Part 7

“Oh, no, I couldn’t bear it to be hers. When I think of her I feel as if I were dying; all my fingers turn cold; I feel dead. Oh, you were only his friend; you don’t know!”

The older spoke softly and quickly, “Don’t you feel a little gentle to her when you think she’s going to be his wife and the mother of his child? I would like to put my arms round her and touch her once, if she would let me. She is so beautiful, they say.”

“Oh, I could never bear to see her; it would kill me. And they are so happy together today! He is loving her so!”

“Don’t you want him to be happy?” The older woman looked down at her. “Have you never loved him, at all?”

The younger woman’s face was covered with her hands. “Oh, it’s so terrible, so dark! and I shall go on living year after year, always in this awful pain! Oh, if I could only die!”

The older woman stood looking into the fire; then slowly and measuredly she said, “There are times, in life, when everything seems dark, when the brain reels, and we cannot see that there is anything but death. But, if we wait long enough, after long, long years, calm comes. It may be we cannot say it was well; but we are contented, we accept the past. The struggle is ended. That day may come for you, perhaps sooner than you think.” She spoke slowly and with difficulty.

“No, it can never come for me. If once I have loved a thing, I love it for ever. I can never forget.”

“Love is not the only end in life. There are other things to live for.”

“Oh, yes, for you! To me love is everything!”

“Now, you must go, dear.”

The younger woman stood up. “It has been such a comfort to talk to you. I think I should have killed myself if I had not come. You help me so. I shall always be grateful to you.”

The older woman took her hand.

“I want to ask something of you.”

“What is it?”

“I cannot quite explain to you. You will not understand. But there are times when something more terrible can come into a life than it should lose what it loves. If you have had a dream of what life ought to be, and you try to make it real, and you fail; and something you have killed out in your heart for long years wakes up and cries, ‘Let each man play his own game, and care nothing for the hand of his fellow! Each man for himself. So the game must be played!’ and you doubt all you have lived for, and the ground seems washing out under your feet--.” She paused. “Such a time has come to me now. If you would promise me that if ever another woman comes to seek your help, you will give it to her, and try to love her for my sake, I think it will help me. I think I should be able to keep my faith.”

“Oh, I will do anything you ask me to. You are so good and great.”

“Oh, good and great!--if you knew! Now go, dear.”

“I have not kept you from your work, have I?”

“No; I have not been working lately. Good-by, dear.”

The younger woman went; and the elder knelt down by the chair, and wailed like a little child when you have struck it and it does not dare to cry loud.

A year after; it was early spring again.

The woman sat at her desk writing; behind her the fire burnt brightly. She was writing a leading article on the causes which in differing peoples lead to the adoption of Free Trade or Protectionist principles.

The woman wrote on quickly. After a while the servant entered and laid a pile of letters on the table. “Tell the boy I shall have done in fifteen minutes.” She wrote on. Then she caught sight of the writing on one of the letters. She put down her pen, and opened it. It ran so:--

“Dear Friend,--I am writing to you, because I know you will rejoice to hear of my great happiness. Do you remember how you told me that day by the fire to wait, and after long, long years I should see that all was for the best? That time has come sooner than we hoped. Last week in Rome I was married to the best, noblest, most large-hearted of men. We are now in Florence together. You don’t know how beautiful all life is to me. I know now that the old passion was only a girl’s foolish dream. My husband is the first man I have ever truly loved. He loves me and understands me as no other man ever could. I am thankful that my dream was broken; God had better things in store for me. I don’t hate that woman any more; I love every one! How are you, dear? We shall come and see you as soon as we arrive in England. I always think of you so happy in your great work and helping other people. I don’t think now it is terrible to be a woman; it is lovely.

“I hope you are enjoying this beautiful spring weather.

“Yours, always full of gratitude and love,

“E--.”

The woman read the letter: then she stood up and walked towards the fire. She did not re-read it, but stood with it open in her hand, looking down into the blaze. Her lips were drawn in at the corners. Presently she tore the letter up slowly, and watched the bits floating down one by one into the grate. Then she went back to her desk, and began to write, with her mouth still drawn in at the corners. After a while she laid her arm on the paper and her head on her arm, and seemed to go to sleep there.