"Oh, my fear! my fear! Why was I blind so long?"
I felt her grief to my heart's core; for my own anguish made me pitiful,
and my love made me strong. I lifted up that drooping head and laid it
down where it might never rest again, saying, gently, cheerily, and with
a most sincere forgetfulness of self,--
"My wife, I never cherished a harsh thought of you, never uttered a
reproach when your affections turned from a cold, neglectful guardian,
to find a tenderer resting-place. I saw your struggles, dear, your
patient grief, your silent sacrifice, and honored you more truly than I
can tell. Effie, I robbed you of your liberty, but I will restore it,
making such poor reparation as I can for this long year of pain;
and when I see you blest in a happier home, my keen remorse will be
appeased."
As I ceased, Effie rose erect and stood before me, transformed from a
timid girl into an earnest woman. Some dormant power and passion woke;
she turned on me a countenance aglow with feeling, soul in the eye,
heart on the lips, and in her voice an energy that held me mute.
"I feared to speak before," she said, "but now I dare anything, for I
have heard you call me 'wife,' and seen that in your face which gives me
hope. Basil, the grief you saw was not for the loss of any love
but yours; the conflict you beheld was the daily struggle to subdue
my longing spirit to your will; and the sacrifice you honor but the
renunciation of all hope. I stood between you and the woman whom you
loved, and asked of death to free me from that cruel lot. You gave me
back my life, but you withheld the gift that made it worth possessing.
You desired to be freed from the affection which only wearied you, and I
tried to conquer it; but it would not die. Let me speak now, and then I
will be still forever! Must our ways lie apart? Can I never be more to
you than now? Oh, Basil! oh, my husband! I have loved you very truly
from the first! Shall I never know the blessedness of a return?"
Words could not answer that appeal. I gathered my life's happiness close
to my breast, and in the silence of a full heart felt that God was very
good to me.
Soon all my pain and passion were confessed. Fast and fervently the tale
was told; and as the truth dawned on that patient wife, a tender peace
transfigured her uplifted countenance, until to me it seemed an angel's
face.
"I am a poor man now," I said, still holding that frail creature fast,
fearing to see her vanish, as her semblance had so often done in the
long vigils I had kept,--"a poor man, Effie, and yet very rich, for I
have my treasure back again. But I am wiser than when we parted; for I
have learned that love is better than a world of wealth, and victory
over self a nobler conquest than a continent. Dear, I have no home but
this. Can you be happy here, with no fortune but the little store set
apart for you, and the knowledge that no want shall touch you while I
live?"
And as I spoke, I sighed, remembering all I might have done, and
dreading poverty for her alone.
But with a gesture, soft, yet solemn, Effie laid her hands upon my head,
as if endowing me with blessing and with gift, and answered, with her
steadfast eyes on mine,--
"You gave me your home when I was homeless; let me give it back, and
with it a proud wife. I, too, am rich; for that old man is gone and left
me all. Take it, Basil, and give me a little love."
I gave not little, but a long life of devotion for the good gift God had
bestowed on me,--finding in it a household spirit the daily benediction
of whose presence banished sorrow, selfishness, and gloom, and, through
the influence of happy human love, led me to a truer faith in the
Divine.