“Yet came it, to my gladness,
That, as vowed,
He did return.—But sadness
Swiftly cowed
The job with which my greeting was endowed.
“Some woe was there. Estrangement
Marked his mind.
Each welcome-warm arrangement
I had designed
Touched him no more than deeds of careless kind.
“‘I—_failed_!’ escaped him glumly.
‘—I went on
In my old part. But dumbly—
Memory gone—
Advancing, I sank sick; my vision drawn
“‘To something drear, distressing
As the knell
Of all hopes worth possessing!’ . . .
—What befell
Seemed linked with me, but how I could not tell.
“Hours passed; till I implored him,
As he knew
How faith and frankness toward him
Ruled me through,
To say what ill I had done, and could undo.
“‘_Faith—frankness_. Ah! Heaven save such!’
Murmured he,
‘They are wedded wealth! _I_ gave such
Liberally,
But you, Dear, not. For you suspected me.’
“I was about beseeching
In hurt haste
More meaning, when he, reaching
To my waist,
Led me to pace the hall as once we paced.
“‘I never meant to draw you
To own all,’
Declared he. ‘But—I _saw_ you—
By the wall,
Half-hid. And that was why I failed withal!’
“‘Where? when?’ said I—‘Why, nigh me,
At the play
That night. That you should spy me,
Doubt my fay,
And follow, furtive, took my heart away!’
“That I had never been there,
But had gone
To my locked room—unseen there,
Curtains drawn,
Long days abiding—told I, wonder-wan.
“‘Nay, ’twas your form and vesture,
Cloak and gown,
Your hooded features—gesture
Half in frown,
That faced me, pale,’ he urged, ‘that night in town.
“‘And when, outside, I handed
To her chair
(As courtesy demanded
Of me there)
The leading lady, you peeped from the stair.
“Straight pleaded I: ‘Forsooth, Love,
Had I gone,
I must have been in truth, Love,
Mad to don
Such well-known raiment.’ But he still went on
“That he was not mistaken
Nor misled.—
I felt like one forsaken,
Wished me dead,
That he could think thus of the wife he had wed!
“His going seemed to waste him
Like a curse,
To wreck what once had graced him;
And, averse
To my approach, he mused, and moped, and worse.
“Till, what no words effected
Thought achieved:
_It was my wraith_—projected,
He conceived,
Thither, by my tense brain at home aggrieved.
“Thereon his credence centred
Till he died;
And, no more tempted, entered
Sanctified,
The little vault with room for one beside.”