had served some man's pleasure
and been flung aside lay there as little beholden to the world in death
as it had been in life. And as if the usual silence of the chapel would
be too hard to bear, the living girls chanted to-day the "Dies Irae" and
the "Libera me."

When winter came, the little trestle was often in requisition, for the
inmates of St. Anne's were ill-fitted to cope with any sickness. Once it
was a nun, in her black robes, who lay there, her magnificent still face
wearing its usual deep, wise smile, her tired hands locked about her
crucifix. For her there were flowers, masses of flowers, and more than
one black-robed priest, and a special choir, and Julia knew that the
other nuns envied that one of their number who had gone on to other work
in other fields.

She grew grave, who was always grave, thinking of these things, and
talked them over with Kennedy Scott. Kennedy was deeply, even
passionately, concerned for a while, and she and Julia decided to
establish a home some day for girls who were still to be saved.

Time went very swiftly now: years were not as long as they used to be,
one birthday was in sight of another. Sometimes Julia was astonished and
a little saddened, as is the way of youth, at the realization of the
flying months. She was busy, contented, beloved; she was accomplishing
her ambition--but at what a cost of years! The great moment might come
now at any time--Prince Charming might be on his way to her now, but
meantime she must work and eat and sleep--and the birthdays came apace.
Sometimes she grew very restless; this was not life! But a visit to her
grandmother's house usually sent her back to The Alexander with fresh
courage. No possible alternative offered itself anywhere.

Just at first she had hoped for inspiring frequent glimpses of her
adored Tolands, but these were very few. Sometimes Barbara or the
younger girls would come to Easter or Christmas entertainments at the
settlement, but Julia, always especially busy on these occasions, saw no
more than Barbara's pretty, bored face, framed in furs, across a room
full of people, or returned a dignified good-bye to Sally's hasty,
"Mother and the others have gone on, Miss Page; they asked me to say
good-bye!" But then there was the prospect of a day with Kennedy Scott,
to console her, or perhaps the reflection that little Mr. Craig, who
came out on Tuesday evenings to the meetings of the Boys' Club, was in
love with her. She did n