A Wife And Another

"War ends, and he's returning      Early; yea,      The evening next to-morrow's!" -      - This I say     To her, whom I suspiciously survey,      Holding my husband's letter      To her view. -      She glanced at it but lightly,      And I knew     That one from him that day had reached her too.      There was no time for scruple;      Secretly      I filched her missive, conned it,      Learnt that he     Would lodge with her ere he came home to me.      To reach the port before her,      And, unscanned,      There wait to intercept them      Soon I planned:     That, in her stead, I might before him stand.      So purposed, so effected;      At the inn      Assigned, I found her hidden:-      O that sin     Should bear what she bore when I entered in!      Her heavy lids grew laden      With despairs,      Her lips made soundless movements      Unawares,     While I peered at the chamber hired as theirs.      And as beside its doorway,      Deadly hued,      One inside, one withoutside      We two stood,     He came - my husband - as she knew he would.      No pleasurable triumph      Was that sight!      The ghastly disappointment      Broke them quite.     What love was theirs, to move them with such might!      "Madam, forgive me!" said she,      Sorrow bent,      "A child - I soon shall bear him . . .      Yes - I meant     To tell you - that he won me ere he went."      Then, as it were, within me      Something snapped,      As if my soul had largened:      Conscience-capped,     I saw myself the snarer - them the trapped.      "My hate dies, and I promise,      Grace-beguiled,"      I said, "to care for you, be      Reconciled;     And cherish, and take interest in the child."      Without more words I pressed him      Through the door      Within which she stood, powerless      To say more,     And closed it on them, and downstairward bore.      "He joins his wife - my sister,"      I, below,      Remarked in going - lightly -      Even as though     All had come right, and we had arranged it so . . .      As I, my road retracing,      Left them free,      The night alone embracing      Childless me,     I held I had not stirred God wrothfully.