"The child will be hungry," said the lady. "She must have something to eat before she goes to bed—the other children have gone already."
Then she rang a hand-bell, and when the first lady came back she said:
"Ask Sister Angela to come to me immediately."
A few minutes later Sister Angela came into the room, and she was quite young, almost a girl, with such a sweet sad face that I loved her instantly.
"This is little Mary O'Neill. Take her to the Refectory and give her whatever she wants, and don't leave her until she is quiet and comfortable."
"Very well, Mother," said Sister Angela, and taking my hand she whispered: "Come, Mary, you look tired."
I rose to go with her, but at the same moment Father Dan rose too, and I heard him say he must lose no time in finding an hotel, for his Bishop had given him only one day to remain in Rome, and he had to catch an early train home the following morning.
This fell on me like a thunderbolt. I hardly know what I had led myself to expect, but certainly the idea of being left alone in Rome had never once occurred to me.
My little heart was fluttering, and dropping the Sister's hand I stepped back and took Father Dan's and said:
"You are not going to leave your little Mary are you, Father?"