It was a sorry solution of his problem to
feel that he was unloved, and even while he recognized its efficacy, he
prayed that it might not be so.
His heavy heart did not retard the progress of his statue or make its
beauty indifferent. The more he suffered the greater the passion in
the face. He labored daily and tirelessly.
But day by day he looked, unseen, on his love in the valley, and the
oftener he looked the more irresolute he grew. The conflict between
his heart and his reason was gradually shifting in favor of his love.
His longing, as it continued to crave, grew from hunger to starving,
and though his reason pointed to disastrous results, his heart
justified itself in the blind cry, "Rachel, Rachel!"
He had endured a month before his fortitude succumbed entirely. Once
near sunset, as Rachel was proceeding toward the camp from some helpful
mission to the quarries, she caught the fragments of a song, so
distantly and absently sung that she could not locate it. There were
singers among the Israelites, but they sang with wild exultation and
more care for the sense than the melody. They had cultivated the chant
and forgotten the lyric, because they had more heart for prophecy than
passion.
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