowly the editors began to feel the new 
 pulse, and their tone changed. If there was 
 a reformation at hand, they must be on the 
 flood of it. Meantime, Archbishop Crastie 
 marshalled his forces and worked in the way 
 of a Jesuit. Thus the excitement grew. Hus 
 ton & Coruthers boldly announced that they 
 would fight the issue to the last extremity. 
 Both factions retained powerful lawyers. 
 Injunctions were obtained. The judges began 
 to take notice of the sentiment which they 
 had not dreamed existed, and, as is usual with 
 politicians, to adjust themselves accordingly. 
 Then came the day when the matter was 
 to be fought out in court. Counsel for the 
 prosecution would appeal to the sentiments 
 of the people, and then the constitutional 
 features would be brought forth. When 
 George and Marion entered the crowded 
 room, it caused a sensation which the court 
 found it hard to subdue. The sight of the 
 
 79
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 man who had risked his life to save the 
 woman he loved moved many to tears. 
 
 Marion s companion in her attempted 
 escape was called first. The girl gave a 
 straightforward testimony, stating the cruel 
 ties and degradations of the House of the 
 Good Shepherd. During her recital the audi 
 ence frequently gave vent to its rising tide 
 of indignation. Then Marion was called to 
 the stand. The stillness of death reigned in 
 the room as she walked to the chair and 
 stood to take the oath. She was calm, but 
 very pale. All eyes were fixed upon her. 
 She was asked to state the particulars of her 
 attempt to escape from the House of the 
 Good Shepherd, giving her reasons for doing 
 so. Objections to this were overruled by the 
 court, which indicated that the judge pur 
 posed that all the facts should be brought 
 out. Marion was requested to proceed in 
 her own way to depict the things done in the 
 institution. A look from George encouraged 
 her, and she soon found herself carried along 
 with a sense of indignation, while she stated 
 graphically what she had experienced. 
 
 "The miseries of the House of the Good 
 Shepherd can not be described," she began. 
 "I was simply railroaded into the place 
 without cause. Nor was I given a chance to 
 secure legal aid or a hearing. Judge Gatenby 
 committed me on his own whim. I had 
 broken no law, neither was I in need. In 
 that institution they are starved and mis 
 treated. They are even compelled to sit 
 twelve hours at their machines in order to 
 
 80
 
 BREAKING THE IRON JAW 
 
 get out their allotments. Their shoulders are 
 stooped and their lungs are decaying. I 
 never saw such hopeless eyes. Always, some 
 one is being whipped or abused. The food is 
 vile, much of it donated from the waste boxes 
 of the restaurants and the groceries. I have 
 known of as many as seven girls being 
 washed in one bath to save water expenses. 
 For the most trifling infractions of the rules 
 the little slaves are brutally mistreated. The 
 scourge is often used. I have suffered this 
 myself, at the hands of Mother Elizabeth, 
 and I have seen her applying it to others. 
 The body is first stripped, and then the 
 thongs lash the naked flesh. More, they 
 throw them into dungeons and starve them. 
 They are compelled to eat from the floor with 
 their hands tied behind them. Their hair 
 is haggled off, and some are made to finish 
 their tasks kneeling before a statue of the 
 Virgin Mary. The very air is filled with 
 fear and cruelty. In that institution are 
 scores of girls who were committed to it 
 without any form of law, and others are held 
 long after their sentences have expired. 
 Many have been spirited in from other 
 States. In every sense they are slaves. 
 Many of the little things look upon their 
 tormentors wonderingly, not knowing why 
 they are treated so. And for their toil they 
 receive nothing." 
 
 As Marion left the stand the crowd broke 
 into angry protestations of indignation. 
 Then came a surprise. The judge, who had 
 given Marion a very close hearing, instructed 
 
 81
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 the sheriff to proceed immediately to the 
 House of the Good Shepherd and bring half 
 a dozen witnesses taken at random; also, to 
 conduct Mother Elizabeth into his presence. 
 This was done. The sensation was increased 
 when the woman appeared in her robes, 
 haughty of manner, her eyes full of anger. 
 
 The testimony of these witnesses only 
 confirmed what had already been given. One 
 who stated that she had been whipped by the 
 superior bared her shoulders, at the request 
 of the court, and showed the long, black 
 welts which were still raw. The girl testified 
 that she had been compelled to continue at 
 her machine in this condition, besides being 
 subjected to days of starvation. 
 
 Then Mother Elizabeth was sworn. Her 
 testimony consisted of blank denials and sar 
 castic utterances which called forth rebukes 
 from the court. When asked to explain the 
 bruises on the body of the girl, she endeav 
 ored to shift it to some nun who had acted 
 in her absence and without her sanction. 
 When asked to explain why she had per 
 mitted the child to continue at her machine 
 in such a condition, she made no reply. 
 
 As the superior left the stand, the attor 
 ney for the prosecution called Marion back 
 for another statement. 
 
 "You say you were whipped with this 
 cat-o -nine, of which we have been hearing, 
 Miss Allison?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 * Please state who it was that used it upon 
 
 you." 
 
 82
 
 BREAKING THE IRON JAW 
 
 "Mother Elizabeth." 
 
 "That will do." 
 
 As Marion left the chair, the lawyer arose 
 and addressed the sheriff, by permission of 
 the court: 
 
 "Mr. Sheriff, here is a warrant for the 
 arrest of Mother Elizabeth, charging her 
 with cruelty and inhuman treatment. Please 
 see that she is deprived of her liberty till 
 further action may be taken." 
 
 The sheriff obeyed, and the nun was 
 placed in a cell. Some priests who were 
 informed of this came in to protest, but were, 
 for the time at least, removed from the 
 courtroom by order of the judge. 
 
 When the lawyers had finished their argu 
 ments on the constitutional features involved, 
 the court took the matter under advisement 
 and the case rested. As George and Marion 
 left the room they received evidence of the 
 profound sympathy of the crowd. It was 
 evident that a better day had dawned. Soon 
 all the gates of Eoman prisons would be 
 thrown open, never more to be closed. 
 
 After due consideration, the court handed 
 down its decision. The findings were to the 
 effect that the House of the Good Shepherd, 
 as conducted, was an unconstitutional thing. 
 The juvenile court had acted without author 
 ity, and those so committed were unlawfully 
 deprived of their liberty. He therefore 
 ordered that all the inmates should be re 
 leased at once, and that in the future every 
 commitment must be made by proper civil 
 processes. It seemed clear to the court that 
 
 83
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 the Eoman Catholic Church, through its 
 political manipulations, had concocted a 
 scheme by which to supply its institutions 
 with unpaid labor, and that in this it was 
 liable to prosecution for obtaining money 
 under false pretenses and imprisoning indi 
 viduals unlawfully. 
 
 The entire commonwealth was thrilled 
 with sympathetic interest. Letters poured 
 in, expressing the most intense feeling on 
 each side. Judge Gatenby resigned in haste. 
 Mrs. Bolton followed. A call over the tele 
 phone brought George and Marion to the 
 offices of Huston & Coruthers. All entered 
 a machine and hurried out to the House of 
 the Good Shepherd. They arrived ahead of 
 the sheriff. Priests were seen shuffling about, 
 fuming furiously. Archbishop Crastie was 
 there, pronouncing curses and kissing the 
 cross which dangled over his full-length black 
 robe. George took Marion by the arm and 
 approached them. 
 
 I want you Jesuits to see Marion Alli 
 son. I told you that you had taken one too 
 many victims to your prison. The next 
 thing you and your doves of the temple will 
 have to face is a case of damages for false 
 imprisonment. We came out to enjoy the 
 first opening in America of a Roman Cath 
 olic institution by process of law." 
 
 George and Marion kept close to the 
 sheriff and his assistants, as they entered 
 and began forcing the doors. Marion led the 
 way through the buildings. In the dungeon 
 they found nothing but the evidence of the 
 
 84
 
 BREAKING THE IRON JAW 
 
 sufferers who had been there. The door of 
 this place was beaten down. Then came the 
 children and girls, a stream of abject human 
 ity, their hollow eyes full of bewilderment. 
 As the fact began to dawn on them that they 
 were free, they were overcome with joy and 
 gratitude. Reporters were busy writing the 
 epoch-making affair. Crowds were arriving 
 constantly. Automobiles came panting up, 
 filled with curious people. Cheer on cheer 
 broke from the patriotic mass of onlookers. 
 Lifting his hand, George Ainsley vowed that 
 he would spend his life in the work of open 
 ing the prisons of Rome, till not a nun or 
 girl remained in involuntary servitude behind 
 her locked gates and barred windows. 
 
 "In that I will stand by you, dear," 
 Marion seconded, in a low, firm voice. 
 
 As they turned to leave, they saw William 
 Allison coming toward them. Something in 
 his face and walk caused Marion to cry out 
 for joy, as she ran to him. 
 
 "Oh, father, you are changed!" she cried, 
 clinging to his neck. 
 
 "Yes, child, completely changed. I need 
 not tell you of the process ; at least, not now. 
 When I found you gone, and knew it was 
 my fault well, He knows what I felt and 
 what I did." The man looked upward and 
 pointed in the direction of his glance. 
 
 "I am a changed man," he said, brokenly, 
 his eyes misty. 
 
 Marion gave way to happy tears. George 
 grasped the hand of William Allison enthu 
 siastically. 
 
 85
 
 THE MOAN OF THE TIBER 
 
 "I always believed you would do it," he 
 cried, finding it hard to control his feelings. 
 
 At that instant a machine arrived, and 
 George heard his name called. Looking up, 
 he saw the pastor of Marion s church alight 
 ing. 
 
 "I congratulate you both," the minister 
 began, stepping toward them. 
 
 George drew back. "How about your 
 official board?" he asked. 
 
 The minister laughed. "Don t be too 
 hard on a fellow, Ainsley. I have most of 
 them with me. I needed what you gave me, 
 all right, for it set me to thinking. Since 
 then, we have gone into the backbone busi 
 ness down at our church, and, you take it 
 from me, I am after the other preachers just 
 as you went after me. Shake!" 
 
 The hands of the men closed in a clasp 
 that was a covenant of a united Protestan 
 tism in the overthrow of political Komanism 
 in America,
 
 Romanism Exposed 
 
 CENTER-SHOTS AT ROME 
 
 By George P. Rutledge 
 
 Cloth, !2mo. Price, postpaid, $1.00 
 
 Being a series of seven addresses delivered before packed 
 houses in Columbus. O. It is doubtful if any modern writer 
 has so successfully employed the shafts of wit and logic and 
 keen research in exposing this medieval politico-religious 
 body to the limelight of public judgment. 
 
 THE OLD GEVENOL 
 
 A realistic tale of the persecution of the Huguenot* 
 By Rabattt Saint -Etienne 
 Translated from the French by A. E. Seddon 
 
 Decorated boards, 12mo. Price, postpaid, 75c. 
 
 A stirring tale of Protestant suffering. The plot of this 
 absorbing story is laid in the times of Louis XIV., when 
 the extravagance and splendor of the French Court were 
 astonishing all Europe. Tlie author. Rabaut Saint-Etienne, 
 was a famous and eloquent Protestant preacher, and his 
 reiiearsal of the trials and persecutions of Ambrose Borely, 
 of Cevennes. and other Protestants of those perilous times, 
 is true to the horrible facts of history. 
 
 HOW I BECAME A NON-CATHOLIC 
 
 Being a brilliant refutation of the sophistries underlying 
 
 Catholic theology 
 By John Hunkey 
 
 Cloth, gilt stamp, 12mo. Price, postpaid, $1.00 
 
 This work treats wholly of Romish theology. The two 
 fundamental doctrines of the "Church" are examined, and 
 their utter lack of foundation clearly revealed. No work 
 proves more conclusively that Catholicism, in all its aspects, 
 is built upon the shifting sands of error and ignorance. 
 The author was for forty years in the Church of Rome. 
 
 CONSTITUTION OR POPE? 
 
 By Gilbert O. Nations 
 
 12mo, boards. Price, postpaid, 50c.; paper, 25c. 
 
 The author, a brilliant lawyer, tells, in this valuable 
 little volume, why alien Roman Catholics can not be legally 
 naturalized. He gives a clear, concise statement of the 
 facts and law bearing on this vital question. 
 
 THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 CINCINNATI, O.
 
 "The Uncle Tom s Cabin of Catholicism" 
 
 The Black Prophet 
 
 By GUY FITCH PHELPS 
 
 Handsomely bound in red cloth. 
 Decorated cover. 
 
 Jacket printed in colors. 
 
 Price, postpaid. $1.35 
 
 " The Black Prophet is the best anti-Papal story 
 ever written." The Menace. 
 ^ 
 
 "This book is, in the form of an attractively writ 
 ten story, one of the strongest arraignments of Cathol 
 icism that have come from the press." Christian Index. 
 
 
 "If you want a thousand facts about the most colossal 
 fraud that was ever conceived in the heart of man under 
 the guise of religion, read The Black Prophet. "Jas. 
 T. Nichols. 
 
 ^ ^ 
 
 "I commend The Black Prophet, by Guy Fitch 
 
 Phelps, as the best patriotic fiction that I have read. 
 
 It ought to have a great sale and do a world of good." 
 
 Gilbert O. Nations, Author of "Constitution or Pope?" 
 
 ^ 
 
 "If our readers would have a look behind the scenes 
 and see Rome at work, they can get it in this book. At 
 the same time they will find also a sweet idyl of pure 
 love like the contrast between hell and heaven." The 
 Evangelical. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 "I have read The Black Prophet, by Guy Fitch 
 Phelps, with great interest. It is a gripping work of 
 fiction, revealing truth in a most realistic manner."- 
 Aur/ustus Conrad Ekholm, Author of "Christianity s 
 Greatest Peril." 
 
 
 
 " The Black Prophet is the Uncle Tom s Cabin 
 of the anti-Papal crusade. The plot is laid in the 
 West, and the descriptions are as picturesque as any 
 thing Harold Bell Wright ever wrote." Georae P. Rut- 
 ledge, Author of "Center-shots at Rome." 
 
 THE STANDARD PUBLISHING COMPANY, CINCINNATI, 0.
 
 Mr-
 
 A 000 806 470 1