THE PRIEST AND THE WOMAN


Near the doorway of a house in a narrow street, where Death had lodged
yesterday night, stood a Priest. A woman, passing by, knelt at his feet,
passionately kissed the hem of his robe, and hurried on, beneath an Arch,
into a Garden where there were many flowers and a Shrine to the Blessed
Virgin.

The Priest did not move. But a flush of unwonted color rose into his white
face and made it crimson with shame.

"After all these years," he sighed.

* * * * *

"Ave Maria! Ave Maria!" wailed the voice of the woman in the Garden where
there were many flowers, before the Shrine of the Blessed Virgin.