"Indeed, my little heart, it shall be done," said the monk, cheerfully;
"and I will engage to paint a fair picture of our Lady to be within; and
I think it would be a good thought to have a pinnacle on the outside,
where should stand a statue of Saint Michael with his sword. Saint
Michael is a brave and wonderful angel, and all the devils and vile
spirits are afraid of him. I will set about the devices to-day."

And cheerily the good monk began to intone a verse of an old hymn,--

"Sub tutela Michaelis,
Pax in terra, pax in coelis."[B]

[Footnote B:

"'Neath Saint Michael's watch is given
Peace on earth and peace in heaven."]

In such talk and work the day passed away to Agnes; but we will not say
that she did not often fall into deep musings on the mysterious visitor
of the night before. Often while the good monk was busy at his drawing,
the distaff would droop over her knee and her large dark eyes become
intently fixed on the ground, as if she were pondering some absorbing
subject.

Little could her literal, hard-working grandmother, or her artistic,
simple-minded uncle, or the dreamy Mother Theresa, or her austere
confessor, know of the strange forcing process which they were all
together uniting to carry on in the mind of this sensitive young girl.
Absolutely secluded by her grandmother's watchful care from any actual
knowledge and experience of real life, she had no practical tests by