Virgin one and only,
Meekest 'mid them all,
From our sins set free,
Make us pure like thee,
Freed from passion's thrall!
Grant that in pure living,
Through safe paths below,
Forever seeing Jesus,
Rejoicing we may go!
As the monk sung, Agnes soon appeared at the door.
"Ah, my little bird, you are there!" he said looking up.
"Yes," said Agnes, coming forward, and looking over his shoulder at his work.
"Did you find that young sculptor?" she asked.
"That I did,—a brave boy, too, who will row down the coast and dig us marble from an old heathen temple, which we will baptize into the name of Christ and his Mother."
"Pietro was always a good boy," said Agnes.
"Stay," said the monk, stepping into his little sleeping room; "he sent you this lily; see, I have kept it in water all night."
"Poor Pietro, that was good of him!" said Agnes. "I would thank him, if I could. But, uncle," she added, in a hesitating voice, "did you see anything of that—other one?"