Read Ebook: Maurine and Other Poems by Wilcox Ella Wheeler

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Ebook has 415 lines and 34078 words, and 9 pages

Whatever Vivian had was of the best. His room was like some Sultan's in the East. His board was always spread as for a feast, Whereat, each meal, he was both host and guest. He would go hungry sooner than he'd dine At his own table if 'twere illy set. He so loved things artistic in design - Order and beauty, all about him. Yet So kind he was, if it befell his lot To dine within the humble peasant's cot, He made it seem his native soil to be, And thus displayed the true gentility.

Under the rosy banners of the Dawn, Around the lake we drifted on, and on. It was a time for dreams, and not for speech. And so we floated on in silence, each Weaving the fancies suiting such a day. Helen leaned idly o'er the sail-boat's side, And dipped her rosy fingers in the tide; And I among the cushions half reclined, Half sat, and watched the fleecy clouds at play, While Vivian with his blank-book, opposite, In which he seemed to either sketch or write, Was lost in inspiration of some kind.

No time, no change, no scene, can e'er efface My mind's impression of that hour and place; It stands out like a picture. O'er the years, Black with their robes of sorrow--veiled with tears, Lying with all their lengthened shapes between, Untouched, undimmed, I still behold that scene. Just as the last of Indian-summer days, Replete with sunlight, crowned with amber haze, Followed by dark and desolate December, Through all the months of winter we remember.

The sun slipped westward. That peculiar change Which creeps into the air, and speaks of night While yet the day is full of golden light, We felt steal o'er us. Vivian broke the spell Of dream-fraught silence, throwing down his book: "Young ladies, please allow me to arrange These wraps about your shoulders. I know well The fickle nature of our atmosphere, - Her smile swift followed by a frown or tear, - And go prepared for changes. Now you look, Like--like--oh, where's a pretty simile? Had you a pocket mirror here you'd see How well my native talent is displayed In shawling you. Red on the brunette maid; Blue on the blonde--and quite without design Well--like a June rose and a violet blue In one bouquet! I fancy that will do. And now I crave your patience and a boon, Which is to listen, while I read my rhyme, A floating fancy of the summer time. 'Tis neither witty, wonderful, nor wise, So listen kindly--but don't criticise My maiden effort of the afternoon:

"If all the ships I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the harbour could not hold So many sails as there would be If all my ships came in from sea.

"If half my ships came home from sea, And brought their precious freight to me, Ah, well! I should have wealth as great As any king who sits in state - So rich the treasures that would be In half my ships now out at sea.

"If just one ship I have at sea Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah, well! the storm-clouds then might frown: For if the others all went down Still rich and proud and glad I'd be, If that one ship came back to me.

"If that one ship went down at sea, And all the others came to me, Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, With glory, honour, riches, gold, The poorest soul on earth I'd be If that one ship came not to me.

"O skies be calm! O winds blow free - Blow all my ships safe home to me. But if thou sendest some a-wrack To never more come sailing back, Send any--all that skim the sea, But bring my love-ship home to me."

Helen was leaning by me, and her head Rested against my shoulder: as he read, I stroked her hair, and watched the fleecy skies, And when he finished, did not turn my eyes. I felt too happy and too shy to meet His gaze just then. I said, "'Tis very sweet, And suits the day; does it not, Helen, dear?" But Helen, voiceless, did not seem to hear. "'Tis strange," I added, "how you poets sing So feelingly about the very thing You care not for! and dress up an ideal So well, it looks a living, breathing real! Now, to a listener, your love song seemed A heart's out-pouring; yet I've heard you say Almost the opposite; or that you deemed Position, honour, glory, power, fame, Gained without loss of conscience or good name, The things to live for." "Have you? Well, you may," Laughed Vivian, "but 'twas years--or months' ago! And Solomon says wise men change, you know! I now speak truth! if she I hold most dear Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, My heart would find the years more lonely here Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft, And sent, an exile, to a foreign land." His voice was low, and measured: as he spoke, New, unknown chords of melody awoke Within my soul. I felt my heart expand With that sweet fulness born of love. I turned To hide the blushes on my cheek that burned, And leaning over Helen, breathed her name. She lay so motionless I thought she slept: But, as I spoke, I saw her eyes unclose, And o'er her face a sudden glory swept, And a slight tremor thrilled all through her frame. "Sweet friend," I said, "your face is full of light What were the dreams that made your eyes so bright?" She only smiled for answer, and arose From her reclining posture at my side, Threw back the clust'ring ringlets from her face With a quick gesture, full of easy grace, And, turning, spoke to Vivian. "Will you guide The boat up near that little clump of green Off to the right? There's where the lilies grow. We quite forgot our errand here, Maurine, And our few moments have grown into hours. What will Aunt Ruth think of our ling'ring so? There--that will do--now I can reach the flowers."

"Hark! just hear that!" and Vivian broke forth singing, "'Row, brothers, row.' The six o'clock bell's ringing! Who ever knew three hours to go so fast In all the annals of the world, before? I could have sworn not over one had passed. Young ladies, I am forced to go ashore! I thank you for the pleasure you have given; This afternoon has been a glimpse of heaven. Good-night--sweet dreams! and by your gracious leave, I'll pay my compliments to-morrow eve."

A smile, a bow, and he had gone his way: And, in the waning glory of the day, Down cool, green lanes, and through the length'ning shadows, Silent, we wandered back across the meadows. The wreath was finished, and adorned my room; Long afterward, the lilies' copied bloom Was like a horrid spectre in my sight, Staring upon me morning, noon, and night.

The sun went down. The sad new moon rose up, And passed before me like an empty cup, The Great Unseen brims full of pain or bliss, And gives His children, saying, "Drink of this."

A light wind, from the open casement, fanned My brow and Helen's, as we, hand in hand, Sat looking out upon the twilight scene, In dreamy silence. Helen's dark-blue eyes, Like two lost stars that wandered from the skies Some night adown the meteor's shining track, And always had been grieving to go back, Now gazed up, wistfully, at heaven's dome, And seemed to recognise and long for home. Her sweet voice broke the silence: "Wish, Maurine, Before you speak! you know the moon is new, And anything you wish for will come true Before it wanes. I do believe the sign! Now tell me your wish, and I'll tell you mine."

I turned and looked up at the slim young moon; And, with an almost superstitious heart, I sighed, "Oh, new moon! help me, by thine art, To grow all grace and goodness, and to be Worthy the love a true heart proffers me." Then smiling down, I said, "Dear one! my boon, I fear, is quite too silly or too sweet For my repeating: so we'll let it stay Between the moon and me. But if I may I'll listen now to your wish. Tell me, please!"

All suddenly she nestled at my feet, And hid her blushing face upon my knees. Then drew my hand against her glowing cheek, And, leaning on my breast, began to speak, Half sighing out the words my tortured ear Reached down to catch, while striving not to hear.

"Can you not guess who 'twas about, Maurine? Oh, my sweet friend! you must ere this have seen The love I tried to cover from all eyes And from myself. Ah, foolish little heart! As well it might go seeking for some art Whereby to hide the sun in noonday skies. When first the strange sound of his voice I heard, Looked on his noble face, and, touched his hand, My slumb'ring heart thrilled through and through and stirred As if to say, 'I hear, and understand.' And day by day mine eyes were blest beholding The inner beauty of his life, unfolding In countless words and actions that portrayed The noble stuff of which his soul was made. And more and more I felt my heart upreaching Toward the truth, drawn gently by his teaching, As flowers are drawn by sunlight. And there grew A strange, shy something in its depths, I knew At length was love, because it was so sad And yet so sweet, and made my heart so glad, Yet seemed to pain me. Then, for very shame, Lest all should read my secret and its name, I strove to hide it in my breast away, Where God could see it only. But each day It seemed to grow within me, and would rise, Like my own soul, and look forth from my eyes, Defying bonds of silence; and would speak, In its red-lettered language, on my cheek, If but his name was uttered. You were kind, My own Maurine! as you alone could be, So long the sharer of my heart and mind, While yet you saw, in seeming not to see. In all the years we have been friends, my own, And loved as women very rarely do, My heart no sorrow and no joy has known It has not shared at once, in full, with you. And I so longed to speak to you of this, When first I felt its mingled pain and bliss; Yet dared not, lest you, knowing him, should say, In pity for my folly--'Lack-a-day! You are undone: because no mortal art Can win the love of such a lofty heart.' And so I waited, silent and in pain, Till I could know I did not love in vain. And now I know, beyond a doubt or fear. Did he not say, 'If she I hold most dear Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, My heart would find the years more lonely here Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft, And sent, an exile, to a foreign land'? Oh, darling, you must LOVE, to understand The joy that thrilled all through me at those words. It was as if a thousand singing birds Within my heart broke forth in notes of praise. I did not look up, but I knew his gaze Was on my face, and that his eyes must see The joy I felt almost transfigured me. He loves me--loves me! so the birds kept singing, And all my soul with that sweet strain is ringing. If there were added but one drop of bliss, No more my cup would hold: and so, this eve, I made a wish that I might feel his kiss Upon my lips, ere yon pale moon should leave The stars all lonely, having waned away, Too old and weak and bowed with care to stay."

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."

I kissed her lips, and held her on my heart, And viewed her as I ne'er had done before. I gazed upon her features o'er and o'er; Marked her white, tender face--her fragile form, Like some frail plant that withers in the storm; Saw she was fairer in her new-found joy Than e'er before; and thought, "Can I destroy God's handiwork, or leave it at the best A broken harp, while I close clasp my bliss?" I bent my head and gave her one last kiss, And sought my room, and found there such relief As sad hearts feel when first alone with grief.

The moon went down, slow sailing from my sight, And left the stars to watch away the night. O stars, sweet stars, so changeless and serene! What depths of woe your pitying eyes have seen! The proud sun sets, and leaves us with our sorrow, To grope alone in darkness till the morrow. The languid moon, e'en if she deigns to rise, Soon seeks her couch, grown weary of our sighs; But from the early gloaming till the day Sends golden-liveried heralds forth to say He comes in might; the patient stars shine on, Steadfast and faithful, from twilight to dawn. And, as they shone upon Gethsemane, And watched the struggle of a God-like soul, Now from the same far height they shone on me, And saw the waves of anguish o'er me roll.

The storm had come upon me all unseen: No sound of thunder fell upon my ear; No cloud arose to tell me it was near; But under skies all sunlit, and serene, I floated with the current of the stream, And thought life all one golden-haloed dream. When lo! a hurricane, with awful force, Swept swift upon its devastating course, Wrecked my frail bark, and cast me on the wave Where all my hopes had found a sudden grave. Love makes us blind and selfish; otherwise I had seen Helen's secret in her eyes; So used I was to reading every look In her sweet face, as I would read a book. But now, made sightless by love's blinding rays, I had gone on unseeing, to the end Where Pain dispelled the mist of golden haze That walled me in, and lo! I found my friend Who journeyed with me--at my very side - Had been sore wounded to the heart, while I, Both deaf and blind, saw not, nor heard her cry. And then I sobbed, "O God! I would have died To save her this." And as I cried in pain, There leaped forth from the still, white realm of Thought Where Conscience dwells, that unimpassioned spot As widely different from the heart's domain As north from south--the impulse felt before, And put away; but now it rose once more, In greater strength, and said, "Heart, wouldst thou prove What lips have uttered? Then go, lay thy love On Friendship's altar, as thy offering." "Nay!" cried my heart, "ask any other thing - Ask life itself--'twere easier sacrifice. But ask not love, for that I cannot give."

"But," spoke the voice, "the meanest insect dies, And is no hero! heroes dare to live When all that makes life sweet is snatched away." So with my heart, in converse, till the day, In gold and crimson billows, rose and broke, The voice of Conscience, all unwearied, spoke. Love warred with Friendship, heart with Conscience fought, Hours rolled away, and yet the end was not. And wily Self, tricked out like tenderness, Sighed, "Think how one, whose life thou wert to bless, Will be cast down, and grope in doubt and fear! Wouldst thou wound him, to give thy friend relief? Can wrong make right?" "Nay!" Conscience said, "but Pride And Time can heal the saddest hurts of Love. While Friendship's wounds gape wide and yet more wide, And bitter fountains of the spirit prove."

At length, exhausted with the wearing strife, I cast the new-found burden of my life On God's broad breast, and sought that deep repose That only he who watched with sorrow knows.

PART IV

"Maurine, Maurine, 'tis ten o'clock! arise, My pretty sluggard, open those dark eyes And see where yonder sun is! Do you know I made my toilet just four hours ago?"

'Twas Helen's voice: and Helen's gentle kiss Fell on my cheek. As from a deep abyss, I drew my weary self from that strange sleep That rests not nor refreshes. Scarce awake Or conscious, yet there seemed a heavy weight Bound on my breast, as by a cruel Fate. I knew not why, and yet I longed to weep. Some dark cloud seemed to hang upon the day; And, for a moment, in that trance I lay, When suddenly the truth did o'er me break, Like some great wave upon a helpless child. The dull pain in my breast grew like a knife - The heavy throbbing of my heart grew wild, And God gave back the burden of the life He kept what time I slumbered. "You are ill," Cried Helen, "with that blinding headache still! You look so pale and weary. Now let me Play nurse, Maurine, and care for you to-day! And first I'll suit some dainty to your taste, And bring it to you, with a cup of tea." And off she ran, not waiting my reply. But, wanting most the sunshine and the light, I left my couch, and clothed myself in haste, And, kneeling, sent to God an earnest cry For help and guidance. "Show Thou me the way, Where duty leads, for I am blind! my sight Obscured by self. Oh, lead my steps aright! Help me see the path: and if it may, Let this cup pass:- and yet, Thou heavenly One, Thy will in all things, not mine own, be done." Rising, I went upon my way, receiving The strength prayer gives alway to hearts believing. I felt that unseen hands were leading me, And knew the end was peace.

"What! are you up?" Cried Helen, coming with a tray, and cup, Of tender toast and fragrant, smoking tea. "You naughty girl! you should have stayed in bed Until you ate your breakfast, and were better; I've something hidden for you here--a letter. But drink your tea before you read it, dear! 'Tis from some distant cousin, auntie said, And so you need not hurry. Now be good, And mind your Helen."

So, in passive mood, I laid the still unopened letter near, And loitered at my breakfast more to please My nurse, than any hunger to appease. Then listlessly I broke the seal and read The few lines written in a bold free hand: "New London, Canada. Dear Coz. Maurine! I'm coming to see you! honestly, in truth! I've threatened often--now I mean to act; You'll find my coming is a stubborn fact. Keep quiet, though, and do not tell Aunt Ruth. I wonder if she'll know her petted boy In spite of changes? Look for me until You see me coming. As of old I'm still Your faithful friend, and loving cousin, Roy."

So Roy was coming! He and I had played As boy and girl, and later, youth and maid, Full half our lives together. He had been, Like me, an orphan; and the roof of kin Gave both kind shelter. Swift years sped away Ere change was felt: and then one summer day A long-lost uncle sailed from India's shore - Made Roy his heir, and he was ours no more.

Sometimes it happens, in this world so strange, A human heart will pass through mortal strife, And writhe in torture: while the old sweet life, So full of hope and beauty, bloom and grace, Is slowly strangled by remorseless Pain: And one stern, cold, relentless, takes its place - A ghastly, pallid spectre of the slain. Yet those in daily converse see no change Nor dream the heart has suffered. So that day I passed along toward the troubled way Stern duty pointed, and no mortal guessed A mighty conflict had disturbed my breast.

I had resolved to yield up to my friend The man I loved. Since she, too, loved him so I saw no other way in honour left. She was so weak and fragile, once bereft Of this great hope, that held her with such power, She would wilt down, like some frost-bitten flower, And swift, untimely death would be the end. But I was strong; and hardy plants, which grow In out-door soil, can bear bleak winds that blow From Arctic lands, whereof a single breath Would lay the hot-house blossom low in death.

The hours went by, too slow, and yet too fast. All day I argued with my foolish heart That bade me play the shrinking coward's part And hide from pain. And when the day had past And time for Vivian's call drew near and nearer, It pleaded, "Wait until the way seems clearer; Say you are ill--or busy; keep away Until you gather strength enough to play The part you have resolved on."

That eve I know not what I did or said. I was not cold--my manner was not strange; Perchance I talked more freely than my wont, But in my speech was naught could give affront; Yet I conveyed, as only woman can, That nameless SOMETHING which bespeaks a chance.

That evening passed with music, chat, and song, But hours that once had flown on airy wings Now limped on weary, aching limbs along, Each moment like some dreaded step that brings A twinge of pain. As Vivian rose to go, Slow bending to me from his greater height, He took my hand, and, looking in my eyes, With tender questioning and pained surprise, Said, "Maurine, you are not yourself to-night; What is it? Are you ailing?" "Ailing? No," I answered, laughing lightly, "I am not; Just see my cheek, sir--is it thin, or pale? Now, tell me, am I looking very frail?" "Nay, nay," he answered, "it cannot be SEEN, The change I speak of--'twas more in your mien - Preoccupation, or--I know not what! Miss Helen, am I wrong, or does Maurine Seem to have something on her mind this eve?" "She does," laughed Helen, "and I do believe I know what 'tis! A letter came to-day Which she read slyly, and then hid away Close to her heart, not knowing I was near, And since she's been as you have seen her here. See how she blushes! so my random shot We must believe has struck a tender spot."

Her rippling laughter floated through the room, And redder yet I felt the hot blood rise, Then surge away, to leave me pale as death Under the dark and swiftly gathering gloom Of Vivian's questioning, accusing eyes, That searched my soul. I almost shrieked beneath That stern, fixed gaze, and stood spellbound until He turned with sudden movement, gave his hand To each in turn, and said: "You must not stand Longer, young ladies, in this open door. The air is heavy with a cold, damp chill. We shall have rain to-morrow, or before. Good-night."

He vanished in the darkling shade; And so the dreaded evening found an end, That saw me grasp the conscience-whetted blade, And strike a blow for honour and for friend.

Two days, all sad with lonely wind and rain, Went sobbing by, repeating o'er and o'er The miserere, desolate and drear, Which every human heart must sometime hear. Pain is but little varied. Its refrain, Whate'er the words are, is for aye the same. The third day brought a change, for with it came Not only sunny smiles to Nature's face, But Roy, our Roy came back to us. Once more We looked into his laughing, handsome eyes, Which, while they gave Aunt Ruth a glad surprise In no way puzzled her, for one glance told What each succeeding one confirmed, that he Who bent above her with the lissome grace Of his fine form, though grown so tall, could be No other than the Roy Montaine of old.

It was a sweet reunion, and he brought So much of sunshine with him that I caught, Just from his smile alone, enough of gladness To make my heart forget a time its sadness. We talked together of the dear old days: Leaving the present, with its depths and heights Of life's maturer sorrows and delights, I turned back to my childhood's level land, And Roy and I, dear playmates, hand in hand, Wandered in mem'ry through the olden ways.

It was the second evening of his coming. Helen was playing dreamily, and humming Some wordless melody of white-souled thought, While Roy and I sat by the open door, Re-living childish incidents of yore. My eyes were glowing, and my cheeks were hot With warm young blood; excitement, joy, or pain Alike would send swift coursing through each vein. Roy, always eloquent, was waxing fine, And bringing vividly before my gaze Some old adventure of those halcyon days, When suddenly, in pauses of the talk, I heard a well-known step upon the walk, And looked up quickly to meet full in mine The eyes of Vivian Dangerfield. A flash Shot from their depths:- a sudden blaze of light Like that swift followed by the thunder's crash, Which said, "Suspicion is confirmed by sight," As they fell on the pleasant doorway scene. Then o'er his clear-cut face a cold, white look Crept, like the pallid moonlight o'er a brook, And, with a slight, proud bending of the head, He stepped toward us haughtily, and said: "Please pardon my intrusion, Miss Maurine, I called to ask Miss Trevor for a book She spoke of lending me; nay, sit you still, And I, by grant of your permission, will Pass by to where I hear her playing." "Stay," I said, "one moment, Vivian, if you please;" And suddenly bereft of all my ease, And scarcely knowing what to do or say, Confused as any schoolgirl, I arose, And some way made each to the other known. They bowed, shook hands, then Vivian turned away And sought out Helen, leaving us alone.

"One of Miss Trevor's or of Maurine's beaux? Which may he be, who cometh like a prince With haughty bearing and an eagle eye?" Roy queried, laughing; and I answered, "Since You saw him pass me for Miss Trevor's side, I leave your own good judgment to reply."

And straightway caused the tide of talk to glide In other channels, striving to dispel The sudden gloom that o'er my spirit fell.

We mortals are such hypocrites at best! When Conscience tries our courage with a test, And points to some steep pathway, we set out Boldly, denying any fear or doubt; But pause before the first rock in the way, And, looking back, with tears, at Conscience, say: "We are so sad, dear Conscience! for we would Most gladly do what to thee seemeth good; But lo! this rock! we cannot climb it, so Thou must point out some other way to go." Yet secretly we are rejoicing: and, When right before our faces, as we stand In seeming grief, the rock is cleft in twain, Leaving the pathway clear, we shrink in pain, And, loth to go, by every act reveal What we so tried from Conscience to conceal.

I saw that hour, the way made plain, to do With scarce an effort what had seemed a strife That would require the strength of my whole life.

Women have quick perceptions, and I knew That Vivian's heart was full of jealous pain, Suspecting--nay, BELIEVING--Roy Montaine To be my lover. First my altered mien - And next the letter--then the doorway scene - My flushed face gazing in the one above That bent so near me, and my strange confusion When Vivian came all led to one conclusion: That I had but been playing with his love, As women sometimes cruelly do play With hearts when their true lovers are away.

There could be nothing easier than just To let him linger on in this belief Till hourly-fed Suspicion and Distrust Should turn to scorn and anger all his grief. Compared with me, so doubly sweet and pure Would Helen seem, my purpose would be sure And certain of completion in the end. But now, the way was made so straight and clear, My coward heart shrank back in guilty fear, Till Conscience whispered with her "still small voice," "The precious time is passing--make thy choice - Resign thy love, or slay thy trusting friend."

The growing moon, watched by the myriad eyes Of countless stars, went sailing through the skies, Like some young prince, rising to rule a nation, To whom all eyes are turned in expectation. A woman who possesses tact and art And strength of will can take the hand of doom, And walk on, smiling sweetly as she goes, With rosy lips, and rounded cheeks of bloom, Cheating a loud-tongued world that never knows The pain and sorrow of her hidden heart. And so I joined in Roy's bright changing chat; Answered his sallies--talked of this and that, My brow unruffled as the calm, still wave That tells not of the wrecked ship, and the grave Beneath its surface. Then we heard, ere long, The sound of Helen's gentle voice in song, And, rising, entered where the subtle power Of Vivian's eyes, forgiving while accusing, Finding me weak, had won me, in that hour; But Roy, always polite and debonair Where ladies were, now hung about my chair With nameless delicate attentions, using That air devotional, and those small arts Acquaintance with society imparts To men gallant by nature. 'Twas my sex And not myself he bowed to. Had my place Been filled that evening by a dowager Twice his own age, he would have given her The same attentions. But they served to vex Whatever hope in Vivian's heart remained. The cold, white look crept back upon his face, Which told how deeply he was hurt and pained.

Little by little all things had conspired To bring events I dreaded, yet desired. We were in constant intercourse: walks, rides, Picnics and sails, filled weeks of golden weather, And almost hourly we were thrown together. No words were spoken of rebuke or scorn: Good friends we seemed. But as a gulf divides This land and that, though lying side by side, So rolled a gulf between us--deep and wide - The gulf of doubt, which widened slowly morn And noon and night.

Free and informal were These picnics and excursions. Yet, although Helen and I would sometimes choose to go Without our escorts, leaving them quite free, It happened alway Roy would seek out me Ere passed the day, while Vivian walked with her. I had no thought of flirting. Roy was just Like some dear brother, and I quite forgot The kinship was so distant it was not Safe to rely upon in perfect trust, Without reserve or caution. Many a time, When there was some steep mountain-side to climb And I grew weary, he would say, "Maurine, Come rest you here." And I would go and lean My head upon his shoulder, or would stand And let him hold in his my willing hand, The while he stroked it gently with his own. Or I would let him clasp me with his arm, Nor entertained a thought of any harm, Nor once supposed but Vivian was alone In his suspicions. But ere long the truth I learned in consternation! both Aunt Ruth And Helen honestly, in faith, believed That Roy and I were lovers.

Undeceived, Some careless words might open Vivian's eyes And spoil my plans. So reasoning in this wise, To all their sallies I in jest replied, To naught assented, and yet naught denied, With Roy unchanged remaining, confident Each understood just what the other meant.

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