So spring
came, heralded by the thrush; borne upon the wings of the western wind. And
then followed a brief change with more heavy rains and lower temperature.
The furzes on Gorse Point were a scented glory now--a nimbus of gold for
the skull of the lofty cliff. Here John Barren and Joan Tregenza had met
but twice since the beginning of the unsettled weather. For her this period
was in a measure mysterious and strange. Centuries of experience seemed to
separate her from the past, and, looking backward, infinite spaces of time
already stretched between what had been and what was. Now overmuch sorrow
mingled with her reflections, though a leaven of it ran through all--a
sense of loss, of sacrifice, of change, which flits, like the shadow of a
summer cloud, even through the soul of the most deeply loving woman who
ever opened her eyes to smile upon the first day-dawn of married life. But
Joan's sorrow was no greater than that, and little unquiet or uneasiness
went with it. She had his promises; from him they could but be absolute;
and not a hundred attested ceremonies had left her heart more at ease. In
fact she believed that John Barren was presently going to marry her, and
that when he vanished from Newlyn, she, as the better-loved part of
himself, would vanish too. It was the old, stale falsehood which men have
told a hundred thousand times; which men will go on telling and women
believing, because it is the only lie which meets all requirements of the
case and answers its exact purpose effectively.
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