But he
folds her not in his embrace, nor yet does he look with love into her
upturned eyes; the voice she loves, ah so well, breaks upon the dusky
silence, pitiless, stern.
"Most faithless of faithless women, think you that like the toy of a
fickle child I can be thrown aside, then picked up again? Think you that
I can take a soiled lily to my bosom? Think you that I can cherish the
gaudy sun-flower that ever turns to the broad, brazen glare of the
uncaring sun, rather than the modest shrinking violet? Nay, be not
deceived, I loved you once, but that love you killed in its youth and
beauty leaving me to stand and weep alone over its grave. I came
to-night, not to kiss you, and to forgive you as you entreat, but to
tell that you I have wed another."
The pitiless voice ceased, and she was alone in the dusky silence; alone
in all the shame and agony and grief of unrequited love and worthless
fame. Alone to writhe and groan in despair while the roseate flush of
eventide passed into the coldness of midnight.
Oh faithless woman, oh, faithless man! How frail the memory of thy
binding vows, thy blissful hours of love! Are they forgotten? Only the
record of broken hearts and loveless lives will show.
THE IDLER.
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