It was then that I first perceived that there could be grief in heaven.
I say "first perceived," but I had known it all along. But by Amroth's
gentle power that had been for a time kept away from me, that I might
rest and rejoice.
The form before me was that of a very young and beautiful woman--so
beautiful that for a moment all my thought seemed to be concentrated
upon her. But I saw, too, that all was not well with her. She was not at
peace with herself, or her surroundings. In her great wide eyes there
was a look of pain, and of rebellious pain. She was attired in a robe
that was a blaze of colour; and when I wondered at this, for it was
unlike the clear hues, pearly grey and gold, and soft roseate light that
had hitherto encompassed me, the voice of Amroth answered my unuttered
question, and said, "It is the image of her thought." Her slim white
hands moved aimlessly over the robe, and seemed to finger the jewels
which adorned it. Her lips were parted, and anything more beautiful than
the pure curves of her chin and neck I had seldom seen, though she
seemed never to be still, as Amroth was still, but to move restlessly
and wearily about.
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