It was the last hour of the long three days' Retreat in the old Mission Convent of St. Elizabeth, in San Francisco; Mollie Cunningham had almost exhausted herself with prayer. She could still kneel, almost sitting on her heels as she did so; she could still keep devout eyes upon the sunshine-flecked, candle-lighted, smoke-veiled haze of flowers and golden colors that was the chapel altar. But she was weary, smiling dreamily, like a tired child unnoted in the corner of a father's room. Benediction was in progress.