We went out to the wall above the precipice. Here there is an old gateway, arching the narrow track by which I had ascended. Just beyond it, under the towering rocks, is a shrine with a crude picture of the Madonna and Child. Now, as the old priest pointed with his finger, I saw on the step before the shrine a plain, dark woman kneeling. A handkerchief was folded over her head, and fell upon her shoulders. Her hands were clasped. Her lips were moving. She was absorbed, and did not see us. “That is Pancrazia!” whispered the priest. “She has never married. Each day at this hour she comes here. Do you know why?” “To ask for⸺” “She is asking for nothing. She is blessing the Madonna.” “Blessing the Madonna!” “For having answered her prayer.” “But⸺” “Signore, when Pancrazia gave her hair to the Madonna della Rocca she did not think of self. She only asked that her love might be regarded in heaven, and that Angelo’s life might be spared. Her prayer was granted. Angelo lives. And each day at this hour Pancrazia comes here to give thanks to God, and to praise and bless the Holy Madonna della Rocca.” I said nothing, but I thought as I watched the praising woman, “How great humanity is!” Transcriber’s Notes: • Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). • Text enclosed by pluses is in small caps (+small caps+). • Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. • Illustration facing page 90 added to LOI