all that Meriden the Priest had told her concerning the Virgin and
her power, there the cradle stood empty.

"Well-a-well!" breathed Lovey. "The gentry are not to be hurried, I
reckon. I'll fit and lie down for forty winks," she said; "though I
do think, with her experience Mary might have remembered the poor
mite would be famished afore this, not to mention that the milk in me
is beginnin' to hurt cruel."

She did off some of her clothes and lay down, and even slept a little
in spite of the pain in her breasts; but awoke a good two hours
before dawn, to find no baby restored to her arms, nor even (when she
looked) was it back in its cradle.

"This'll never do," said Lovey. On went her shawl again, and once
again she faced the night and hurried across the towans to St.
Gwithian's Chapel. There in her niche stood Our Lady, quite as
though nothing had happened, with the infant Christ in her arms and
the tiny lamp burning at her feet.

"Aun' Mary, Aun' Mary," said Lovey, speaking up sharp, "this iddn' no
sense 't all! A person would think time was no objic, the way you
stick there starin', ain' my poor cheeld leary with hunger afore
now--as you, bein' a mother, oft to knaw. Fit an' fetch 'en home to
me quick. Aw, do'ee co', that's a dear soul!"

But Our Lady stood there and made no sign.

"I don't understand 'ee 't all," Lovey groaned. "'Tiddn' the way
I'd behave in your place, and you d'knaw it."