d thought it likely I should never
marry; for I was a woman with strong instincts, and, amid all the toil
and care of my barren life, I had seen afar, through gleaming mists, the
mountains of hope arise, and beyond the heat and dust and labor of duty
caught glimpses of green ways made pleasant by quiet waters.

I do not think my burden seemed heavier now that mother no longer helped
me to bear it; for my sense of responsibility had been increased by her
complaining spirit. Her discouraging views of life held in check the
reins of my eager fancy: it seemed wrong to enjoy a happiness I could
not share with her. Now I no longer felt this restraint; but, knowing
that somehow she had missed this happiness for which I waited, the
knowledge invested her memory with a tender pity, and tempered my
pleasure with a feeling akin to pain.

I was never idle. Behind the real work of life, my fancy wrought on,
unknown and unsuspected by the world; my lamp of joy, fed by the sweet
oil of hope, was ready for the lighting, and I was content to wait.

My little boy throve bravely. Every morning I awoke him with a kiss;
and, perhaps because each day seemed but a continuation of the other,
time stood still for him. He was for me the incarnation of all
loveliness. The fair face, and blond hair, and brown, brooding eyes,
were beautiful as an angel's, and goodness set its seal on his
perfections. He gave me no trouble: grief brings age, joy confirms
youth, and I and my little boy grew young together. He was with me
everywhere, lightening my labor with his prattling tongue, helping me
with his sweet, hindering ways; and when the kisses had been many that
had waked him many morns, he stood beside me, my little boy, hardly a
hand's breadth lower than myself.

The world had changed for all but him and me. My father had wandered off
to foreign parts; sisters and brothers, one by one, had gone forth to
conquer kingdoms and reign in their own right, and one young sister,
just on the border-land of maiden fancies, (O friends, I write this line
with tears!) turned from earth and crossed the border-land of heaven.

But he and I remained alone in the old homestead, and walked together
sweetly down the years.

If I came upon disappointment, I had not sought it, neither did I fall
by it; but that which was my future slid by me and became the past, so
gently that I scarce remember where one ended or the other began; and
though all other lovers failed m