Beth was clinging to Kitty, but her mother seized her by the arm, and flung her half across the room, and was about to follow her, but Captain Caldwell interfered. "That will do," he said significantly. "It's no use venting your rage on the child. In future choose your nurses better." "Then, in future, give me better advice when I consult you about them," Mrs. Caldwell retorted, following him out of the room. Beth clung to Kitty the whole night long, and had to be torn from her in the morning, screaming and kicking. She stood in front of her mother, her eyes and cheeks ablaze:-- "I shall pray to the Blessed Virgin--I shall pray to the Blessed Virgin--every _hour_ of my life," she gasped, "and you can't prevent me. Beat me as long as you can stand over me if you like, but I'll only pray the harder." "For God's sake, m'em," Kitty cried, clasping her hands, "let that child alone. Shure she's a sweet lamb if you'd give her a chance. But ye put the divil into her wid yer shakin' an' yer batin', and mischief'll come of it sooner or later, mark my words." When Kitty had gone, Mrs. Caldwell shut Beth up in the nursery with Baby Bernadine. Beth threw herself on the floor, and sobbed until she had exhausted her tears; then she gathered herself together, and sat on the floor with her hands clasped round her legs, her chin on her knees, looking up dreamily at the sky, through the nursery window. Her pathetic little face was all drawn and haggard and hopeless. But presently she began to sing-- "Ave Maria! Mother of the desolate! Guide of the unfortunate! Hear from thy starry home our prayer: If sorrow will await us, Tyrants vex and hate us, Teach us thine own most patient part to bear! Sancta Maria! When we are sighing, When we are dying, Give to us thine aid of prayer!" As she sang, comfort came to her, and the little voice swelled in volume.