CHAPTER XV.
There comes to every one at times the inquiring thought, of what use is life? What will be the result of all this seemingly useless toil, these states of unrest, these earnest efforts of the soul unappreciated, these best endeavors misunderstood? Such questions flood the reason at times, and we are ready to lay down our life weapons, scarce caring how the busy scene goes on.
Then, through the parted clouds, the rays of truth illumine the mind again, and we take up the life-song once more, not as we laid it down, but with a richer melody, a fuller and sweeter strain. The soul feels new pinioned, and spreads its wings for loftier flights, rising, height after height, up and on to the fields of the infinite.
This questioning state is sure to come to the most earnest, truthful, and thoughtful worker. All along the pathway of life these weary, yet hopeful pilgrims, sit waiting for “light, more light.”
In such a mood sat Miss Evans, at the close of one summer day, as the sun was going slowly to his fold of gold and crimson clouds. A sort of mental twilight had gathered over her, dimming the sharp lines of thought which gave her words at all times such force. All her best and most earnest endeavors seemed as nought. Words which she had spoken, warm with life, vital with her own enthusiasm, had become metamorphosed, till their real meaning was lost to her.
“Alas! we must remain a riddle to ourselves forever,” she said, and her deep brown eyes, always warm with affection, now seemed cold, as she turned her thoughts inward to sound herself more thoroughly, and if possible detect any other than a desire for advancement.
How long she might have searched we cannot say, for just as her thoughts were most abstracted, Hugh came and sat down by her side, before she knew that any one had entered.
“Why, Hugh!” was her exclamation of surprise.