Continental

One of the ship's crew came along the deck, dark as the darkness, not
really visible. They then made out the faintest pallor of his face. He
felt their presence, and stopped, unsure--then bent forward. When his
face was near them, he saw the faint pallor of their faces. Then he
withdrew like a phantom. And they watched him without making any sound.

They seemed to fall away into the profound darkness. There was no sky,
no earth, only one unbroken darkness, into which, with a soft, sleeping
motion, they seemed to fall like one closed seed of life falling
through dark, fathomless space.

They had forgotten where they were, forgotten all that was and all that
had been, conscious only in their heart, and there conscious only of
this pure trajectory through the surpassing darkness. The ship's prow
cleaved on, with a faint noise of cleavage, into the complete night,
without knowing, without seeing, only surging on.

In Ursula the sense of the unrealised world ahead triumphed over
everything. In the midst of this profound darkness, there seemed to
glow on her heart the effulgence of a paradise unknown and unrealised.
Her heart was full of the most wonderful light, golden like honey of
darkness, sweet like the warmth of day, a light which was not shed on
the world, only on the unknown paradise towards which she was going, a
sweetness of habitation, a delight of living quite unknown, but hers
infallibly. In her transport she lifted her face suddenly to him, and
he touched it with his lips. So cold, so fresh, so sea-clear her face
was, it was like kissing a flower that grows near the surf.