One twilight hour, but earlier
Than usual, Alice thought
She knew the fresh sweet fragrance
Of flowers that Leonard brought;
Through opened doors and windows
It stole up through the gloom,
And with appealing sweetness
Drew Alice from her room.
X.
Yes, he was there; and pausing
Just near the opened door,
To check her heart’s quick beating,
She heard—and paused still more—
His low voice—Dora’s answers—
His pleading—Yes, she knew
The tone—the words—the accents:
She once had heard them too.
XI.
“Would Alice blame her?” Leonard’s
Low, tender answer came;—
“Alice was far too noble
To think or dream of blame.”
“And was he sure he loved her?”
“Yes, with the one love given
Once in a lifetime only,
With one soul and one heaven!”
XII.
Then came a plaintive murmur,—
“Dora had once been told
That he and Alice”—“Dearest,
Alice is far too cold
To love; and I, my Dora,
If once I fancied so,
It was a brief delusion,
And over,—long ago.”
XIII.
Between the Past and Present,
On that bleak moment’s height,
She stood. As some lost traveller
By a quick flash of light
Seeing a gulf before him,
With dizzy, sick despair,
Reels backward, but to find it
A deeper chasm there.
XIV.