Meg was a wild, untaught, uncared-for Arab child, a true offshoot of the lowest of the people.  With a touch of gipsy blood in her veins, with the most ungoverned, uncontrolled passions, she yet was capable of a devotion, of an affection self-absorbing, self-forgetful.  Offered up at any other shrine, it would have been idolatry; offered at this, it was worship.  Meg loved, something as Mary Magdalene, something as the women who followed to the sepulchre, must have loved our Lord.