eternal outcome was in
other hands than ours.

XXIV

_The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH_

I was strongly inclined to accept the call. Not that I liked changes,
for heart vines bleed freely when uptorn, and friendship's stocks cannot
be bought on margin. But my heart was heavy, and St. Cuthbert's had been
sorely wounded. Therefore, when the South Carolina church opened
correspondence with me regarding their vacant pulpit, I lent an
attentive ear.

All who have known sorrow in their work know how sweet sounds the voice,
even the siren voice, which calls to distant scenes of toil. The world's
weary heart will some day learn that no far-leading path, no journey by
land or sea can separate us from the sorrow we seek to flee; because no
path hath been discovered, no route devised, which shall lead us forth
from our own hearts, where sorrow hath her lair.

Nevertheless, I was strongly minded to go forth from the work which had
become my very life. It is nature's favourite paradox that what we love
the most, the most hath power to give us pain. Could we withhold our
love, no hand could wound us sorely, for it takes a friend to make an
enemy worth the name. And since I loved St. Cuthbert's with that love
which only sacrifice can know, I was oppressed with a corresponding fear
that her frown would quench whatever glimmer of gladness still flickered
in my heart. For I had almost forgotten that ever I was glad. And is it
to be wondered at?

My daughter's love was fixed upon a man whom I deemed impossible, though
by no fault of his. She had renounced all purpose of their immediate
union in deference to her father's protest, but her love was fixed upon
him still, and her father felt like one who was beating back the spring.
Her mother was torn with the torment of an armed neutrality. Further, my
beautiful church had been scarred by the explosive riot of that
ordination day, stricken with a soul's lightning; and the whole tragedy
of our home life had been laid bare to every eye.

Margaret, and her love, and her lover, and her lover's genealogy, and
her father's forbiddal of their marriage, all these were daily herbs to
those who loved us, daily bread to native gossip-mongers, and daily
luxury to all who wished us ill. My attitude towards Margaret's lover,
and whether that attitude was right or wrong, was the especial subject
of debate and all New Jedboro abandoned itself to a carnival of
judgment. Even the most pious and indulge