One early evening, when she had remained out of the house until the day was well-nigh done, she came back in a wild ecstasy to tell of angels that she had just seen in the sky.

They were in robes of crimson and scarlet, their wings blazed like fire, they swept across the clouds in multitudes, and went down behind the world together, passing out of the earth through the gates of heaven.
Israel listened to her and said, "That was the sunset my child.

Every morning the sun rises and every night it sets." Then she looked full into his face and blushed.

Her shame at her sweet errors sometimes conquered her joy in the new heritage of sight, and Israel heard her whisper to herself and say, "After all, the eyes are deceitful." Vision was life's new language, and she had yet to learn it.
But not for long was her delight in the beautiful things of the world to be damped by any thought of herself.

Nay, the best and rarest part of it, the dearest and most delicious throb it brought her, came of herself alone.