The Ravens and the Angels, with Other Stories and Parables

by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

The Child watched her in silence a minute to see if she would speak. He felt sure the sweet Singers had sent her to him from the heavens, and he feared to disturb her till she awoke. But at length he ventured to whisper, and then to speak louder and louder, asking her to wake. Still the white lips did not close, nor the pale eyelids open. Then a cold awe crept over the Child, and at last he burst into tears. Was it to be another disappointment, like the silent roll of dead leaves? and should he never find any who would understand him or speak to him? In his tears he forgot all his awe, and stooping down he took one little cold hand in both his warm ones, and said gently, "Speak to me—only one word. Indeed I would understand you, and I would love you so dearly."

Then, as still no answer came, he threw both his arms around the little maiden's neck, and pressed his warm breast to hers, and laid his cheek to hers, and prayed her only to wake, even if she would not speak; until, as he folded her thus, so tight and warm, in his little soft arms, he felt something faintly beating against his heart, and a quiver passed through the pale lips, and the Child sobbed aloud, "You hear me! you are waking! you will speak to me!"

And his tears fell faster than ever for joy.

Then the pale-veined eyelids slowly opened, and two eyes looked into his, as blue as the violets. But they were not flowers; they were sweet human eyes. They looked at him with a strange, bewildered, questioning look, and at length a faint voice murmured, "Is it a dream?—are we in heaven?"

It was the first human voice the Child remembered to have heard, but it did not surprise him. It seemed familiar, as if he had heard it long ago, he knew not where; and he said, "No, we are not in heaven, and it is not a dream; but the sweet Singers in heaven have sent you to me."

Then the Child unfastened the cords which bound the little maiden to the plank, and she sat upright and looked around her. The sun poured down his warmest rays, and soon dried her dress. And when she was able, he led her gently over the rocks to his cave, and laid her on his own warm little bed, and gave her honey and fruits, and sat by her and watched her till she fell asleep. In her sleep she still clung to his hand, and if he moved she would stir uneasily and murmur in her sleep; so the Child made up his mind to sit beside her all night, and not once close his eyes. It was such a joy to feel that she could not do without him.

But he was more tired than he knew, with the storm of last night and the great delight of the day; and before he thought of it, sleep had crept into his eyes and shut them fast; and the little weary head sank down beside the maiden, and he dreamt of the sweet Singers carrying her in their arms through the winds and waves to him.

CHAPTER II.

When the Child opened his eyes he was very much ashamed to find the little maiden awake before him, and gliding quietly about the cave, making herself quite at home. Yet he could not help lying still, and watching what she would do while she thought he was asleep.

And first he saw her kneel down on the white sand, and clasp her hands, and look up, and speak softly to some One. He followed her eyes, but he could see no one; and he wondered to whom she could be speaking. He was sure it must be One who listened, for the little maiden's eyes filled with tears; and yet when she rose she looked so happy.