Staza’s love was not the least appreciably less fervent, less genuine, less holy because she was a child not born in wedlock. The divine breath hath not such narrow instincts as we poor humans. Only let the heart be right and the divine breath does not enquire what was its origin. The Son of God was a child not born in wedlock, and the divine love did not grow cold on that account, the divine love accepted him for its own Son. It is only we poor humans who, in our littleness, grow cold and shame-faced at the thought of a base origin, and yet the origin of us all is from no other source than from that eternal love from which every grain of wheat germinates, who threw that grain of wheat, for whose delight it germinates to maturity—wherefore should we trouble ourselves about that?
What more have I to relate?
About three o’clock one afternoon the sexton, Vanek, strode across the village green of Frishetts with the great key in his hand in the direction of the chapel.
Those who stood at the window and saw him did not ask one another whether there was a fire or whether some one was dead. They knew why he went to the chapel just at that hour, and only said to one another “So it will be at once.”
And here they walked out in front of their farm houses, and seeing neighbours lounging about the other farms, took a few steps towards the centre of
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