Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/58

 I’m sorry she has suffered so; and still I’m thankful something happened, so you stayed. I’m sure my wedding would be incomplete Without your presence. Selfish, I’m afraid You’ll think your Helen. But I love you so, How can I be quite willing you should go? Come Christmas Eve, or earlier. Let me know, And I will meet you, dearie! at the train. Your happy, loving Helen.”

Then the pain That, hidden under later pain and care, Had made no moan, but silent, seemed to sleep, Woke from its trance-like lethargy, to steep My tortured heart in anguish and despair.

I had relied too fully on my skill In bending circumstances to my will: And now I was rebuked and made to see That God alone knoweth what is to be. Then came a messenger from Vivian, who Came not himself, as he was wont to do, But sent his servant each new day to bring A kindly message, or an offering Of juicy fruits to cool the lips of fever, Or dainty hot-house blossoms, with their bloom To brighten up the convalescent’s room. But now the servant only brought a line From Vivian Dangerfield to Roy Montaine, “Dear Sir, and Friend”—in letters bold and plain, Written on cream-white paper, so it ran: “It is the will and pleasure of Miss Trevor, And therefore doubly so a wish of mine, That you shall honour me next New Year Eve, My wedding hour, by standing as best man. Miss Trevor has six bridesmaids I believe. Being myself a novice in the art— If I should fail in acting well my part, I’ll need protection ’gainst the regiment Of outraged ladies. So, I pray, consent To stand by me in time of need, and shield Your friend sincerely, Vivian Dangerfield.”

The last least hope had vanished; I must drain, E’en to the dregs, this bitter cup of pain.