Above the candlestick of metal and the glass bowl the candle flames wavered under gentle breaths from the window, and shadows flitting across the face of the dead woman made her lips seem to be moving in prayer or softly telling secrets.
Maria Chapdelaine awaked from her dream to the thought:--"So I shall stay--shall.

stay here after all!" For the voices had spoken commandingly and she knew she could not choose but obey.

It was only then that the recollection of other duties came, after she had submitted, and a sigh had passed her lips.

Alma Rose was still a child; her mother dead, there must be a woman in the house.

But in truth it was the voices which had told her the way.
The rain was pattering on the roof, and nature, rejoicing that winter was past, sent soft little wandering airs through the casement as though she were sighing in content.