young woman came near me, bearing a child in her arms. I noticed that she was shabbily dressed, and that she did not look like one of our country-women. Then I saw her no more, for my whole attention was fixed on the child she was carrying. He was a big child, perhaps four years old, too big for a woman to have in her arms; but he looked ill, and that, no doubt, was her reason for carrying him. I saw, faintly indicated, a blue halo round his head. I strained myself to the uttermost to reach the vision perfectly, and by degrees the halo became clear to me. It was bright blue, like an Italian sky, and exceedingly beautiful. I gazed steadily and saw poised above the child a golden figure, armed triumphantly. It was infinitely splendid. I knew then, beyond the possibility of any doubt, that he was the Child of our Hope.
"Before I could speak to her, the mother passed by me and crossed the bridge to the opposite platform. I followed her without hesitation, and saw her get into a train which stood ready to go westwards. There was no time for me to do anything except step into the nearest carriage. I was, of course, bent upon going with her. She got out at the next station—a mere platform by the roadside. The name written on the notice board was Knockcroghery, which, as you know, means 'hill of the hangman.' I stood for a moment gazing at it in astonishment, asking myself what fate might lie in the coming of the Child of our Hope from a place
