The Genius | Page 2

was unaware that her wish was a selfish one. It seemed so
natural a thing she asked; and her mind, poor lady, was all upon herself,
there being no other soul to think for her. That the helpless life she
longed for would be ushered into a dreary world, too dark for bright
innocence to face, never occurred to her. Her outlook had grown
strangely one-sided during the past long years of constantly weakening
defence.
"Mary-Mother--protect me! I have waited very long. I have done all
Thy will. I have kept the fasts: have made my confessions and been
absolved. I have striven so long for strength to endure--all that has been
given me to endure! I have not avoided any pain, or abuse, or disgrace.
I have borne without complaint all the isolation of his life, till my very
family shuns me. Oh, Thy hand has lain heavy upon me, but I have not
complained! Therefore, in this New Year, I come to Thee, Holy Mother,
with my wish. Grant me, I beseech, that which has been given so many
times to others! Give me at last a companion in my life: one that cannot
leave me. Thou, holiest of women, intercede for me! Make me one with

Thee! Give me, too, a child!"
Once more, and over and over again, did the frail woman make her
request: so many times, indeed, and at last so fervidly, that her
excitement grew, and tears came. Little by little she drooped towards
the floor. Her face shone wet in the candle-light; and she clutched at the
little shelf below the ikon, where a handful of flowers stood in a silver
vase between the candles.
The minutes crept by. The few other lights in the big room burned low,
flared, flickered, and went out. There was a vast, muffled stillness in
the snow-filled air. The first night of the New Year was nearly dead. As
the light in her room grew ghostlier, Princess Sophia's voice became
gradually incoherent, dropped to a vague whisper, and finally ceased.
She slid gently from her knees to a sitting posture, her head resting
against the wall, under the little shrine. And then her eyes fell shut. She
slept.
For a quarter of an hour there was no sound in the room. The last
candle before the ikon at length followed the others, wavered high for
an instant, and then went out. Yet, strangely, the room was not left in
darkness. On the contrary, in the corner by the door had appeared a soft,
misty radiance which, second by second, grew visibly more luminous.
Far over the snow-fields came the clear chime of bells, ringing the
midnight hour. As their echoes died, the Princess, without moving her
body, opened her eyes again upon the form of a woman who had
emerged from the mist and now stood near at hand, looking down at
her.
Tall she was, and classically robed, this visitor. Her face, shaded by a
drapery of dove blue, was as fair as sculptured marble. But there was a
fire of deep compassion in her dark eyes, and her mouth was curved
into the gentlest smile. The great pity in that wonderful face stirred
Sophia with a sudden pang of joy; and it was long before her gaze
moved from those features. But when they did, her lips parted in a faint
cry; for she saw that the Mary-Mother was not alone. Her left hand was
clasped by that of a child: a tiny, shadowy shape, sweet-faced and
slender-limbed. Looking, Sophia's breath came fast; and leaning

forward instinctively, she held out her arms. At that gesture, the
stranger and her charge came forward a little more, and the holy
woman spoke:
"Sophia, I come to answer your prayer, bringing with me the soul of
your child."
The Princess bowed to the floor.
"Your eyes behold a little, lonely spirit, that is to be given into your
care. Guard it and guide it; for the way of its life stretches far, and is
difficult and long. Your paths meet for but a few years: for you are
yourself nearing the end of your unhappy journey; and during these last
years, comfort shall be given you. Look, then, upon the face of your
son."
Swiftly the little spirit left the protecting shadow of its holy guide, and
paused beside Sophia. She would have clasped the shadowy body in
her eager arms, but a sense outside herself forbade this, and she could
only gaze searchingly into the gentle, childish face.
"Thou art mine?--my son?" she whispered, softly.
The little creature looked up at Mary-Mother and then, at once,
returned to the sad mortal at its side. The little face brightened with a
smile, and the lips formed the dear word,