familiar figure.

How tenderly the Christ-child nestled to the pure, exalted mother!
Heaven intended to bestow a similar exquisite gift upon her also, and
already insolent hands were outstretched to tear it from her. True, she
was determined to defend herself bravely, yet her best friend advised her
to yield without resistance to this unprecedented demand.

What should she do?

With her brow pressed against the priedieu, she strove to attain calm
reflection in the presence of the powerful and gracious Queen of Heaven.
If she yielded the child to its cruel father, she would thereby surrender
to him the only happiness to which she still possessed a claim; if she
succeeded in keeping it for herself, she would deprive it of the favour
of the mighty sovereign, who possessed the power to bestow upon it
everything which the human heart craves. Should she persist in
resistance or yield to the person to whom she had already sacrificed so
much the great blessing which had the ability to console her for every
other loss, even the most cruel?

Then her refractory heart again rebelled. This was too much; Heaven
itself could not require it of her, the divine Mother who, before her
eyes, was pressing her child so tenderly to her bosom, least of all.
Hers, too, would be a gift of God, and, while repeating this to herself,
it seemed as though a voice cried out: "It is the Lord himself who
intends to confide this child to you, and if you give it up you deprive
it of its mother and rob it--you have learned that yourself--of its best
possession. What was given to you to cherish tenderly, you can not
confide to another without angering him who bestowed the guerdon upon