42 I GO A-FISHING. 



Christian women were moved there very much as our Is- 

 raelitish old men are moved at the great temple stones 

 where every Friday they meet to pray and lament. 



So I looked at her more earnestly, and, as she sobbed 

 more and more, she slightly displaced the cotton garment 

 that covered her head and neck, and, standing as I did 

 just above her, I saw that she was no Arab woman. 

 Her neck was white ; her hair was bound in a knot with 

 a chain of gold that flashed among the tresses which 

 hung from the bright loop. 



"'This,' I said, 'is no Arab woman. Is she, perhaps, 

 Georgian or Circassian ? But, if so, what does she here 

 in the church of Christ's resurrection ? For the Georgi- 

 ans and Circassians are mostly in Turkish harems. Per- 

 haps, then, she is Greek. But why the disguise ? This 

 cotton robe is not worn for humility, since it is but the 

 covering, and not the substitute for splendor.' 



"And as I stood thus thinking, the thunder of the rap- 

 ping on the board at the door resounded through the 

 building, and the hundreds of monks, attendants, visitors, 

 penitents, and beggars rushed in a mass to the stone of 

 unction and the great doorway. 



" The praying woman by my side rose slowly to her 

 feet and threw back the veil which she had kept pressed 

 against her face. She did not entirely expose her coun- 

 tenance, and I could only catch the outline of a rosy 

 cheek and the edge of a rounded chin. The act was 

 hasty, as if she was oppressed for breath ; for, as she did 

 it, a labored sigh as of pent-up grief escaped her lips, 

 and she murmured audibly, ' To-morrow to-morrow al- 

 ways to-morrow.' 



" As she spoke, she seemed suddenly aware of my pres- 

 ence, and the veil fell over her face. 



