Mountain life -- Fiction; Tennessee, East -- Fiction
She hardly heard the voice of Brother Owen Haines at first, as she
put her dimpled elbows on the hard bench and held her head between
her hands, so tumultuous were the surging pulses of humiliation and
fear, and of love, too, in a way. And then it asserted itself upon her
senses, although she was conscious first merely of tones, rich, mellow,
of delicate modulations and lingering vibrations,--differing infinitely
from the clear, incisive, somewhat harsh utterances of the preacher;
but at last words came gradually to her comprehension.
Commonplace words enough, to be sure, to excite so poignant a torture
of agonized expectation in that heart, beating as one with Pride’s,
but presently too oft repeated. Now and again a raucously cleared
throat amongst the row of kneeling ministers told of a nervous stress
of anxiety as to these verbal stumblings and inadequacies. Sometimes
a sentence was definitely broken, subject and predicate hopelessly
disjointed. Sometimes a clause barely suggested the thought in the
brain, an irremediable solution of continuity in its expression. More
than once occurred a painful pause, in which the heads of certain newly
regenerate sinners, easily falling again under mundane influences or
the control of Satan, turned alertly from the prayerful attitudes
still conserved by their bodies to covertly survey the spellbound
suppliant. Like unto these was the juggler. He had, on the first
summons to prayer, decorously assumed that half-crouching posture
common to devotionally disposed men, which intimates to the surrounding
spectators the fact of a certain polite subduement of mind and body to
divine worship. Then, remembering suddenly the character of mountaineer
which he designed to assimilate, he plumped down on his knees--for the
first time in many a long day--like the rest. And if in the ensuing
excitements his mind did not match his lowly attitude, the juggler is
not the only man who has ever been upon his knees with no prayer in his
heart. Taking license from the stir near at hand, he too shifted his
posture that his furtive glance might command a view of the man thus
deputed to pray.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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