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Her voice sighed in silence. While she spoke
My heart writhed in me, praying she would cease –
Each word she uttered falling like a stroke
On my bare soul. And now a hush like death,
Save that ’twas broken by a quick-drawn breath,
Fell ’round me, but brought not the hoped-for peace.
For when the lash no longer leaves its blows,
The flesh still quivers, and the blood still flows.

She nestled on my bosom like a child,
And ‘neath her head my tortured heart throbbed wild
With pain and pity. She had told her tale –
Her self-deceiving story to the end.
How could I look down on her as she lay
So fair, and sweet, and lily-like, and frail –
A tender blossom on my breast, and say,
“Nay, you are wrong–you do mistake, dear friend!
‘Tis I am loved, not you”? Yet that were truth,
And she must know it later.
Should I speak,
And spread a ghastly pallor o’er the cheek
Flushed now with joy? And while I, doubting pondered,
She spoke again. “Maurine! I oft have wondered
Why you and Vivian were not lovers. He
Is all a heart could ask its king to be;
And you have beauty, intellect and youth.
I think it strange you have not loved each other –
Strange how he could pass by you for another
Not half so fair or worthy. Yet I know
A loving Father pre-arranged it so.
I think my heart has known him all these years,
And waited for him. And if when he came
It had been as a lover of my friend,
I should have recognised him, all the same,
As my soul-mate, and loved him to the end,
Hiding my grief, and forcing back my tears
Till on my heart, slow dropping, day by day,
Unseen they fell, and wore it all away.
And so a tender Father kept him free,
With all the largeness of his love, for me –
For me, unworthy such a precious gift!
Yet I will bend each effort of my life
To grow in grace and goodness, and to lift
My soul and spirit to his lofty height,
So to deserve that holy name, his wife.
Sweet friend, it fills my whole heart with delight
To breathe its long hid secret in your ear.
Speak, my Maurine, and say you love to hear!”

The while she spoke, my active brain gave rise
To one great thought of mighty sacrifice
And self-denial. Oh! it blanched my cheek,
And wrung my soul; and from my heart it drove
All life and feeling. Coward-like, I strove
To send it from me; but I felt it cling
And hold fast on my mind like some live thing;
And all the Self within me felt its touch
And cried, “No, no! I cannot do so much –
I am not strong enough–there is no call.”
And then the voice of Helen bade me speak,
And with a calmness born of nerve, I said,
Scarce knowing what I uttered, “Sweetheart, all
Your joys and sorrows are with mine own wed.
I thank you for your confidence, and pray
I may deserve it always. But, dear one,
Something–perhaps our boat-ride in the sun –
Has set my head to aching. I must go
To bed directly; and you will, I know,
Grant me your pardon, and another day
We’ll talk of this together. Now good-night,
And angels guard you with their wings of light.”