r Bonifacius' head,
he could see Elsa's smooth, fair head among the crowd of other girls.
She had tied her hair in at the nape of the neck with a bit of blue
ribbon, leaving it to fall lower down in two thick plaits well below her
waist. She looked like a huge blue gentian kissed by the sun, for her
top petticoat was of blue cotton, and her golden head seemed like the
sweet-scented stamen.

Andor thought that he could hear her voice above that of everyone else,
and when Pater Bonifacius intoned the "Regina angelorum" he thought that
indeed the heavenly Queen had no fairer subject up there than Elsa.

When the little procession was once more ready to return to the village,
the bearers of the dais were relieved by four other lads, and Andor
found the means, during the slight hubbub which occurred while the
procession was being formed, of working his way close to Elsa's side.

It was not an unusual thing for young men and girls who had much to say
to one another to fall away from the procession on its way home, and to
wander back arm in arm through the maize-fields or over the stubble,
even as their shadows lengthened out upon the ground.

Andor's hand had caught hold of Elsa's elbow, and with insistent
pressure he kept her out of the group of her companions. Gradually the
procession was formed, and slowly it began to move, the banners
fluttered once more in the breeze, once more the monotonous chant broke
the silence of the plain.

But Elsa and Andor had remained behind close beside the shrine. She had
yielded to his insistence, knowing what it was that he meant to say to
her while they walked together toward the sunset. She knew what he
wanted to say, and what he expected her to promise, and he knew that at
last she was ready to listen, and that she would no longer hold her
heart in check, but let it flow over with all the love which it
contained, and that she was ready at last to hold up to him that cup of
happiness for which he craved.

One or two couples had also remained behind, but they had already
wandered off toward the bank of the Maros. Elsa had knelt down before
the crude image of the "Consoler of the afflicted;" her rosary was wound
round her fingers, she prayed in her simple soul, fervently,
unquestioningly, for happiness and for peace.

Then, when the little procession in the distance became wrapped in the
golden haze which hung over the plain, and the chanting of the Litany
came but as a murmur on t