was done she still kneeled there; her head thrown back to
watch the light, her hands clasped still, and on her upturned face the
look that made the people say, "What does she see?--the angels or the
dead?"

She forgot everything. She forgot the cherries at home, and the children
even. She was looking upward at the stories of the painted panes; she was
listening to the message of the dying sun-rays; she was feeling vaguely,
wistfully, unutterably the tender beauty of the sacred place and the
awful wonder of the world in which she with her sixteen years was all
alone, like a little blue corn-flower among the wheat that goes for grist
and the barley that makes men drunk.

For she was alone, though she had so many friends. Quite alone sometimes;
for God had been cruel to her, and had made her a lark without song.

When the sun faded and the beautiful casements lost all glow and
meaning, Bebee rose with a startled look--had she been dreaming?--was it
night?--would the children be sorry, and go supperless to bed?

"Have you a rosebud left to sell to me?" a man's voice said not far off;
it was low and sweet, as became the Sacrament Chapel.

Bebee looked up; she did not quite know what she saw: only dark eyes
smiling into hers.

By the instinct of habit she sought in her basket and found three
moss-roses. She held them out to him.

"I do not sell flowers here, but I will _give_ them to you," she said, in
her pretty grave childish fashion.

"I often want flowers," said the stranger, as he took the buds. "Where do
you sell yours?--in the market?"

"In the Grande Place."

"Will you tell me your name, pretty one?"

"I am Bebee."

There were people coming into the church. The bells were booming
abovehead for vespers. There was a shuffle of chairs and a stir of feet.
Boys in white went to and fro, lighting the candles. Great clouds of
shadow drifted up into the roof and hid the angels.

She nodded her little head to him.

"Good night; I cannot stay. I have a cake at home to-night, and the
children are waiting."

"Ah! that is important, no doubt, indeed. Will you buy some more cakes
for the children from me?"

He slid a gold piece in her hand. She looked at it in amaze. In the green
lanes by Laeken no one ever saw gold. Then she gave it him back.

"I will not take money in church, nor anywhere, except what the flowers
are worth. Good night."

He followed her, and held back the heavy oak door for her, and went o