know why it stayed with me
so long, for it has nothing terrific in it, but it comes to me many a
time when I'm not thinking of it, like an old tune, heard long, long
ago.

"Once there was a woman who had an only child, a daughter, whose name
was Lily. The woman prayed at the birth of the child that it might be
the most beautiful creature that ever the sun shone upon, and she
prayed, too, that it might be good, but because she prayed for beauty
before goodness, it was accounted to her as a sin. The child grew, and
as long as it was a babe in the arms, they never knew that the eyes,
which gave so much light to others, took none back again. The mother
prayed again, that her child might see, no matter how ugly she might
become, no matter how dull and dim her eyes, let them but have the gift
of sight. But Lily walked in a cloud, from the cradle to the time when
the love-locks began to curl round her forehead, and her cheeks would
flush up when the young men told her she was beautiful. When it was
sunlight, her mother watched her every step she took, for fear she would
get into danger, but she never thought of watching her by night, for
she said the _angels took care of her then_. Lily had a little bed of
her own, right by the window, for she told her mother she loved to feel
the moon shining on her eye-lids, making a sort of faintish glimmer, as
it were.

"One night she lay down in the moonshine, and fell asleep, and her
mother looked upon her for a long time, thinking how beautiful she was,
and what a pity the young men could not take her to be a wife, she had
such a loving heart, and seemed made so much for love. At last she fell
asleep herself, dreaming of Lily, and did not wake till past midnight.
Her first thought was of Lily, and she leaned on her elbow, and looked
at the little bed, with its white counterpane, that glittered like snow
in the moonshine. But Lily was not there, and the window was wide open.
The woman jumped up in fright, and ran to the window and looked out, but
she could see nothing but the trees and the woods. I wouldn't have been
in her place for the gold of Solomon, for she was all alone, and there
was no one living within a mile of her house. It was a wild, lonesome
place, on a hill-side, and you could hear the roaring of water, all down
at the bottom of the hill. Even in the day-time it was mighty dangerous
walking among the torrents, let alone the night.

"Well, the woman lifted up her voice,