and we saw their faces all shot away."

Maria's anger rose as she talked, and Lucia listened curiously. It was
something new for Maria to take her to task. Her mind flew back over
the past year, and she saw herself with her face buried in the grass
and her hands clenched, and remembered her furious anger and her vows
of vengeance, but she had to admit that her cousin was right; she had
shed no tears.

"We are not made the same way, I guess," she replied ruefully to
Maria's charges. "I cannot cry, I can only hate."

"But hate won't do any good," Maria protested feebly.

"It will do more than tears," Lucia replied shortly.

They continued their walk in silence, now and then nodding to an
acquaintance or bowing respectfully to the Sisters of Charity who lived
at the big Convent just outside the Porto Romano, and who came to town
to take care of the sick and cheer the broken-hearted. When they
reached the north gate Lucia stopped. Roderigo was still on duty, but
this time he did not pause in his brisk walk up and down to chat. He
never even glanced in the girls' direction.

Maria nodded towards him and whispered excitedly, "That is the boy I
was just now speaking of. Doesn't he look sad?"

"No, he looks quite cross," Lucia replied in a voice loud enough to be
overheard, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, "I wonder
if he will let me through the gate to get home."