Kasya’s hands were clinging yet to the unfinished garland of herbs. She slept with a sleep light and sweet, for she smiled through her dreams as a child who speaks with the angels. Perhaps she verily conversed with angels, for pure she was as a child, and had dedicated her whole day to the service of God by gathering and weaving the garlands for His temple.
John was sitting by her side, but he did not sleep. His simple breast could not contain the feelings that arose there; he felt as if his soul had got wings and was preparing to fly away to the realms of heaven. He knew not what was happening to him, and he only raised his eyes to the skies and was motionless; you would say that love had transfigured him.
Kasya slumbered on, and for a long time they both remained there. Meanwhile the dusk came. The remnants of the purple light fought with the darkness. The interior of the woods deepened—became dumb. From the canes of the lake near the glade with its cottage came the buzzing of a night beetle.
Suddenly on the other side of the lake from the church rang out the Angelus bell. Its tones floated on the wings of the evening breeze over the face of the quiet waters, clear, resonant, and distinct. It called the faithful to prayer, and also proclaimed: “Rest! Enough of work and the heat of the day,” spoke the bell. “Wrap yourself to sleep in the wing of God. Come, come ye weary to Him—in Him is joy! Here is peace! here gladness! here sleep! here sleep! here sleep!”
John took off his hat at the sound of the bell, Kasya shook the sleep from her eyes, and said:
“The bell rings.”
“For the Angel of the Lord.”
Both kneeled near by the mossy stone as if before an altar. Kasya began to pray with a low, soft voice:
“The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary,”
“And she conceived by the Holy Ghost,” answered John.