A Wife and Another

&nbsp "War ends, and he's returning
&nbsp       &nbsp Early; yea,
&nbsp The evening next to-morrow's!" -
&nbsp       &nbsp —This I say
To her, whom I suspiciously survey,

&nbsp Holding my husband's letter
&nbsp       &nbsp To her view. -
&nbsp She glanced at it but lightly,
&nbsp       &nbsp And I knew
That one from him that day had reached her too.

&nbsp There was no time for scruple;
&nbsp       &nbsp Secretly
&nbsp I filched her missive, conned it,
&nbsp       &nbsp Learnt that he
Would lodge with her ere he came home to me.

&nbsp To reach the port before her,
&nbsp       &nbsp And, unscanned,
&nbsp There wait to intercept them
&nbsp       &nbsp Soon I planned:
That, in her stead, I might before him stand.

&nbsp So purposed, so effected;
&nbsp       &nbsp At the inn
&nbsp Assigned, I found her hidden:-
&nbsp       &nbsp O that sin
Should bear what she bore when I entered in!

&nbsp Her heavy lids grew laden
&nbsp       &nbsp With despairs,
&nbsp Her lips made soundless movements
&nbsp       &nbsp Unawares,
While I peered at the chamber hired as theirs.

&nbsp And as beside its doorway,
&nbsp       &nbsp Deadly hued,
&nbsp One inside, one withoutside
&nbsp       &nbsp We two stood,
He came—my husband—as she knew he would.

&nbsp No pleasurable triumph
&nbsp       &nbsp Was that sight!
&nbsp The ghastly disappointment
&nbsp       &nbsp Broke them quite.
What love was theirs, to move them with such might!

&nbsp "Madam, forgive me!" said she,
&nbsp       &nbsp Sorrow bent,
&nbsp "A child—I soon shall bear him . . .
&nbsp       &nbsp Yes—I meant
To tell you—that he won me ere he went."

&nbsp Then, as it were, within me
&nbsp       &nbsp Something snapped,
&nbsp As if my soul had largened:
&nbsp       &nbsp Conscience-capped,
I saw myself the snarer—them the trapped.

&nbsp "My hate dies, and I promise,
&nbsp       &nbsp Grace-beguiled,"
&nbsp I said, "to care for you, be
&nbsp       &nbsp Reconciled;
And cherish, and take interest in the child."

&nbsp Without more words I pressed him
&nbsp       &nbsp Through the door
&nbsp Within which she stood, powerless
&nbsp       &nbsp To say more,
And closed it on them, and downstairward bore.

&nbsp "He joins his wife—my sister,"
&nbsp       &nbsp I, below,
&nbsp Remarked in going—lightly -
&nbsp       &nbsp Even as though
All had come right, and we had arranged it so . . .

&nbsp As I, my road retracing,
&nbsp       &nbsp Left them free,
&nbsp The night alone embracing
&nbsp       &nbsp Childless me,
I held I had not stirred God wrothfully.