I was a little consoled by the nursery maid's assuring
me that it was she who had come and looked at me,
and lain down beside me in the bed, and that I must
have been half-dreaming not to have known her face.
But this, though supported by the nurse, did not quite
satisfy me.
I remembered, in the course of that day, a venerable
old man, in a black cassock, coming into the room
with the nurse and housekeeper, and talking a little to
them, and very kindly to me; his face was very sweet
and gentle, and he told me they were going to pray,
and joined my hands together, and desired me to say,
softly, while they were praying, "Lord hear all good
prayers for us, for Jesus' sake." I think these were the
very words, for I often repeated them to myself, and
my nurse used for years to make me say them in my
prayers.
I remembered so well the thoughtful sweet face of
that white-haired old man, in his black cassock, as he
stood in that rude, lofty, brown room, with the clumsy
furniture of a fashion three hundred years old about
him, and the scanty light entering its shadowy atmosphere
through the small lattice. He kneeled, and the
three women with him, and he prayed aloud with an
earnest quavering voice for, what appeared to me, a
long time. I forget all my life preceding that event, and
for some time after it is all obscure also, but the scenes
I have just described stand out vivid as the isolated
pictures of the phantasmagoria surrounded by darkness.
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