A lady of title always wore gloves – was never seen without them. One day her young son burst into her room and caught her unawares, and seeing her hands shrank from her for they were terrible to behold! Rising up she closed the door, saying, “Now we are alone, you are old enough to hear what caused these terrible scars. When you were quite little, we had a fire in the castle, and the nursery was in the turret where you were sleeping, being cared for by a nurse who fled for safety from the flames, leaving you to certain death. You know the ‘strong ivy branches clinging to the tower? Well, up this climbed and reached the small window through which I managed to enter, and taking you up I swung you in a coverlet over my shoulder, praying for strength as I began to descend. The extra weight was almost more than I could bear, and the ivy was also giving way under the weight. Mercifully I reached the ground, though with the flesh torn from my hands, but you were saved.
With one bound the boy threw himself into his mother’s arms, and then taking her hands he kissed them over and over again, and asking one favor, that when together she would not wear gloves, for he wanted to keep before him, as often as possible, the story of what those hands had done for him, for to him they were beautiful hands.
“Lord, what rapture it will be when faith is lost in sight, and we behold Thy face once marred more than any man’s now resplendent with heavenly brightness, and see the nail prints in Thy hands and feet, and gaze upon Thee as the Lamb once slain.”