noon
were my last thoughts as I swooned . Waking once more , I was alone , lying bound on the edge of a little oak wood . Before me were brown fields and stretches of flickering heat , and far below , in the valley , I could see Pistoja , pale red and white in the full sun . It was near noon ; the sun was directly overhead in a cloudless sky , and his rays burned me up . My head throbbed desperately , my body felt one free wound ; I was sick with hunger , clogged with drouth . I made sure that I had been left there to die , and waited momently for the summoning angel , commending my simple soul to the advocacy of the Blessed Virgin and the merits of my patron St. Francis of Assisi . I thought , with a pang , of my mother , who might be praying for me now ; beside her hallowed image even Aurelia 's was dim .