But in this extreme tension of mind to hold in
her bewildered agony, it so happened that one of her senses was
preternaturally acute. While all the church and the people swam
in misty haze, one point in a dark corner grew clearer and
clearer till she saw (what at another time she could not have
discerned at all) a face--a gargoyle I think they call it--at the
end of the arch next to the narrowing of the nave into the
chancel, and in the shadow of that contraction. The face was
beautiful in feature (the next to it was a grinning monkey), but
it was not the features that were the most striking part. There
was a half-open mouth, not in any way distorted out of its
exquisite beauty by the intense expression of suffering it
conveyed. Any distortion of the face by mental agony implies that
a struggle with circumstance is going on. But in this face, if
such struggle had been, it was over now. Circumstance had
conquered; and there was no hope from mortal endeavour, or help
from mortal creature, to be had. But the eyes looked onward and
upward to the "hills from whence cometh our help." And though the
parted lips seemed ready to quiver with agony, yet the expression
of the whole face, owing to these strange, stony, and yet
spiritual eyes, was high and consoling. If mortal gaze had never
sought its meaning before, in the deep shadow where it had been
placed long centuries ago, yet Ruth's did now.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381