Sunshine on the deep sea hid more matters for wonder than
John Barron had taught or known. Once only as yet had she caught a glimpse
of Nature's beating heart; and that was upon the occasion of her visit to
St. Madron's chapel. She was lifted up then for a magic hour; but the lurid
end of that day looked clearer afterward than ever the dewy dawn of it.
Nature had smiled mutely and dumbly at her sufferings for long months since
then. But now added knowledge certainly grew, and from a matrix mightier
than the love of Nature or of man, was Joan's new life born. It embraced a
new sight, new senses, ambitions, fears and hopes.
Joan went to church at every opportunity. Faith seemed so easy, and soon so
necessary. Secret prayer became a real thing to be approached with joy. To
own to sins was as satisfactory as casting down a heavy burden at a
journey's end; to confess them to God was to know that they were forgiven.
There were not many clouds in her religious sky. As Mary's religion was
bounded by her own capabilities and set forth against a background of
gloom, which never absolutely vanished save in moments of rare exaltation,
so Joan's newfound faith took upon itself an aspect of sunshine. Her clouds
were made beautiful by the new light; they did not darken it. Mary's gray
Cornish mind kept sentiment out of sight. She lived with clear eyes always
focusing reality as it appeared to her.
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