and never lent ear. I wonder what it will be this time,” she said to herself.

The grateful warmth made the Child sleepy, and she gave a start when she found the Recluse standing by her with outstretched hand.

“Come, dear Child,” he said; and leaving the sleeping cats she followed him, her hand in his.

The air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry of the bells.

The Child wondered, and then remembered it was Christmas night. The Recluse led her down a little passage and opened a door. They stepped out together, but not into the forest.

“This is the front door of my house,” said the Recluse, with a little smile.

They stood on a white road, on one side a stretch of limestone down, on the other steep terraces with gardens and vineyard. The air was soft and warm, and sweet with the breath of lilies. The heaven was ablaze with stars; across the plain to the east the dawn was breaking. A group of strangely-clad men went down the road followed by a flock of sheep.

“Let us go with them,” said the Recluse; and hand in hand they went.

The road curved to the right; round the bend, cut in the living rock, was a cave; the shepherds stopped and knelt, and there was no sound but the soft rapid breathing of the flock. Then the Child was filled with an overmastering longing, a desire so great that the tears sprang hot to her eyes. She dropped the Recluse’s hand and went forward where the shepherds knelt. Once again the air was full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry of the bells; but within all was silence. The cave was rough-hewn, and stabled an ox and an ass; close to the front a tall strong man leaning on a staff kept watch and ward; within knelt a peasant Maid, and on a heap of yellow straw lay a tiny new-born Babe loosely wrapped in a linen cloth: around and above were wonderful figures of fire and mist.

The infinite, visible and attainable.

The mystery which is the greatest possible wisdom.

* * * * *

“Come, Child,” said the Recluse.

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