eptive, he looked through the mountain gap, as through some
stupendous gateway, on the splendors of autumn; the vast landscape
glamorous in a transparent amethystine haze; the foliage of the dense
primeval wilderness in the October richness of red and russet; the
"hunter's moon," a full sphere of illuminated pearl, high in the blue
east while yet the dull vermilion sun swung westering above the massive
purple heights. He knew how the sap was sinking; that the growths of the
year had now failed; presently all would be shrouded in snow, but only
to rise again in the reassurance of vernal quickening, to glow anew in
the fullness of bloom, to attain eventually the perfection of fruition.
And still he was deaf to the reiterated analogy of death, and blind to
the immanent obvious prophecy of resurrection and the life to come.

His thoughts, as he stood on this jutting crag in Sunrise Gap, were with
a recent "experience meeting" at which he had sought to canvass his
spiritual needs. His demand of a sign from the heavens as evidence of
the existence of the God of revelation, as assurance of the awakening of
divine grace in the human heart, as actual proof that wistful mortality
is inherently endowed with immortality, had electrified this symposium.
Though it was fashionable, so to speak, in this remote cove among the
Great Smoky Mountains, to be repentant in rhetorical involutions and a
self-accuser in fine-spun interpretations of sin, doubt, or more
properly an eager questioning, a desire to possess the sacred mysteries
of religion, was unprecedented. Kennedy was a proud man, reticent,
reserved. Although the old parson, visibly surprised and startled, had
gently invited his full confidence, Kennedy had hastily swallowed his
words, as best he might, perceiving that the congregation had wholly
misinterpreted their true intent and that certain gossips had an unholy
relish of the sensation they had caused.

Thereafter he indulged his poignant longings for the elucidation of the
veiled truths only when, as now, he wandered deep in the woods with his
rifle on his shoulder. He could not have said to-day that he was nearer
an inspiration, a hope, a "leading," than heretofore, but as he stood on
the crag it was with the effect of a dislocation that he was torn from
the solemn theme by an interruption at a vital crisis.

The faint vibrations of a violin stirred the reverent hush of the
landscape in the blended light of the setting sun