For—well, my son, bring Zelia in!”
She stood before him half abashed
Yet boldly, too;—her dark cheek dashed
With ruddy flame; for all her soul
Burned holily. For now her whole
Rich nature stirred. She was not awed
For had she not been called of God?
And little Peter sat and stared
And marvelled how he’d ever dared
To lift his eyes to such a maid,