But as the earth is wrenched open by volcanic eruptions and long buried corpses are revealed again to the light of day, so the unexpected sight of Arthur Stuart, as he took his place beside Mabel and the Baroness during the funeral services, revealed all the pent-up passion of her heart to her own frightened soul. To strong natures, the greater the inward excitement the more quiet the exterior; and Jay passed through the services, and performed her duties, without betraying to those about her the violent emotions under which she laboured. The rector of Beryngford Church requested her to remain for a few moments, and consult with him on a matter concerning the next week’s musical services. It was from him Joy learned the relation which Arthur Stuart bore to the dead man, and that Beryngford was the former home of the Baroness. Her mother’s manuscript had carefully avoided all mention of names of people or places. Yet Joy realised now that she must be living in the very scene of her mother’s early life; she longed to make inquiries, but was prevented by the fear that she might hear her mother’s name mentioned disrespectfully. The days that followed were full of sharp agony for her. It was not until long afterward that she was able to write her “impressions” of that experience. In the extreme hour of joy or agony we formulate no impressions; we only feel. We neither analyse nor describe our friends or enemies when face to face with them, but after we leave their presence. When the day came that she could write, some of her reflections were thus epitomised: Love which rises from the grave to comfort us, possesses more of the demons’ than the angels’ power. It terrifies us with its supernatural qualities and deprives us temporarily of our reason. Suppressed steam and suppressed emotion are dangerous things to deal with. The infant who wants its mother’s breast, and the woman who wants her lover’s arms, are poor subjects to reason with. Though you tell the former that fever has poisoned the mother’s milk, or the latter that destruction lies in the lover’s embrace, one heeds you no more than the other. The accumulated knowledge of ages is sometimes revealed by a kiss. Where wisdom is bliss, it is folly to be ignorant. Some of us have to crucify our hearts before we find our souls. A woman cannot fully know charity until she has met passion; but too intimate an acquaintance with the latter destroys her appreciation of all the virtues. To feel temptation and resist it, renders us liberal in our judgment of all our kind. To yield to it, fills us with suspicion of all. There is an ecstatic note in pain which is never reached in happiness. The death of a great passion is a terrible thing, unless the dawn of a greater truth shines on the grave. Love ought to have no past tense. Love partakes of the feline nature. It has nine lives.