The Recluse led her down a little passage and opened a door. They
stepped out together, but not into the forest.

"This is the front door of my house," said the Recluse, with a
little smile.

They stood on a white road, on one side a stretch of limestone
down, on the other steep terraces with gardens and vineyard. The
air was soft and warm, and sweet with the breath of lilies. The
heaven was ablaze with stars; across the plain to the east the dawn
was breaking. A group of strangely-clad men went down the road
followed by a flock of sheep.

"Let us go with them," said the Recluse; and hand in hand they
went.

The road curved to the right; round the bend, cut in the living
rock, was a cave; the shepherds stopped and knelt, and there was no
sound but the soft rapid breathing of the flock. Then the Child
was filled with an overmastering longing, a desire so great that
the tears sprang hot to her eyes. She dropped the Recluse's hand
and went forward where the shepherds knelt. Once again the air was
full of wonderful sound, voices and song, and the cry of the bells;
but within all was silence. The cave was rough-hewn, and stabled
an ox and an ass; close to the front a tall strong man leaning on a
staff kept watch and ward; within knelt a peasant Maid, and on a
heap of yellow straw lay a tiny new-born Babe loosely wrapped in a
linen cloth: around and above were wonderful figures of fire and
mist.