And I—what could I do—or say? What but comfort her as best I might? And God knows I had the best will in the world to it, but the fashion of it was poor enough.
“In the fullness of time, Eve,” I whispered. “In the fullness of time.”
But she seemed to take some comfort from my words—or mayhap the intent. So she lay as she was, but in some while she went back to her sewing again. She held it up, for me to see; and I could but wonder that any piece of humanity should be such a morsel as to go into that garment. I said as much. But Eve only smiled and fell to sewing—her eyes very bright.
As Eve sewed, I fell to musing on what she said about my neighbors. For she was right, as she was ever, and I had not seen the good that was in them—I had not been at the pains to see it, though I knew it was there; and I had flattered myself that I had held my peace, and thereby had proved me a man of understanding. And I saw plainly—I might as well have stood upon the corner of the street and cried aloud unto Heaven, giving thanks that I was not as other men—until the bubble of my conceit had been pricked by Eve—and how gently! And presently the candles were burned low, and Eve, glancing at them, put her sewing by, and I knew that the time was come for me to cover the fire.
That done, I took the hand that Eve held out and I blew out the candles, and I was moved to kiss the hand I held.
“For you have shown me, Eve,” I said, “that I have been in the wrong. I will not withhold good from them to whom it is due. And I bless God for my wife.”
For I felt very humble. And what answer I got to that I shall not tell; but it satisfied me, and we mounted the stairs together.
I opened my window wide. There was the steady drip of melting snow, and the air held a hint of spring, but the stars were bright. And, gazing at them, I thought upon my son that was to be—or haply a daughter, it mattered not which—and I remembered the time when I first knew it. There had been the start of surprise, the impulse at rejoicing—then the dread of it—the fear for Eve. And she had seen them all. She hung upon my neck, weeping with the joy of it.
“Never fear for me, dear,” she cried, “never fear for me. But rejoice exceedingly.”
And so I did. And I gazed at a faint star—a little one, just showing to the naked eye—and as I gazed, I thought that I saw the eyes of my son looking at me with an infinite knowledge and compassion—and an infinite love. And as I gazed, behold, the eyes were the eyes of Eve. And if my son shall have the spirit that his mother has I shall be well content. So thinking, I turned from the window and got me into bed; and having drawn the covers close, I slept.