Maria well knew it was for her they said these things-aware of her grief and seeking to assuage it; but she was not able to speak, either to praise the dead or utter.-her sorrow.

A hand had fastened upon her throat, stifling her, as the narrative unfolded and the end loomed inevitable; and now this hand found its way into her breast and was crushing her heart.

Presently she would know a yet more intolerable pain, but now she only felt the deadly grasp of those five fingers closed about her heart.
Other words were said, but they scarce reached her ear; then came the familiar evening stir of preparation for the night, the father's departure on a last visit to the stable and his swift return, face red with the cold, slamming the door hastily in a swirl of frosty vapour.
"Come, Maria." The mother called her very gently, and laid a hand upon her shoulder.

She rose and went to kneel and pray with the others.

Voice answered to voice for ten minutes, murmuring the sacred words in low monotone.
The usual prayer at an end, the mother whispered:--"Yet five Paters and five Aves for the souls of those who have suffered misfortune in the forest." And the voices again rose, this time more subdued, breaking sometimes to a sob.
When they were silent, and all had risen after the last sign of the cross, Maria went back to the window.