And then, with a tired, sad step, the woman walked slowly away down the long white road, her shadow falling beside her as though it were her soul.

“Oh, Holy Virgin, Mother of Our Lord Seigneur Christ, I thank Thee for having brought me here this night,” prayed the little Odette. “Take into Thy protection, dear Mother, this poor woman who has need of Thee, and bring her safely to Thy beautiful Kingdom in Heaven, for the sake of our Lord Jesus. Amen.”

Then little Odette returned thoughtfully to the great grey chateau. And as she passed down the avenue of over-arching limes a thousand thrushes sang deliriously amidst the branches.

But Odette felt somehow changed since last she passed the castle gates. She felt older. For suddenly she realized that Life was not a dream; she realized for the first time that Life was cruel, that Life was sad, that beyond the beautiful garden in which she dwelt, many millions of people were struggling to live, and sometimes in the struggle for life one failed—like the poor woman by the river bank.

And Odette turned as she walked, and looked behind her, to where, by the roadside, and dying beneath the golden sun, the red roses that she had gathered for the Holy Mother, shone in the morning light like drops of crimson blood.


GARDEN CITY
PRESS LTD.,
:: PRINTERS, ::
LETCHWORTH.