Joy's religious nature found expression in her music, and so
something more than a harmony of beautiful sounds impressed her
hearers.
The first severe blow to her faith in the church as a divine
institution, was when her rector and her lover left her alone in the
hour of her darkest trials, because he knew the story of her mother's
life. His hesitancy to make her his wife she understood, but his
absolute desertion of her at such a time, seemed inconsistent with
his calling as a disciple of the Christ.
The second blow came in her dismissal from the position of organist
at the Beryngford Church, after the presence of the Baroness in the
town.
A disgust for human laws, and a bitter resentment towards society
took possession of her. When a gentle and loving nature is roused to
anger and indignation, it is often capable of extremes of action; and
Arthur Stuart had made his proposition of flight to Joy Irving in an
hour when her high-wrought emotions and intensely strung nerves made
any desperate act possible to her. The sight of his face, with its
evidences of severe suffering, awoke all her smouldering passion for
the man; and the thought that he was ready to tread his creed under
his feet and to defy society for her sake, stirred her with a wild
joy. God had seemed very far away, and human love was very precious;
too precious to be thrown away in obedience to any man-made law.
But somehow this morning God seemed nearer, and the consciousness of
what she had promised to do terrified her. Disturbed by her
thoughts, she turned towards her toilet-table and caught sight of the
letter of dismissal from the church committee. It acted upon her
like an electric shock. Resentment and indignation re-enthroned
themselves in her bosom.
"Is it to cater to the opinions and prejudices of people like THESE
that I hesitate to take the happiness offered me?" she cried, as she
tore the letter in bits and cast it beneath her feet. Arthur Stuart
appeared to her once more, in the light of a delivering angel. Yes,
she would go with him to the ends of the earth. It was her
inheritance to lead a lawless life. Nothing else was possible for
her. God must see how she had been hemmed in by circumstances, how
she had been goaded and driven from the paths of peace and purity
where she had wished to dwell. God was not a man, and He would be
merciful in judging her.
She sent her landlady two months' rent in advance, and notice of her
departure, and set hurriedly about her preparations.