ad time to get here yet;
but he is coming, Delmia, surely coming. I have prayed to the Virgin,
and the miracle is sure to be performed. I have the faith now,
Delmia."

Her poor old face quivered with hope and fear. Across her bosom, she
made the sign of the cross. "I did not mean to doubt," she said
penitently.

Suddenly catching her sister by the arm, she cried quickly, "He may be
here, though, Delmia, at any moment, and we must tell her of his
coming before he arrives, or the shock may make her worse. Ah! but I
had forgotten. She must be quite well now, for I prayed for her, too!
But we must go and see her; she has been asleep so long."

The Little Mother sped across the room in the direction of the
bedroom, holding above her head the flaring lamp, Delmia hobbling
after her.

As she eagerly entered Marie's room, and the light fell across the
bed, she uttered a cry of deep dismay. The bed had not been disturbed.
The horror on her face deepened as she saw a piece of wedding veil,
which the window still securely held, noiselessly beating against the
panes. Slowly she turned her stricken face to the side of the wall,
where Marie's wedding clothes had hung, covered with a sheet; the
finery had gone, and the sheet lay in a disordered heap on the floor.
At length, endurance had come to an end; she had suffered so much, and
the shock had been so very great. The hand that held the lamp began to
shake as though it were palsied; she swayed weakly from side to side;
then there was a crash, and they were in darkness. As she fell heavily
across the bed, she uttered a cry of anguish that was pitiful to hear.

In the blackness Delmia feebly groped her way to her sister's side,
and throwing her shrunken arms about her, tried to win her back to
consciousness by childishly calling her endearing names.

* * * * *

While Delmia called to her sister in the darkness, the storm without
continued to rage. It had shown no mercy to the hapless leaves,
neither did it lessen any of its malignity now as it tore along the
straight road leading to the penitentiary of St. Vincent de Paul, and
overtook the sadly bedraggled figure clad in bridal robes. The heavy
rain had wet her through and through, and she staggered from weakness
and exposure. The road was deep with mud, and the bridal dress was no
longer white; she had fallen so often. The flowing veil, although
sodden and heavy, still afforded excellent sport