"
Julia turned at this and flung her arms round Jane's neck, and panted
heavily.
Jane kissed her, and with tears in her eyes, proceeded to pour out, from
a memory richly stored with Scripture, those blessed words it is full of,
words that in our hours of ease or biblical criticism pass over the mind
like some drowsy chime but in the bitter day of anguish and bereavement,
when the body is racked, the soul darkened, shine out like stars to the
mariner; seem then first to swell to their real size and meaning, and
come to writhing mortals like pitying seraphim, divinity on their faces
and healing on their wings.
Julia sighed heavily: "Ah," she said, "these are sweet words. But I am
not ripe for them. You show me the true path of happiness: but I don't
_want_ to be happy; it's _him_ I want to be happy. If the angels came
for me and took me to heaven this moment, I should be miserable there, if
I thought _he_ was in eternal torment. Ay, I should be as miserable there
as I am here. Oh, Jane, when God means to comfort me, He will show me
_he_ is alive; till then words are wasted on me, even Bible words.
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