SING he commanded.

O PADRE MIO--she broke into sobs. The singers moved on to another street.

MONICA had read into another soul.

DEEP calling unto deep.

IN ALGIERS

MOONLIGHT--the still waters of the ocean--

THE deck of a ship--

ROMANCE and beauty--

THE great liner sailed near the northern coast of Africa. On the deck they had become engaged--the moonlight shone on them.

DUSK and bitter cold. A young woman paced up and down in the snow, waiting the coming of a train.

IT was a small town in the Interior of Russia--of the Russia torn by wars and rebellions at home. A sorrow-stricken land.

THE mystery, the romance of the night--the distant sh.o.r.es of Africa--seemed still upon her. She could almost feel the murmur of the water as it splashed against the boat.

AND the next day--Algiers--the quaint streets--the mosques--flowers--and white robed Arabs.

VERY quietly they had been married in the Cathedral which bears the name of a whole continent.

NOTRE DAME D'AFRIQUE.

THE sun had smiled as it shone on the city by the sea.

IT grew colder.

A TRAIN came into sight on the vast field of snow.

ON that train the man she loved and had married was coming to her.

THAT enchanted period in Algiers--He was returning--perhaps a wreck of his once splendid self--a cripple

WAR

IT had shattered homes--brought skeletons--where once children laughed.

BROUGHT famine--once birds had eaten crumbs.

WAR--

HORROR--dismay

SHE waited

HIS eyes were aghast--eyes that had seen death--murder--horror--side by side--

THERE was no more laughter. He took Anna into his arms. Then the report was not true. He had not given his right arm.

ANNA, he whispered, My brave Anna

I HAVE been thinking of Algiers, she murmured. We planned to have sunshine--and roses--even among the snows of our country. But we faced blood--blood on the snows of our forests--

IVAN, it is bitter cold. Do not go out--into the night--

TO Africa. The moon will be making golden streaks upon the water. A rose will be blooming in our garden--his eyes were vacant.

THEN it was not his arm he had given for Russia--it was--

A CRY pierced the cold air.

THE weight of a dead body resounded.

I WONDER what that was, Ivan mused--

WHICH is the shortest way to the Cathedral----

THESE Arab streets are so steep--

CANDLES

BEFORE a statue of Joan of Arc, in a little country church, a child knelt in prayer.

OH protect my papa--the little one prayed.

SHE lighted a candle--offered it to the Maid of France.