TO A NUN WITHOUT CLOISTER
THE PRIEST AND THE WOMAN
Near the doorway of a house in a narrow street, where Death had lodged yesterday night, stood a Priest. A woman, passing by, knelt at his feet, passionately kissed the hem of his robe, and hurried on, beneath an Arch, into a Garden where there were many flowers and a Shrine to the Blessed Virgin.
The Priest did not move. But a flush of unwonted color rose into his white face and made it crimson with shame.
“After all these years,” he sighed.
* * * * *
“Ave Maria! Ave Maria!” wailed the voice of the woman in the Garden where there were many flowers, before the Shrine of the Blessed Virgin.