“One does not pray for nothing,” she thought “I feel the Serpent heard me.”
And that night she was so happy, she did not notice her uncle’s troubled look and silent way. She did not mean to be selfish, she was thinking purely of her prayer.
Some weeks went by, and every day she walked to the temple and prayed:
“Oh, Serpent, give me my tongue! Let me talk.”
But no answer came to her prayer, and at last she got tired of kneeling down among the empty pews. The building was so big that she felt quite far away, so she picked up her courage and went up the big aisle, right up through the choir stalls to the steps rising towards the altar, hidden by the curtains. It was legitimate for any woman to go so far. She was perfectly within her right. So she went up the steps and knelt down quietly beside the golden railing.
And there she prayed to the unseen Serpent—prayed, and believed it heard her. Then she went home. How near she had been to that Unseen Power! How fervently she had prayed! The Serpent always answered prayer, always looked after the helpless.
On going home her ring at the door was answered by a neighbour with a white face and swollen eyes.
What was the matter?
An hour ago, soon after she went out, her uncle had been brought home after a stroke. Since then he had died, just after the arrival of the doctor.
Rosalie sank back against the lobby wall, her hands by her sides, her eyes filled with horror.