And so
weeping, a sensation, strange, vague, tremendous, came into her being; and
she knew not what it meant; but the mystery of it filled her with great
awe. "'Tis God," she said to herself, "'tis God's hand upon me. He've
touched me, He've sealed me to dear, dear Jan. 'Tis a feelin' to bring
happiness along with it, nor sorrer." She battled with herself to read the
wonder aright, and yet at the bottom of her heart was fear. Then physical
sensations distracted her; she found her head was aching and her body
feeling sick. Truly the girl had been through an ordeal that day, and so
she explained her discomfort. "I be wivvery an' wisht along o' leavin' en,"
she said; "oh! kind, good God A'mighty, as hears all, send en back to me,
send en back to me very soon, for I caan't live wi'out en no more."
As for the man, he sighed when Joan disappeared; and the expiration of
breath was short and sharp as the sound of a key in a lock. He had in truth
turned the key upon a diary to be opened no more; for the sweetness of the
closed chapter was embalmed in memory, blazoned on canvas. Yet there was
bitterness, too, of a sort in his sigh, and the result of this sunken
twinge at his heart appeared when Brady, Tarrant and one or two other
artists presently joined him. They saw their companion was perturbed, and
found him plunged into a black, cynic fit more deeply than usual. He spared
no subject, no individual, least of all himself.
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