whatever."

"What is it?" he asked. "If Sara told thee 'tis sure to be right."

"Yes, of course," said Morva.

The sun was gradually lighting up the moor with golden radiance. The
old man stood with his back to the light, the girl facing him, bathed
in the bright effulgence of the sunrise, her hair in threads of gold
blown by the sea breeze like a halo round her face, her blue eyes
earnest with the light of an inner conviction which she desired to
convey to her companion.

"Look, now," she said, "how everything is bathed in light and beauty!
Where are the grey shadows and the curling mists? All gone! 'Tis the
same world, 'n'wncwl Ebben, dear, but the sun has come and chased away
the darkness. 'Tis like the grace of God, so mother says, if we will
open our hearts and let it in, it shines upon us like the sunlight.
His love spreads through our whole being, He blots out our sins if we
are sorry for them, He smiles upon us and holds out His loving arms to
us, and yet we turn our backs upon Him, and walk about in the shadows
with our heads bent down, and our eyes fixed upon the ground. Every
morning, mother says, when the sun rises, God is telling us, 'This is
how I love you, this is how I will fill your hearts with warmth and
light and joy.' Now, isn't that true, 'n'wncwl Ebben?"

"What about the mornings when the mist does not clear away, lass, but
turns to driving rain?"

"Oh, well, then," said Morva, not a whit daunted, "the rain and the