But we are forestalling. While the nurse has gone to recruit her strength in sleep we will remain with Imelda and follow the outline of her thoughts as she watched her sick friend. Over three weeks have now passed since the promenade of the lovers in the moonlight under the silver maples,—the evening after that on which for the first time she had discarded her mourning garments, when they had spent two happy hours together, Imelda adroitly preventing a repetition of the pleadings of the night before. She was happy, and was willing that Norman should know it. He in turn had been content to drink the kisses from the dewy lips and leave the morrow to take care of itself.
Since that evening Imelda had seen but little of her lover. If he came in the evening she scarcely ever had longer than a half hour to give him. The cloud that hung above this house was too dark to admit of much happiness or joy for them. On the other hand it did not give them the leisure to discuss the question nearest their hearts, and Imelda did not wish it just now.
Long ere this, had the answer come to the long letter that she had written to Margaret. But not alone in Margaret’s delicate tracing had the answer come. A long letter had also come in the bolder handwriting of Wilbur Wallace. Her heart gave a bound as she recognized the hand, while the rich blood rushed in a hot wave to her face dyeing her temples, ears and neck. What would he have to say? With a beating heart she had opened it. Something impelled her to lay Margaret’s aside until she first perused Wilbur’s letter.
CHAPTER XXIV.
With Imelda we will read Wilbur’s letter:
“My Darling: The fact that I am writing this to you must of necessity be proof that Margaret has laid before me your letter containing the news that already the event has come into your life which I, in our parting hour, prophesied would come. Though I still claim you as my darling, and though my heart still goes to meet you with the same tender emotions, I cannot do otherwise than say I am pleased. I am glad that that other has so soon stepped into your life, and, building upon the past, I take the responsibility on myself of giving the advice you ask of Margaret.
“The fact alone that you love this man, that your heart has so fully gone into his keeping, is to me the best evidence of his trustworthiness. Not but that you, as well as many another, are liable to make mistakes as to the character of any individual you may come in contact with, but in a case of spontaneous love I feel and know that the purity of mind itself, of which you are possessed, would intuitively recognize that which is not equally pure.
“That Norman should still be bound by old superstitions and creeds may prove an obstacle to the speedy consummation of your love. It is here your work begins; here your strength will be tested. If you would be a priestess in our holy work you will be expected to remain true to the sentiments you have so often expressed. Your soul must remain free and unfettered, even though the man may be purity personified. Not a semblance even of the power the law gives to a husband must you put into his hands. If your love is great enough to trust him he will be generous enough to trust you, or he is not the man he has represented himself to be. If he is not generous enough to trust you, then your intuition will have been at fault—the blindness of a common love has been laid upon your vision.
“Where lies the beginning of your work?—you ask. I will tell you. Your first duty is one that you owe to him and to yourself. You say that in your past life lie hidden many dark spots. It is your duty in this case to lay bare these dark spots in the full light of day. It is thus you will test his strength of character. As he comes of a long line of Puritan ancestors this will be necessary. The old prejudices may be so deeply rooted that, rather than take to his arms one who, although not responsible for the actions of others, may by the ties of blood be allied to those that are, he may be willing to crush out a love that would leave his own heart mangled and bleeding. If such should be the case, my little girl, I understand full well that bitter pain must then for a while gnaw at the cords of your heart. But it will pass, and in passing leave you purer and stronger than ever.
“If, on the other hand, he stands the test I feel sure it will be only a short time until his whole soul will come to understand the grand sublimity of full and untrammeled liberty. Love cannot be fettered. Love will always remain free; the greater his freedom the more certainty is ours of retaining him to make bright our lives. Try to fetter him, he unfolds his wings and mockingly takes his departure. Then, what are we to do with our empty lives?