The Bigamist - F. E. Mills Young

“I am thinking much of you to-day,” she wrote. “There is nothing unusual in that; but to-day my thoughts are more intent on you than at other times. Your friendship means so much to me. I doubt if any woman has ever received more unselfish service than I have had from you. It has been a tremendous help to me.

“Life has been very difficult often since we parted,—it is difficult still at times; but each year brings some compensation. And in waiting on him, in caring for the straining thread of life,—it is straining very fine now,—I have learnt to understand him better, and to get back some of the old kindly feeling which I believed was dead. He is very dependent on me, and, despite the querulousness of ill health, truly grateful. I am so glad we acted as we did, my dear,—that we didn’t shirk. Plainly this is the work it was intended I should do. It is irksome to me no longer. And if in doing it I have lost my youth, and that which was infinitely more precious, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that the happiness we both relinquished remains a beautiful, untarnished memory, which for me, at least, lightens the burden of these weary years.

“I am growing old now, dear. You would scarcely know me. My hair is turning grey. I looked in the glass to-day and saw many little lines in my face which used not to be there. What does it matter? The outward semblance of youth, like the restless fever of love, is something which remains with us only for a short while. But these things live on in our hearts, warm and glowing, like the fires on the hearth of winter when the glory of summer is gone. To me you will always seem as I knew you first, as you will ever remain in my thoughts—a king among men. I hope my son will grow up brave and strong, like yourself. In my children I renew my youth.”

Dare rested his elbow on the desk, and supported his head on his hand, and fell to thinking. “The straining thread of life,—it is straining very fine now...” When, he wondered, with his gaze fixed on the closely written lines, would his summons come?

The End.