She could not get out.
She wandered to and fro through the silent aisles, growing quite
familiar with the dusky place and feeling not at all afraid. She
thought over her dream, and recalled the fact that it was Christmas
Day,--the Festa del Gesu Bambino.
"It was a dream," she mused; "but it was a beautiful one! Perhaps the
spirits gave it to me for my Christmas gift. Perhaps the Gesu bade
them give it me for my Christmas gift;" and just as a glorious burst of
sunshine struck through the illuminated windows, she took up her little
fiddle, raised her bow and her voice at the same time, and sang out in
worshipful gratitude,--
"Mira, cuor mio durissimo,
Il bel Bambin Gesu,
Che in quel presepe asprissimo,
Or lo fai nascer tu!"
She did not hear a distant door open, nor did she see through it the
man who had unconsciously lured her into the church the evening before
by the power of his playing. No; she was conscious of nothing but her
singing and the sweet, long notes she was drawing with her bow from the
strings of her beloved violin.
But she did hear, after she had finished, a low exclamation, and then
she did see that same man hastening toward her with outstretched hands.
"Child, child," he cried, "how came you here! And such a voice! _such_
a voice! Why, it is a gift from Heaven!"
And amid all the excitement that followed,--the excitement of telling
who she was and hearing that she was to be taken care of and given a
home and trained to sing,--that, in fact, she was never to be tired nor
cold nor sad-hearted any more,--she had time to think,--
"Ah! _now_ I know.
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