“War ends, and he’s returning
The evening next to-morrow’s!” –
–This I say
To her, whom I suspiciously survey,
Holding my husband’s letter
To her view. –
She glanced at it but lightly,
And I knew
That one from him that day had reached her too.
There was no time for scruple;
I filched her missive, conned it,
Learnt that he
Would lodge with her ere he came home to me.
To reach the port before her,
There wait to intercept them
Soon I planned:
That, in her stead, I might before him stand.
So purposed, so effected;
At the inn
Assigned, I found her hidden:-
O that sin
Should bear what she bore when I entered in!
Her heavy lids grew laden
Her lips made soundless movements
While I peered at the chamber hired as theirs.
And as beside its doorway,
One inside, one withoutside
We two stood,
He came–my husband–as she knew he would.
No pleasurable triumph
Was that sight!
The ghastly disappointment
Broke them quite.
What love was theirs, to move them with such might!
“Madam, forgive me!” said she,
“A child–I soon shall bear him . . .
To tell you–that he won me ere he went.”
Then, as it were, within me
As if my soul had largened:
I saw myself the snarer–them the trapped.
“My hate dies, and I promise,
I said, “to care for you, be
And cherish, and take interest in the child.”
Without more words I pressed him
Through the door
Within which she stood, powerless
To say more,
And closed it on them, and downstairward bore.
“He joins his wife–my sister,”
Remarked in going–lightly –
Even as though
All had come right, and we had arranged it so . . .
As I, my road retracing,
Left them free,
The night alone embracing
I held I had not stirred God wrothfully.