Still thine own its life retaineth,
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat,
And the undying thought which paineth,
Is, that we no more may meet."
Sudden death had entered the home of Louise Edson and made her a widow. Her husband died of cholera, in a distant city, whence he had gone for the purchase of goods, and was brought home a corpse. Louise reeled to earth beneath the sudden and unexpected blow. Her soul was lacerated by constant memory of the wrong she had done him, and it seemed to her aroused and trembling conscience that avenging Heaven had taken to itself the man she had so deeply injured, and left her to grope darkly on in her own wickedness and sin. True she had been cruelly disappointed, and through long years compelled to struggle on in all the bitter loneliness of feelings unreplied to, bound by indissoluble chains to one who had no tastes or sympathies in common with her. Death had freed her now, but, ah! too late. The taint of sin was on her soul. She had forgot her vows at the altar, debased herself and wronged her husband by listening to words of passion from another. O, far less bitter would have been her grief, as she stood weeping over his lifeless form, could she have laid her hand on the cold, damp brow and said, "I have loved thee ever, and through life's cares and perplexities stood closely at thy side to cheer and smooth thy pathway." But this she could not say. She only felt that the soul had gone to God, to learn her falsity and sin, and looked from the skies upon her with grief and avenging anger. Bitterly she thought of the man who had led her from the path of rectitude, and resolved to see him no more. As a self-inflicted penance, she immured herself within the walls of her own mansion, and determined to pass the remainder of her life in solitude. Many of her numerous friends sought admittance to express sympathy and condolence in her affliction, but she refused to see them and resisted all their overtures. Only one person gained entrance to her seclusion. That was Mrs. Stanhope, whose kind heart was deeply pained by the apparently incurable sorrow that had settled on the mind of her young friend, and strove, by every effort in her power, to lighten her woes and lead her to more hopeful views of the future.
"It grieves me," said she, "to see you, in the bloom of youth and health, immure yourself in a living tomb, and refuse the consolations you would receive from intercourse with your species."
"I want no more of the world," answered the sufferer; "it has no pleasure or enjoyment for me."
"But, my dear, you should not allow your feelings to overpower your better judgment," remonstrated Mrs. Stanhope.
"Ah, my feelings!" said Louise, bitterly, with tears rolling over her pale cheeks; "they have been my destruction. Had I always controlled them, I had not been the miserable creature I am to-day."
Mrs. Stanhope hardly understood this passionate outburst, but she still strove to soothe and comfort her afflicted friend.