oad, which had neither walls
nor hedges.

"It is a lonely place for a child to live in by herself," he thought.

At last he perceived the outline of the old hovel, among the gorse and
broom, and the next moment he stopped suddenly, for there, as he had
been told, a thread of bright light came streaming through the shutters
of the small window. He drew his lantern under his cloak, and
approached cautiously. The road where he stood was now dim, but by the
faint glimmer of the stars he was able to make out that there were
several persons standing under the eaves, and apparently whispering
together.

The Vicar's good old heart was filled with surprise and sorrow. Then
it suddenly grew hot with anger, and throwing aside his cloak and
lifting up the lantern he advanced boldly to confront the intruders.
But they were not at all alarmed, and they did not make any attempt to
escape him. Then, as the light fell upon their forms and faces, who
but the Vicar was struck with awe and amazement, and stood gazing as
still as a stone!

The people under the eaves were men of another age and another world,
strangely clothed in long garments, and majestic in appearance. One
carried a lance, and another a pilgrim's staff, and a third a
battle-axe; but the most imposing stood near the door of the hut, and
in his hand he held two large keys.

In an instant the Vicar had guessed who they were, and had uncovered
his head and fallen on his knees; but the strangers melted slowly away
into the darkness, as if they had been no more than the images of a
dream. And indeed the Vicar might have thought that he really had been
dreaming but for the light which continued to stream through the chink
in the shutter.

He arose from his knees and moved towards the window to peep into the
hut. Instantly an invisible hand stretched a naked sword across his
path, and a low deep voice spoke to him in solemn warning:

"It is the light of Angels. Do not look, or blindness will fall upon
you, even as it fell upon me on the Damascus road."

But the aged Vicar laid his hand on the sword, and tried to move it
away.

"Let me look, let me look!" he said; "better one glimpse of the Angels
than a thousand years of earthly sight."

Then the sword yielded to his touch and vanished into air, and the old
priest leaned forward on the window-sill and gazed through the chink.
And with a cry of joy he saw a corner of the rude bed, and beside the
corner, one a