But when at length she had grasped the mystery, the artlessness of her joy was charming.

She was like a child in her delight, and like a woman that was still a child in her unconscious love of her own loveliness.

Whenever the boat was at rest she leaned over its bulwark and gazed down into the blue depths.
"How beautiful!" she cried, "how beautiful!" She clapped her hands and looked again, and there in the still water was the wonder of her dancing eyes.

"Oh! how very beautiful!" she cried without lifting her face, and when she saw her lips move as she spoke and her sunny hair fall about her restless head she laughed and laughed again with a heart of glee.
Israel looked on for some moments at this sweet picture, and, for all his sense of the dangers of Naomi's artless joy in her own beauty, he could not find it in his heart to check her.

He had borne too long the pain and shame of one who was father of an afflicted child to deny himself this choking rapture of her recovery.