"Maurine， Maurine， 'tis ten o'clock！ arise， My pretty sluggard， open those dark eyes And see where yonder sun is！ Do you know I made my toilet just four hours ago？"
'Twas Helen's voice： and Helen's gentle kiss Fell on my cheek. As from a deep abyss， I drew my weary self from that strange sleep That rests not nor refreshes. Scarce awake Or conscious， yet there seemed a heavy weight Bound on my breast， as by a cruel Fate.
I knew not why， and yet I longed to weep.
Some dark cloud seemed to hang upon the day； And， for a moment， in that trance I lay， When suddenly the truth did o'er me break， Like some great wave upon a helpless child.
The dull pain in my breast grew like a knife - The heavy throbbing of my heart grew wild， And God gave back the burden of the life He kept what time I slumbered.
"You are ill，"
Cried Helen， "with that blinding headache still！
You look so pale and weary. Now let me Play nurse， Maurine， and care for you to-day！
And first I'll suit some dainty to your taste， And bring it to you， with a cup of tea."
And off she ran， not waiting my reply.
But， wanting most the sunshine and the light， I left my couch， and clothed myself in haste， And， kneeling， sent to God an earnest cry For help and guidance.
"Show Thou me the way， Where duty leads， for I am blind！ my sight Obscured by self. Oh， lead my steps aright！
Help me see the path： and if it may， Let this cup pass：- and yet， Thou heavenly One， Thy will in all things， not mine own， be done."
Rising， I went upon my way， receiving The strength prayer gives alway to hearts believing.
I felt that unseen hands were leading me， And knew the end was peace.
"What！ are you up？"
Cried Helen， coming with a tray， and cup， Of tender toast and fragrant， smoking tea.
"You naughty girl！ you should have stayed in bed Until you ate your breakfast， and were better； I've something hidden for you here--a letter.
But drink your tea before you read it， dear！
'Tis from some distant cousin， auntie said， And so you need not hurry. Now be good， And mind your Helen."
So， in passive mood， I laid the still unopened letter near， And loitered at my breakfast more to please My nurse， than any hunger to appease.
Then listlessly I broke the seal and read The few lines written in a bold free hand：
"New London， Canada. Dear Coz. Maurine！
(In spite of generations stretched between Our natural right to that most handy claim Of cousinship， we'll use it all the same)
I'm coming to see you！ honestly， in truth！
I've threatened often--now I mean to act； You'll find my coming is a stubborn fact.
Keep quiet， though， and do not tell Aunt Ruth.
I wonder if she'll know her petted boy In spite of changes？ Look for me until You see me coming. As of old I'm still Your faithful friend， and loving cousin， Roy."
So Roy was coming！ He and I had played As boy and girl， and later， youth and maid， Full half our lives together. He had been， Like me， an orphan； and the roof of kin Gave both kind shelter. Swift years sped away Ere change was felt： and then one summer day A long-lost uncle sailed from India's shore - Made Roy his heir， and he was ours no more.
"He'd write us daily， and we'd see his face Once every year." Such was his promise given The morn he left. But now the years were seven Since last he looked upon the olden place.
He'd been through college， travelled in all lands， Sailed over seas， and trod the desert sands.
Would write and plan a visit， then， ere long， Would write again from Egypt， or Hong Kong - Some fancy called him thither unforeseen.
So years had passed， till seven lay between His going and the coming of this note， Which I hid in my bosom， and replied To Aunt Ruth's queries， "What the truant wrote？"
By saying he was still upon the wing， And merely dropped a line， while journeying， To say he lived： and she was satisfied.
Sometimes it happens， in this world so strange， A human heart will pass through mortal strife， And writhe in torture： while the old sweet life， So full of hope and beauty， bloom and grace， Is slowly strangled by remorseless Pain：
And one stern， cold， relentless， takes its place - A ghastly， pallid spectre of the slain.
Yet those in daily converse see no change Nor dream the heart has suffered.
So that day I passed along toward the troubled way Stern duty pointed， and no mortal guessed A mighty conflict had disturbed my breast.
I had resolved to yield up to my friend The man I loved. Since she， too， loved him so I saw no other way in honour left.
She was so weak and fragile， once bereft Of this great hope， that held her with such power， She would wilt down， like some frost-bitten flower， And swift， untimely death would be the end.
But I was strong； and hardy plants， which grow In out-door soil， can bear bleak winds that blow From Arctic lands， whereof a single breath Would lay the hot-house blossom low in death.
The hours went by， too slow， and yet too fast.
All day I argued with my foolish heart That bade me play the shrinking coward's 第一章PART And hide from pain. And when the day had past And time for Vivian's call drew near and nearer， It pleaded， "Wait until the way seems clearer； Say you are ill--or busy； keep away Until you gather strength enough to play The 第一章PART you have resolved on."
"Nay， not so，" Made answer clear-eyed Reason； "do you go And put your resolution to the test.
Resolve， however nobly formed， at best Is but a still-born babe of Thought until It proves existence of its life and will By sound or action."
So when Helen came And knelt by me， her fair face all aflame With sudden blushes， whispering， "My sweet！
My heart can hear the music of his feet， Go down with me to meet him，" I arose， And went with her all calmly， as one goes To look upon the dear face of the dead.
That eve I know not what I did or said.
I was not cold--my manner was not strange； Perchance I talked more freely than my wont， But in my speech was naught could give affront； Yet I conveyed， as only woman can， That nameless SOMETHING which bespeaks a chance.
