knees and pray to Something,
somewhere, though she knew not what, but she was ashamed to do it when
she thought of her life. That Something would turn upon her and curse
her, as Reanda had cursed her in her dream--and in the cruel words he
had written.

She hardly slept that night, and she rose in the morning heavy-eyed and
weary. Going out into the old garden behind the house she met Sora Nanna
with a basket of clothes on her head, just starting to go up to the
convent, followed by two of her women.

"Signora," said the old woman, with her leathern smile, "you are
consuming yourself because the husband is in Rome. You are doing
wrong."

Gloria started, stared at her, and then understood, and nodded.

"Come up to the convent with us," said Nanna. "You will divert yourself,
and while they take in the clothes, I will show you the church. It is
beautiful. I think that even in Rome it would be a beautiful church. I
will show you where the sisters are buried and I will tell you how
Sister Maria Addolorata was burned in her cell. But she was not buried
with the rest. When you come back, you will eat with a double appetite,
and I will make gnocchi of polenta for dinner. Do you like gnocchi,
Signora? There is much resistance in them."

Gloria went with the washerwomen. She was strong and kept pace with
them, burdened as they were with their baskets. It was good to be with
them, common creatures with common, human hearts, knowing nothing of her
strange trouble. Sora Nanna took her into the church and showed her the
sights, explaining them in her strident, nasal voice without the
slightest respect for the place so long as no religious service was
going on. The woman showed her the little tablet erected in memory of
Maria Addolorata, and she told the story as she had heard it, and dwelt
upon the funeral services and the masses which had been said.

"At least, she is in peace," said Gloria, in a low voice, staring at the
tablet.

[Illustration: "Let us not speak of the dead."--Vol. II., p. 203.]

"Poor Annetta used to say that Sister Maria Addolorata sinned in her
throat," said Nanna. "But you see. God can do everything. She went
straight from her cell to heaven. Eh, she is in peace, Signora, as you
say. Requiesca'. Come, Signora, it takes at least three-quarters of an
hour to make gnocchi."

And they did not know. She was standing on her daughter's grave, and the
tablet was a memorial of the mother of the woman beside