upon her rosary beads.

"If it is Your will, I must let her go," she whispered. The pain in her chest collected itself into a huge lump, mounting to her throat and sticking there. "She is a person, to come and go as she pleases. I have no right. Forgive me, Father, for questioning the gift you have given me and are now taking

away

وو

She sat still for a moment with her head bowed and waited for the benediction of a quiet heart to come over her. Instead, her hands began to tremble and an uncontrollable panic overwhelmed her. Rising, she fled from the patio into her room, and there the tears came. She stood before the mirror and watched them come, slowly at first, filling her eyes . . . then in torrents, as the lump in her throat dissolved. She was blinded to her reflection.

"What is the matter, what is the matter!" she implored. "It is only a friend. What is so terrible that a friend moves away? She will be close by; I will her her sometimes . . . But oh, it is not so," cried back the inside voice. "She is not only a friend . . . she is my child . . . she is my Love!" And having said it to herself, she went through the door into the bathroom and through the bathroom to Ron's door. She raised her hand to knock and inside she heard the sound of drawers opening and closing, of Ron's footsteps on the tiled floor. Turning, she ran back into her room. The crucifix above her bed gleamed in the afternoon sun. She turned her back on it and stood swaying in the middle of the room. "Dios, Dios, don't take her away from me!" She went again then, almost staggering, to Ron's door, and this time she knocked. The door opened and she fell into Ron's arms.

"You can't go away. You can't go, Ron. I will die if you do!"

"Marquita! Good heavens," Ron exclaimed, holding Marquita away from her and looking into her face. "What is wrong. Are you ill?"

"Yes. . . no . . . I don't know. Ron . . . don't go, please don't go!"

"Here . . . sit down." Ron tried to lead Marquita toward the chair but she held on desperately. "Ron, Ron, I love you so terribly. I don't know what is the matter with me . . . but I love you!"

"Marquita!" The shock in Ron's voice cut into her hysteria. Her arms fell to her sides and she allowed herself to be drawn to the chair. Ron handed her a tissue and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. The storm was suddenly over and she felt herself dead in the wreckage.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I have done a terrible thing."

Ron squatted on the floor at her feet. Her wonderful blue eyes were full of distress.

"Marquita . . . look. It's all right. I-I just had no idea. I don't know what to say. . . . You know I wouldn't hurt you for anything..

وو

"Please . . . don't say anything. It's all right, Ron. I'm all right now. You must do as you wish to do." She got up, slowly.

"If there is anything I can do to help you pack...."

"No, wait, Marquita . . . Listen to me. You have been a wonderful friend. If it means so much to you for me to stay, I will stay

"No. No, Ron. It is all spoiled now. I have spoiled it. I must go out now for awhile. But perhaps I will be back before you leave."

Marquita went through the bathroom into her own room and closed the door. From the little altar in front of her window she took up her prayer-book and her beads and left the room through the hall door. Coming out into the late afternoon sun, she walked slowly up the street to St. Catherine's.