“Ah, beloved, I know your meaning. It’s the lover, not the consecrated missionary, who speaks now.”
“I can’t help it! I’ll be useless without you. I’m useless now, except as you sustain me; as Abishag, the Shunnamite, the fairest young maiden of all Israel, brought heart to the bosom of David, old and shaken by years, so you put into me all the ambition I have. To my trembling heart you are what Deborah was to Barak’s.”
“God help you, Cornelius; I believe you, because I know your trusting nature and have joyed in the fullness of your lavish love, but let us bravely face this matter as it comes. For God, I know, I must quickly do my work and be gone.”
“Oh, say not so, if I’m to be left alone! That must not be! By your love for me I entreat you to stay; a thousand ties bind my life to thine; it will kill me by inches to have them severed!——
“Miriamne, my own, nearer to God by far than am I; plead with Him to spare us this agony!”
“In spirit, my loyal spouse, we shall ever be near each other, but I feel that in the body we shall not be together long. I shall finish my course and then——”
“No, not that,” vehemently exclaimed the husband. “Say not that! I’ll work for you, with you, for God. Help me to the end and let me so help you, beloved!”
“You may help me while I tarry.”
“I’ll joy to realize the prophet’s vision, who saw the hands of a man under the wings of an angel. Here are the hands and Miriamne is the angel.”
“But your imagination glows, kindled by the torch of a human heart almost idolatrous.”