So saying she came forward and sat on the side seat of the porch, with the flowers twining in soft clusters from above. She clasped her knees with her hands.
“My husband is up,” she said. “He has some business to attend to, and then will join us.”
“Has He been ill long?”
“Yes. But He had only been home very shortly. No matter how great the suffering may be, there is no home-coming till the final blow has been struck.”
She was silent, till at last, plucking a rosebud from the bower, she added,—
“He has suffered defeat, you know.”
Now were we both silent; I could find no answer. Yet my mind went back to Him as I had first seen Him in strongest admiration. At last I said, half to myself,—
“Yet we on earth esteem defeat despicable and chafe under its hard restrictions.”
“Earth is not Heaven,” she murmured softly. “And He has had the pleasure of hearing of Virginius’s victory. It has beguiled the hours of weariness, for I will not attempt to hide from you that in enduring most we suffer most.”
“And the victory of another has eased His failure,” I concluded.