A cross of rusty iron surmounted the little sanctuary by which they
sat, and the roof was of old tiles scorched a mellow tint of brown.
To Maris Stella was the shrine dedicated; and within, under the
altar, white bones gleamed--skulls and thighs and ribs of men and
women who had perished of the plague in far-off time.
"_Morti della peste_," read Jenny, on the front of the altar, and
Assunta, in gloomy mood before the recollection of the past, spoke
to her young mistress and shook her head.
"I envy them sometimes, signora. Their troubles are ended. Those
heads, that have ached and wept so often, will never ache and weep
again."
She spoke in Italian and Jenny but partially understood. Yet she
joined Assunta on her knees and together they made their morning
prayer to Mary, Star of the Sea, and asked for what their souls most
desired.
Presently they rose, Assunta the calmer for her petitions, and
together they proceeded upward. The elder tried to explain what a
base and abominable thing it was that her husband, an honest free
trader between Italy and Switzerland, should have been destroyed by
the slaves in the government vessels beneath, and Jenny nodded and
strove to understand.
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