yet a beautiful thing.
This young, beautiful girl who seemed so much a part of the sunshine
and the flowers was to close the door of the Church upon it all!

"You are thinking it was strange, Signor.

"Giovanni was frantic--you can understand.

"He had dreamed so happily of that which was to be, that now to have the
cup snatched from his lips was torture. He took her little sun-kissed
hands in his and begged on his knees with tears streaming down his
cheeks. And Rosa wept also--but could not answer as he begged. I think
she loved the boy, Signor. Yet there is something stronger than the
love of a boy and a girl.

"She asked for one more night in which to decide. She would come up here
to this little church and pray for Mary to guide her. He kissed her cold
lips and came away.

"He was a boy, and he never doubted but that she would choose his strong
young arms.

"The girl came here. All night she knelt on the rough stone floor,
praying and--weeping; for she loved him. And the Virgin above the four
candles looked down with the great, wistful eyes you see--and bound
the girl's soul faster and faster to her own.

"And when morning came she entered the white walls across the lake
without seeing her lover again.

"Giovanni went mad, I think, when they told him. He screamed out his
hate for the world and his God, and rushed up the little white path to
where we are sitting now, Signor.

"Once here, he drew the dagger you see beneath the Virgin and stabbed
with an oath on his lips. That is why I did not let you touch it."

Blagden nodded, and the old monk was silent for a moment before he went
on.

"Giovanni disappeared for two days. When he came back his face was that
of a madman still. He was met by a white funeral winding up the little
path. You understand, Signor,--a virgin's funeral. Giovanni was hurrying
blindly past when they stopped him.

"There was no reproach spoken for what he had done, no bitterness; only
a kind of awe--and pity.

"Rosa had died on her knees in the nunnery at the exact time he stabbed
yonder picture. And they told him months afterward that her face was
strangely like that of the Virgin when they found her,--beautiful and
pleading and sad. There was no given cause for her death--there are
things we cannot understand. She was praying for strength, the sisters
said."

The monk ceased speaking, and for a long moment they sat silent, Blagden
and the withered, white-haired man, staring