desire, and have sought for solitude; for she felt that something mighty,
hitherto unknown to her, and incomprehensible even to herself, was
passing in her soul, and that a nameless but potent something had grown
up in her heart, had struggled free, and had found life and motion; a
something that was strange, and yet precious to her, frightening, and yet
sweet, a pain, and yet unspeakably delightful. An emotion such as she
had never before known had mastered her, and she felt, since hearing
Polykarp's speech, as if a new and purer blood was flowing rapidly
through her veins. Every nerve quivered like the leaves of the poplars
in her former home when the wind blows down to meet the Rhone, and she
found it difficult to follow what Paulus said, and still more so to find
the right answer to his questions.

As soon as she was alone she sat down on her bed, rested her elbows on
her knees, and her head in her hand, and the growing and surging flood of
her passion broke out in an abundant stream of warm tears.

She had never wept so before; no anguish, no bitterness was infused into
the sweet refreshing dew of those tears. Fair flowers of never dreamed
of splendor and beauty blossomed in the heart of the weeping woman, and
when at length her tears ceased, there was a great silence, but also a
great glory within her and around her. She was like a man who has grown
up in an under-ground-room, where no light of day can ever shine, and who
at last is allowed to look at the blue heavens, at the splendor of the
sun, at the myriad flowers and leaves in the green woods, and on the
meadows.

She was wretched, and yet a happy woman.

"That is love!" were the words that her heart sang in triumph, and as her