I was proceeding with my writing, the day before yesterday, supposing Frank to be asleep, when he put his hand upon mine, and said, "my love, you have wept quite enough."
While scarcely conscious of the fact, I had been continually wiping my eyes, to enable me to see the page. Many tears I see have fallen upon my paper.
"They are tears of gratitude," I replied, lifting his hand to my lips. "My heart is so full it overflows." There were answering tears in his eyes then; "Cora," said he with the utmost tenderness, "while I lay upon this bed, and in the near prospect of death, I saw that I had made idols of the dear ones God has given me; and I resolved, his grace strengthening me, that I would devote myself more entirely to him. We cannot love each other too much, my own wife; but let us love God more. While we love each other, and our dear children, let us not forget him, who so loved us as to die for us."
Tuesday, September 10th.
My dear husband gains but slowly. He has not yet been able to have his bed made, but he says, he does not suffer except from weakness. After being absent from the room about an hour to give Nelly her music lesson, I returned and took Pauline's place by her father's side, requesting her to go out with the children for a walk.
He took up the book, she had turned down upon the bed, supposing I should continue the reading. "I hardly know," said he, "which to admire the more, the skill of the teacher, or the proficiency of the pupil. Pauline is a fine reader, and her voice is very musical."
"Yes," I answered, "I have often thought her voice low and melodious as the daughters of Italy."
"She may be one of them," he replied, closing his eyes. "Cora," he resumed after a short pause, "I have had time to think of a great many things since I lay here, and I feel that I have not dealt justly by our daughter, Pauline."
"Frank," said I, interrupting him, "you do yourself wrong."