killed it! Nay, thinking about farther, she began to ask the question
whether this, in which she now saw it, might not be its more perfect
condition. For not only now did the whole seem perfect, as indeed it
did before, but every part showed its own individual perfection as
well, which perfection made it capable of combining with the rest into
the higher perfection of a whole. The flower was a lamp itself! The
golden heart was the light, and the silver border was the alabaster
globe, skilfully broken, and spread wide to let out the glory. Yes;
the radiant shape was plainly its perfection! If, then, it was the
lamp which had opened it into that shape, the lamp could not be
unfriendly to it, but must be of its own kind, seeing it made it
perfect! And again, when she thought of it, there was clearly no
little resemblance between them. What if the flower then was the
little great-grandchild of the lamp, and he was loving it all the
time? And what if the lamp did not mean to hurt her, only could not
help it? The red lips looked as if the flower had some time or other
been hurt: what if the lamp was making the best it could of
her--opening her out somehow like the flower? She would bear it
patiently, and see. But how coarse the colour of the grass was!
Perhaps, however, her eyes not being made for the bright lamp, she did
not see them us they were! Then she remembered how different were the
eyes of the creature that was not a girl and was afraid of the
darkness! Ah, if the darkness would only come again, all arms,
friendly and soft everywhere about her! She would wait and wait, and
bear, and be patient.

She lay so still that Watho did not doubt she had fainted. She was
pretty sure she would be dead before the night came to revive her.