voice had a weak and hollow sound, like the wail of a child. Her sunken
eyes, misty with tears, were fixed upon the Virgin with a dolorous
expression of supplication. Her words came more tremulous and more
distant at each couplet.

The beautiful stranger was plainly affected at the pitiful sight. Her
maid had knelt and was following the sing-song rhythm of the chant, with
prayers in a language that Rafael recognized at last. It was Italian.

"What a great thing faith is!" the lady murmured with a sigh.

"Yes, _señora_; a beautiful thing!"

Rafael tried to think of something "brilliant" on the grandeur of faith,
from Saint Thomas, or one of the other "sound" authors he had studied.
But he ransacked his memory in vain. Nothing! That charming woman had
filled his mind with thoughts far other than quotations from the
Fathers!

The couplets to the Virgin came to an end. With the last stanza the wild
singer disappeared; and the sick woman, after several abortive efforts,
rose painfully to her feet. The recluse approached her with the
solicitude of a shopkeeper concerned for the quality of his wares. Were
things going any better? Were the visits to the Virgin doing good?...
The unfortunate woman did not dare to answer, for fear of offending the
miraculous Lady. She did not know!... Yes ... she really must be a
little better ... But that climb!... This offering had not had such good
results as the previous ones, she thought; but she had faith: the Virgin
would be good to her and cure her in the end. At the church door she
collapsed from pain. The recluse placed her on his chair and ran to the