It was the church of Our Lady of the
Rosary. She had not noticed that it was a Roman Catholic place of
worship, but the discovery gave her an unexpected pleasure. She was
soothed and filled with a sense of repose. Sinking into the attitude
of prayer, she let her thoughts carry her whither they would; they
showed her nothing but images of beauty and peace. It was with
reluctance that she arose and went back into the dark street, where
the world met her with a chill blast, sleet-laden.
Our Lady of the Rosary received her frequently after this. But there
were days when the thought of repose was far from her. At one such
time, on an evening in November, a sudden desire possessed her mind;
she would go out into the streets of the town and see something of
that life which she knew only in imagination, the traffic of highway
and byway after dark, the masque of pleasure and misery of sin of
which a young girl can know nothing, save from hints here and there
in her reading, or from the occasional whispers and head-shakings of
society's gossip. Her freedom was complete; her absence, if noticed,
would entail no questions; her mother doubtless would conclude that
she was at her aunt Theresa's.
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