Some renewed clapping interrupted her at this point, gradually fading as the Mother Superior held up her hand. There was now a small frown on her face. What she was about to say had been arranged many weeks earlier, and could not easily be altered now; but she was well aware that it was likely to revive and intensify, in an extreme form, the excitement that had gone before.

“There are six children here today,” she concluded, “who have won prizes this term, and this is the moment when they will come up to the platform to receive them. The prizes will be presented by – Esther Costello.”

At that there was so great a gasp, of joy and fear, throughout the hall, that the Mother Superior felt all her doubts returning. It had been arranged that Esther, in a brief ceremony, should hand to each of the six children the book which was her prize: when they had planned it, it had seemed a simple, natural end to the afternoon. But that was before Esther had so captured their love and pity: now, to many people present, the idea of this blind girl giving a public performance suddenly seemed dangerous – a last emotional stake which might render the whole occasion unbearable.

It might go wrong – which would be terrible: or it might go so right that it would burst its bounds.

As Esther, guided by Mrs Bannister, stood up and came forward, the voices and the cheering began to gather again: the whole audience, as if aware that this was a crucial moment, was willing Esther to make it a successful one. The first girl, a small child in a white dress, advanced up the steps of the platform, reached Esther, and took from her hands the proffered book. Above her head, Esther was seen to be smiling. The child walked off the platform again.

The audience sighed, for relief at this simple outcome, and then applauded. Perhaps it would all be as easy as this … Mrs Bannister put into Esther’s hands the second book, for the second child. The second child, nervous, hung back at the edge of the platform and while she was still some yards away, Esther smiled again and held out the book – forward into space. There was a frightful moment of emptiness, when nothing happened: the smile left Esther’s face, to be succeeded by a look of doubt and fear. Then the child, prompted by a nun, advanced, almost at a run, snatched the book from Esther, and clattered down the stairs again, already whimpering.

In the audience, other children began to cry.

Mrs Bannister took Esther’s hand and spoke to her. It was wonderful to see the girl’s face regain confidence: it was more than wonderful, it was violently moving – and there had been enough that was moving, for every soul in the audience, that afternoon. Down in the body of the hall, an intolerable suspense grew as the Mother Superior read out the third child’s name; on the platform, those in authority looked towards Mrs Bannister as towards a saviour.