Anne was big, but her smile was small and close and shy.
"You remembered my birthday ?" "Did you think I should forget ?" She opened the lid with cool unhurried fingers.

Under the wrappings of tissue paper and cotton wool, a shape struck clear and firm and familiar to her touch.

A sacred thrill ran through her as she felt there the presence of the holy thing, the symbol so dear and so desired that it was divined before seen.
She lifted from the box an old silver crucifix.

It must have been the work of some craftsman whose art was pure and fine as the silver he had wrought in.

But that was not what Anne saw.