t her.

XXIX

For days after the visit of Hagios Johannes, Caterina scarcely spoke, or
noticed what was passing around her; and the Lady of the Bernardini and
Dama Margherita, with hearts aching from the burden of their pity, were
helpless before such desolation.

But at last the young Queen turned to them with mournful eyes of
comprehension, holding out her hands to clasp theirs in a convulsive
pressure, rousing herself heroically from her absorption and nerving her
dormant will to meet the unwelcome stress of life again.

"The Holy Mother hath left you for me to love," she said in a tremulous
voice. "Life is not all a blank."

They could not answer her for tears; but her own eyes were dry.

"I thought," she said, "if it might but have been the will of Christ
that death should come to me--also"--she paused a moment to steady her
voice, "it would have been sweet--I was so weary. And when it did not
come to lift me out of the shadow, I longed to carry my broken heart
into some holy Sisterhood and be at rest--I felt no strength to live. I
thought it might have been the will of the Madre Sanctissima, for she
hath suffered; and I know not how to live without my _figlio
dilettissimo_."

Then suddenly she clasped her hands crying out with the passion of
prayer:

"My God! I would have trained him for thee! He should have been a noble
man and a Christian King. Why hast Thou stricken me!"

She turned to them wide-eyed with her question but the Lady Beata, for
answer, could only fold compassionate arms about her--soothing her
silently; so young and so bereft.

But Caterina struggled into quiet speech again, as in a
confessional--sorely needing some comfort of human sympathy after her
long, silent conflict.

"I thought it might have been the will of the Blessed Mother that I
should rest; but Hagios Johannes hath shown me that it might not be; I
have taken my vows again to serve my people--to live for them; the padre
hath promised me that strength shall come."

Her lip quivered, but she bore herself bravely. "Thou wilt help me,
Zia," she continued, in pathetic appeal, "and thou, my Margherita; for
life is difficult. And Aluisi--he will think what must be done for the
people until my strength returneth--for I have forgotten how to think."
She pressed her hands tightly against her forehead as if to compel the
resistant brain-power.

Then suddenly she laid her hot, trembling hand on that of her
compassionate,