isa-normaladvance-1903-00108

Description:	108THE NORMAL ADVANCE.way, wed like to have you for tea this evening,Susan knows a new piece. He shook hands withthe young pastor and beamed down upon him witha smile suggestive of broad acres and a fat bankaccount.Edward Cantlow leaned forward on his deskwith a helpless sense of failure. It was bitter tosee his dearest hopes die, and at the hands of thosefor whom they were cherished. It was bitter tosee them die without their mere existence everbeing recognized. It was a strange isolation hefelt, a half isolation, one in which his love, his aspirations could not pass over to those for whom hehad given all, but one in which their cruel misunderstanding could reach him and crush him. Itrose before him now, the ghost of his dead dream.He smiled as ho remembered the childish tale ofthe old womans spirit which had appeared in allthe loneliness of her maiden charms at the momentof hetr death.He could view it somewhat dispassionately now,it was dead. How earnest and hopeful he hadbeen when he come fresh from the shadow of theold university, where he had learned the lessons oflove and the inspirations of high ideals! He hadseen in this church, with its narrow views and ironclad creeds, an opportunity for a great mission.He remembered with something of pity his faithin the undertaking. How earnest and hopeful hehad been! How he had planned to bring to thesepeople the deep, fine things of life! He wouldgive them of the joy his soul had tasted. He woulddestroy envy, hate and prejudice by the depths ofhis love and the sincerity of his devotion. Andthey had never known, had never believed him.His soul sickened as he remembered their flattering kindness. He had been a mere sensation, adrawing card, a possible match for the daughters.The bitterness of it all! He felt as cheap andfalse as their reception had made him. His greatisolation choked him. He bowed his head uponhis hands and his soul sent up a yearning cry forsympathy—for understanding. Then her facerose before him, her glad hopeful face. He hadfelt her sympathy from that first night when hereyes looked fearlessly back at him from the congregation which cast curious glances at her.Clearly she was not one of them, and they ratherresented the presence of the daughter of the manwho was a dangerous free thinker.How much she had come to mean to him, he hadnever before realized. The sense of her sympathy,her understanding came to him like a healing balm.But they—, they had denied him all that theymight have given and would hold back his soulfrom the joy which was justly his. A wave ofanger and a strong yearning swept over him. Hearose and left his study.The wind blew Josephines hair into her face, awave of rebellious, black hair through which thesoft rose of her cheek glanced and her laughingeyes shone. They were both impertinent, she andthe wind. They swayed the hammock back andforth while she laughed down at Cantlow, laughedat his tired face, laughed at the pain in his eyes,laughed at the nervous hands, laughed so gladlyand infectiously that he arose and laughed a littlelaugh, tod, as he stood beside her.Bless your glad heart, dear, you are like abreath of country air after—Never mind the after, for didnt I tell you notto mention the Deacon ? Im jealous.She laughed again so joyously that he sat downbeside her, forgetful of the Deacons. He heardonly her laugh, and smiled as he lay back amongthe pillows. He heard only the laugh, he did notsee the quick gleam of indignation in her eyes northe lips that trembled with pity behind the wavinghair. He did not see them, but he felt the strongglow of hope and courage which her presence always brought. Ho had once laughingly told hershe was like a tonic to him.Now, as never before, he longed for an assurance of her understanding, her sympathy—yes—,he felt all his imposed restraint giving way—,herlove. A vision of the close study, the oily flatteryof the Deacon rose before him. His soul sickenedand cried out for what it longed. The words hehad never dared breathe, trembled on his lips, and,with a quick revulsion of feeling, he poured it out,all the longing and despair and pain. He pouredit all out into her palms before he dared stop orlook at her face. And she? She laughed a queer,little, choked laugh with such a strange, new
Source:	http://indstate.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/isuarchive/id/33873
Collection:	Indiana State University Archives

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