In despair he thought of
Miriam. Perhaps--perhaps--?
Then, happening to go into the Unitarian Church one Sunday evening, when
they stood up to sing the second hymn he saw her before him. The light
glistened on her lower lip as she sang. She looked as if she had got
something, at any rate: some hope in heaven, if not in earth. Her
comfort and her life seemed in the after-world. A warm, strong feeling
for her came up. She seemed to yearn, as she sang, for the mystery and
comfort. He put his hope in her. He longed for the sermon to be over, to
speak to her.
The throng carried her out just before him. He could nearly touch her.
She did not know he was there. He saw the brown, humble nape of her neck
under its black curls. He would leave himself to her. She was better and
bigger than he. He would depend on her.
She went wandering, in her blind way, through the little throngs of
people outside the church. She always looked so lost and out of place
among people. He went forward and put his hand on her arm.
Pages:
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845