"Was not the illumination splendid?" she said. And now her voice
was like a child's.
He moved the screen which obstructed the light: he must see her
better. He thought, when he saw the look of happiness in her face,
if life looks so beautiful to her still, we shall have a long time
together.
"If you had told me all that about Absalom, the picture which you
made when you were told the story of David, Rafael; if you had
only told me that before!" She paused, and her lips quivered.
"How could I tell it to you, mother, when I did not understand it
myself?"
"The illumination--that must signify that I, too, understand. It
ought to light you forward; do you not think so?"
A PAINFUL MEMORY FROM CHILDHOOD
I must have been somewhere about seven years old, when one Sunday
afternoon a rumour reached the parsonage that, on that same day,
two men, rowing past the Buggestrand in Eidsfjord, had discovered
a woman who had fallen over a cliff, and had remained half lying,
half hanging, close to the water's edge.
Before moving her, they tried to find out from her who had thrown
her over.
It was thirty-five miles by water to the doctor's, and then an
order for admission to the hospital had also to be procured.
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