“‘The heart knoweth its own bitterness,’” Flora replied gently.
Lucilla was left to apply the truth of the adage to her own condition of mind.
She was very unhappy about her sister.
Nevertheless, Flora had ceased to weep, and although she ate less than ever and rose early for the purpose of going to church, she looked rather less ill. Only the strained look in her eyes remained, ever increasing, to justify Lucilla’s feeling of sick dismay.
That it was entirely unshared by Canon Morchard, she knew already, but she was not altogether prepared for the announcement that he presently made.
“I am very happy about dear Flora—peculiarly and wonderfully so. What think you, Lucilla, of this? Flora is turning her thoughts towards the Sisterhood at St. Marychurch.”
It was never Miss Morchard’s way to respond over-emphatically to an invitation from her father to state her thoughts freely, experience having long since taught her what a tangled web we weave when first we practice speaking the truth inopportunely.
“Has she only just started the idea?”
“Nay, she tells me—and I can readily believe it—that the grace of God, according to its mysterious wont, has been working within her for a long while now. There has been a period of darkness for Flora, undoubtedly, but she is emerging more and more into the light—that light that shineth into the Perfect Day!”
The Canon seemed rather inclined to forget himself in profound musings.