Where she had paused to do the Sister's hest:
"_Cum gloria suscepisti me_." She kissed
The blazoned leaf, thanks nestling at her heart,
That now, at last, no duty disallowing,
Her loosened soul out through the sunset bars
Might float, and catch heaven's crystal shimmer. But scarce
Had meditation smoothed the wing of thought
Before the hangings of the door were parted
With yet a further summoning. From a Triton
That spouted in the court her three-year boy,
Who thither had climbed, had fallen, and naught would soothe
The bruised brow save the sweet mother-kiss.

"I come," she said, her forehead half divine
With saintly patience. "For Thou wouldst teach me, Lord,
That Thou art just as near me ministering
At home as in these consecrated aisles;
And 'tis true worship, pouring of the wine
For him I love, or holding 'twixt my hands
The little throbbing head; since where my duty
Calls is the altar where I serve Thee best."

When under the Campagna's purple rim
The sun had sunken so long that all was gray,
Softly across the dusky sacristy
Francesca glided back. The Psalter lay
Scarcely discernible amid the gloom;
But lo the marvel! On the darken'd page
The verse which thrice she had essayed to read
Now shone illuminate, silver-clear, as though