through the crowd, and passed the open court where the priests prayed.
It was a little paved place like a chapel, with a curtain hung
immediately before the door. When I had passed this, I saw at the
farther end, three or four yards away, was a deepish trough, wide and
long enough to hold one person. Steps went down on either side of it,
for the attendants. Immediately above the bath, on the wall, was a
statue of Our Lady; and beneath it a placard of prayers, large enough to
be read at a little distance.

There were about half a dozen people in the place--two or three priests
and three or four patients. One of the priests, I was relieved to see,
was the Scotsman whose Mass I had served the previous midnight. He was
in his soutane, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He gave me my
directions, and while I made ready I watched the patients. There was one
lame man, just beside me, beginning to dress; two tiny boys, and a young
man who touched me more than I can say. He was standing by the head of
the bath, holding a basin in one hand and a little image of our Lady in
the other, and was splashing water ingeniously with his fingers into his
eyes; these were horribly inflamed, and I could see that he was blind. I
cannot describe the passion with which he did this, seeming to stare all
the while towards the image he held, and whispering out prayers in a
quick undertone--hoping, no doubt, that his first sight would be the
image of his Mother. Then I looked at the boys. One of them had horribly
prolonged and thin legs; I could not see what was wrong with the other,
except that he looked ill and worn out. Close beside me, on the wet,
muddy paving, lay an indescribable bandage that had been unrolled from
the lame man's leg.

When my turn came, I went wrapped in a soaking apron, down a step or so
into the water; and then, with a priest holding either hand, lay down at