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frightened visitant here; and her glances sank so as
not to be disturbed in the view of glorious inner
visions. Her soul had turned from earth while she
was but a child.
“When a child, her grandmother used to tell her
stories, and one evening they sat before the fire
together, but the stories were finished. Carsus and
Moderus, and Lunkentus, and The Beautiful
Melusina had all lived before her. Like the flames, they
had flashed through a brilliant life, but now the
heroes were all slain and the beautiful princess had
turned to ashes, till the next blaze in the fireplace
should waken them to life again. But the child’s
hand still rested on her grandmother’s dress, and
she softly stroked the silk—that funny silk which
squeaked like a little bird when you touched it. And
that movement was her prayer, for she was one of
those children who never pray in words.
“Then the old lady began to tell her gently of
a little child who was born in the land of Judea—a
little child who was born to be a great king. The
angels had filled the world with songs of praise when
he had been born. The kings of the East had sought
him, guided by the star of heaven, and had presented
him with gold and incense, and old men and women
prophesied his glory. And the child grew to greater
wisdom and beauty than other children. When only
twelve years old, his wisdom was greater than that
of the high priest and the scribes.
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