This is a sacred and an awful mystery.

Preserve the secret, or we all are dead!" '"I swear I will preserve it," she replied, with fervour.
'But the miracle which she had witnessed burned her spirit.

She knew that she must speak of it or die; and so she called upon a friend whose prudence she could trust, and binding her by vows, told her the story.
'This woman also had a trusted friend, to whom she told the story, under vows of secrecy, and so on, with the consequence that that same evening the priest received a deputation of the village elders, who requested, in the name of the community, to be allowed to kiss the feet of his mysterious son--that little, rainbow-coloured bird, which had a horn upon its head and played the flute.
'The priest said nothing to his wife.

He did not beat her.

He gave her but one look.