Alone—

A city full of lights, of pleasure. The sea singing to itself as it rolled quietly into the harbor. A glow of light on distant Vesuvius. Gay throngs of people passing to and fro in the summer evening. Alone. For the first time in her life.

A heavy heart—there was no joy.

They had come to Naples on their wedding journey. Her brief happiness had been taken—torn from her.

Ashes.
He—cold—rigid—lay in the adjoining room.

Two candles burned. A nun prayed. Monica leaned out of the window.

Through her tears she saw a star shining in the night.

A star of sorrow.

The sea—they had gone together on its blue waves to Capri—to Sorrento—

Was it some terrible nightmare—would she awaken and find him near.

From a distant street came the sound of music—gay—lively—a Neapolitan street song.

How could there be joy. The sound was agony. An organ might have soothed.

Had there ever been a time when gay music delighted.

O Sole mio sang the clear voices of the street singers. They drew nearer—and stopped under the window.

Monica's wounded inward self cried out for silence

The world was drear. There should be no joyful singing.

She looked down absently. A young girl stood a little apart from the singers. Monica noticed her—and their tearful eyes met.

Then singers also could know sorrow.

Suddenly—her own seemed lightened.

Monica's soul surged forward. She wanted to comfort, to help this brown-eyed girl. Perhaps her grief was harder to bear.

One of the men stepped toward the girl and pushed her rudely.

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.