"Well, then," said the stranger, "at least you will meet me at some time,—tell me only where."
"I cannot,—indeed, I cannot," said Agnes, distressed and embarrassed.
"Even now, if grandmamma knew you were here, she would be so angry."
"But how can you pray for me, when you know nothing of me?"
"The dear Lord knoweth you," said Agnes; "and when I speak of you, He will know what you need."
"Ah, dear child, how fervent is your faith! Alas for me, I have lost the power of prayer! I have lost the believing heart my mother gave me,—my dear mother who is now in heaven."
"Ah, how can that be?" said Agnes. "Who could lose faith in so dear a
Lord as ours, and so loving a mother?"
"Agnes, dear little lamb, you know nothing of the world; and I should be most wicked to disturb your lovely peace of soul with any sinful doubts. Oh, Agnes, Agnes, I am most miserable, most unworthy!"
"Dear Sir, should you not cleanse your soul by the holy sacrament of confession, and receive the living Christ within you? For He says, 'Without me ye can do nothing.'"
"Oh, Agnes, sacrament and prayer are not for such as me! It is only through your pure prayers I can hope for grace."
"Dear Sir, I have an uncle, a most holy man, and gentle as a lamb. He is of the convent San Marco in Florence, where there is a most holy prophet risen up."