“Aw, John, it may be a sight better, for we be promised ‘there shall be no sea there,’ thank God! no freezing, drowning men and no weeping wives. I do think of that when you are out in the frost and storm, John, and the thought be heaven itself.”
“My dear, the sea be God’s own highway. There be wonders by the sea. Was not St. John sent to the sea-side for the Revelations? ’Twas there he heard the angels, whose voices were like the sound of many waters. Heaven will be wonderful! wonderful! if it do make us forget the sea. Aw, my dear Joan, ’twill be something added to this earth, not something taken away, and the good thing added will make both the sea and the ‘bounds of the everlasting hills’ to be blessed.”
“John, who told you that? And if the cruel, hungry, awful sea is not to be taken away, nor yet the ‘everlasting hills,’ what will make it a new earth?”
“God’s tabernacle will be in it. Aw, my dear, that will make everything new––sea and land, men and women; and then there will be no more tears. My dear, when I think of that I love this old world, not only for what it is, but also for what it is going to be.”
“Father, you are preaching and not eating your breakfast; and I want to get breakfast over and the cups washed, for I have to dress myself yet, and a new dress to put on, too,” and Denas smiled and nodded and touched her father’s big hand with 44 her small one, and then John smiled back, and with a mighty purpose began to eat his fish and bread and drink his tea.
The whole day took its colour from this happy beginning. In after-years John often spoke of that Easter Sabbath; of their quiet walk all together up the cliff to St. Penfer Chapel; of the singing, and the sermon, and the Sunday-school in the afternoon for the fisher children; of the walk to St. Swer with Denas by his side and the walk back, singing all the way home; of the nice supper ready for them, and how they had eaten and talked till the late moon made a band of light across the table, and John said hurriedly:
“Well, there now! The tide will be calling me before I do have time to get sleep in my eyes.”
Then Joan rose quickly and Denas began to put away the bread and cheese and milk, and though none recognised the fact at the time, the old life passed away for ever when the three rose from that midnight supper.
Yet for several days afterward nothing seemed to be changed. John went to his fishing and had unusual good fortune; and Joan and Denas were busy mending nets and watching the spring bleaching. It was the duty of Denas to take the house linen to some level grassy spot on the cliff-breast and water and watch it whiten in the sunshine. Monday she had gone to this duty with a vague hope that Roland would seek her out. She watched all day for him. She knew that she was looking pretty, and she felt that her employment was picturesque.