She thrust her way through the briars into the moonlight. Her hood had fallen back, her hair loose upon her shoulders; her eyes were full of a supernatural stupor, and she seemed under the spell of some great shock of awe. She trembled so greatly, that Fulviac followed her, and held her arm.
"Speak. What has chanced to you?"
She still shook like some flower breathed upon by the oracular voice of God. Her hands were torn and bloody from the thorns.
"The Virgin has appeared to me."
"Are you mad?"
"The Virgin."
"Some ghost or phantom."
"No, no, hear me."
She stretched out her hands like one smitten blind, and took breath swiftly in sudden gasps.
"Hear me, I was but asleep, woke, and heard music. The Virgin came out upon the altar, her face like the moon, her robes white as the stars. There was great light, great glory. And she spoke to me. Mother of God, what am I that I should be chosen thus!"