One day in the May weather she sat within doors with a great book upon her table, but no sight for it in her aching eyes.

The starling hopped to and fro on the sunny floor; the bees boomed in the porch; the tinkle of sheep's bells came in on the stillness.

All was peaceful and happy except the little weary, breaking, desolate heart that beat in her like a caged bird's.
"He will come; I am sure he will come," she said to herself; but she was so tired, and it was so long--oh, dear God!--so very long.
A hand tapped at the lattice.

The shrill voice of Reine, the sabot-maker's wife, broken with anguish, called through the hanging ivy,-- "Bebee, you are a wicked one, they say, but the only one there is at home in the village this day.

Get you to town for the love of Heaven, and send Doctor Max hither, for my pet, my flower, my child lies dying, and not a soul near, and she black as a coal with choking--go, go, go!--and Mary will forgive you your sins.