- end_line
- 4966
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 4937
- text
- through that strange coincidence, he now perfectly knew his mother's
mind, and had received forewarnings, as if from heaven, not to make any
present disclosure to her. That was in the morning; and now, at eve
catching a glimpse of the house where Isabel was harboring, at once he
recognized it as the rented farm-house of old Walter Ulver, father to
the self-same Delly, forever ruined through the cruel arts of Ned.
Strangest feelings, almost supernatural, now stole into Pierre. With
little power to touch with awe the souls of less susceptible,
reflective, and poetic beings, such coincidences, however frequently
they may recur, ever fill the finer organization with sensations which
transcend all verbal renderings. They take hold of life's subtlest
problem. With the lightning's flash, the query is spontaneously
propounded--chance, or God? If too, the mind thus influenced be likewise
a prey to any settled grief, then on all sides the query magnifies, and
at last takes in the all-comprehending round of things. For ever is it
seen, that sincere souls in suffering, then most ponder upon final
causes. The heart, stirred to its depths, finds correlative sympathy in
the head, which likewise is profoundly moved. Before miserable men, when
intellectual, all the ages of the world pass as in a manacled
procession, and all their myriad links rattle in the mournful mystery.
Pacing beneath the long-skirting shadows of the elevated wood, waiting
for the appointed hour to come, Pierre strangely strove to imagine to
himself the scene which was destined to ensue. But imagination utterly
failed him here; the reality was too real for him; only the face, the
face alone now visited him; and so accustomed had he been of late to
confound it with the shapes of air, that he almost trembled when he
thought that face to face, that face must shortly meet his own.
- title
- Chunk 3