He must be living; she was sure of that.
Thus by her faith, in faithful love sustained,
Counting her beads, she waited, waited on.
Wakened one morning, with a start, she heard
In the far copses of the park shots fired
In quick succession. ’Twas the enemy!
She would be brave as Roger. So she blushed
At her own momentary fear; then calm
As though the incident a trifle were,
Her toilet made; and, having duly said