"'Will my letter fall,' I wondered, sadly,
'On her mood like some discordant tone,
Or be welcomed tenderly and gladly?
Will she be with others, or alone?
"It may find her too absorbed to read it,
Save with hurried glance and careless air;
Sad and weary, she may scarcely heed it;
Gay and happy, she may hardly care.
"If perhaps now, while my tears are falling,
She is dreaming quietly alone,
She will hear my love's far echo calling,
Feel my spirit drawing near her own.
"Wondering at the strange, mysterious power
That has touched her heart, then she will say:
'Some one whom I love this very hour
Thinks of me, and loves me far away.'"
Poor Geraldine! what a hopeless waiting she had for the letter that never came!
How could he bear the wistful light in her sad brown eyes, the wretch who had robbed her young life of happiness?
In his keeping rested the letters of the two fond girls to each other—the letters that would have brought happiness to three sad hearts.
And the weeks slipped into months while they echoed in their souls the poet's plaint:
"The solemn Sea of Silence lies between us;
I know thou livest and thou lovest me;
And yet I wish some white ship would come sailing
Across the ocean bearing news of thee.