Somebody ought to tell Him.
"You are a wicked God," Joan told Him.

"Yes, You are.

A cruel, wicked God." And then that she might not see the walls of the room open before her, hear the wild laughter of the thousand devils that were coming to bear her off, she threw herself down, her face hidden in the pillow, and clenched her hands and waited.
And suddenly there burst a song.

It was like nothing Joan had ever heard before.

So clear and loud and near that all the night seemed filled with harmony.