two beings closest, dearest to her in all the world, and she was utterly apart from them—her husband, smoking his pipe, looking into the fire, her sleeping child, shut in sleep like a closed bud that holds its secret and its promise. Speak to me, speak without words, my darlings!
A log fell apart, the fire leaped up, shining on the topmost star of the Christmas tree. Up there, above the shadowy green, it seemed to float, a real star in shadowy darkness, a star of hope, to lead travelers on through the dark.
