on of her, but she had a
breadth of outlook which would have terrified her mother. Maria said
to herself that she believed in God, but that His need of her was as
much as her need of Him. She said to herself that without her tiny
faith in Him, her tiny speck of love for Him, He would lack something
of Himself. Then all at once, in a perfect flood of rapture,
something which she had never before known came into her heart: the
consciousness of the love of God for herself, of the need of God for
herself, poor little Maria Edgham, whose ways of life had been so
untoward and so absurd that she almost seemed to herself something to
be laughed at rather than pitied, much less loved. But all at once
the knowledge of the love of God was over her. She gazed up again at
the great polar star overlooking with its eternal light the mysteries
of the north, and for the first time in her whole life the primitive
instinct of worship asserted itself within her. Maria rose, and fell
on her knees, and continued to gaze up at the star which seemed to
her like an eye of God Himself, and love seemed to pervade her whole
being. She thought now almost lightly of Wollaston Lee. What was any
earthly love to love like this, which took hold of the beginning and
end of things, of the eternal? A resolution which this sense of love
seemed to inspire came over her. It was a resolution almost
grotesque, but it was sacred because her heart of hearts was in it,
and she made it because of this love of God for her and her new sense
of worship for something beyond the earth and all earthly affections
which had taken possession of her. She rose, undressed herself, and
went to bed. She did not say any prayer as usual. She seemed an
incarnate prayer which made formulas unnecessary. Why was it
essential to say anything when she was? At last she fell asleep, and
did not wake until the dawn light was in the room. She did not wake
as usual to a reunion with herself, but to a reunion with another
self. She did not feel altogether happy. The resolution of the night
before remained, but the ecstasy had vanished. She was not yet an
angel, only a poor, human girl with the longings of her kind, which
would not be entirely stifled as long as her human heart beat. But
she did what she had planned. Maria had an unusually high forehead.
It might have given evidence of intellect, of goodness, but it was
not beautiful. She had always fluffed her blond hair over it,
concealing i