ove yet thrilled with tender mystery.

Ah, her face! I see it ever--waking, dreaming,
Hear her voice in cadence tender, softly speaking.
Pure was the love that from heaven above
Filled my heart with its ardent flame
And blowed with passion's thrilling mystery.

Our fathers were at strife
And we were kept apart.
I told Lucretia all and
Bade her pour my love
Into Maria's breast.

I waited long and then
She said Maria--false
To me--was pledged to wed
Another that she loved.
That cruel message, father, broke my heart.

It was not long until I saw
Lucretia's heart--that she could love
Where false Maria failed. And so
In sympathy we two were wed.

The vows had scarce been said--
Aye, on the church's steps--a messenger
Did crush a letter in my hand.
'Twas but a line, but at the end--
Oh God in Heaven! Maria's name.

"I hear that thou art false," it said,
"But I cannot believe
"That one who loved as thou didst
"Could fail me or deceive."

Ah! suspicion, like a lightning flash,
Transfixed me and I held
The paper to Lucretia's face
And bade her read and tell me all.
Upon her knees she fell and whined
That she had loved me too, and had
Deceived me of Maria's heart--Ah! God!
In that damned moment's rage
I struck her as she knelt--to kill!

The wedding guests did drag me off
And take the knife away. But, Ah!
There was one stain of blood it bore,
Where, as I struck, it slashed across
The dark and faithless cheek of her
And left it scarred for life. Scarred!
When I had meant to kill.

All that night I lingered, watching 'neath her window--
Saw once more the haunting face of my Maria--
Saw her once more--I can see her still!--
Fled away and am buried here
In God's own house and all unchastened yet.

In very irony, it would seem, to the simplicity of his nature, the
outpourings of the novitiate's sorrowing heart have been confessed to his
wife, the scarred-faced Lucretia, who inhabits the monastery in the guise
of the Father Confessor (not an unknown historical fact) thus in its very
inception lending an intense dramatic effect to the story. Now, at the
ringing of the bell, the villagers enter the public loft, Maria--his lost
love--in the foreground unrecognized either by Francesco or Lucretia,
singing an "Ave Maria:"

Ave Maria, Mother of Mercy,
Thou art our hope, and our sweetness and life.
Pray for