had hurried in just before the service began. She
was a widow, living, I afterwards learnt, in an almshouse hard by.
She was old and feeble, very poor, and her life had been a series of
calamities, relieved upon a background of the hardest and humblest
drudgery. She had lost her husband years ago by a painful and terrible
illness. She had lost her children one by one; she was alone in the
world, save for a few distant and indifferent relatives. To get into the
almshouse had been for her a stroke of incredible and inconceivable good
fortune. She had a single room, with a tiny kitchen off it. She had
very little to say for herself; she could hardly read. No one took any
particular interest in her; but she was a kindly, gallant, unselfish old
soul, always ready to bear a hand, full of gratitude for the kindnesses
she had received--and God alone knows how few they had been.

She had a small, ugly, homely face, withered and gnarled hands; and she
was dressed that day in a little old bonnet of unheard-of age, and in
dingy, frowsy black clothes, shiny and creased, that came out of their
box perhaps half-a-dozen times a year.

But this morning she was in a festal mood. She had tidied up her little
room; she was going to have a bit of meat for dinner, given her by a
neighbour. She had been sent a Christmas card that morning, and had
pored over it with delight. She liked the stir and company of the
church, and the cheerful air of the holly-berries. She held her book up
before her, though I do not suppose she was even at the right page. She
kept up a little faint cracked singing in her thin old voice; but when
they came to the hymn "Hark, the herald angels sing," which she had
always known from childhood, she lifted up her head and sang more
courageously:

"Join the triumph of the skies!
With the angelic host proclaim,
Christ is born in Bethlehem!"

It was then that I had my vision. I do not know why, but at the sight of
the wrinkled face and the sound of the plaintive uplifted voice, singing
such words, a sudden mist of tears came over my eyes. Then I saw that
close behind the old dame there stood a very young and beautiful man. I
could see the fresh curling hair thrown back from the clear brow. He was
clothed in a dim robe, of an opalescent hue and misty texture, and his
hands were clasped together. It seemed that he sang too; but his eyes
were bent upon the old woman with a look, half of tender amuseme