The Wives of the Dead | Page 3

of her sister. She paused,
however, at the door of the chamber, while a thought of pain broke in
upon her.
"Poor Mary!" said she to herself. "Shall I waken her, to feel her sorrow
sharpened by my happiness? No; I will keep it within my own bosom
till the morrow."
She approached the bed, to discover if Mary's sleep were peaceful. Her
face was turned partly inward to the pillow, and had been hidden there
to weep; but a look of motionless contentment was now visible upon it,
as if her heart, like a deep lake, had grown calm because its dead had
sunk down so far within. Happy is it, and strange, that the lighter
sorrows are those from which dreams are chiefly fabricated. Margaret
shrunk from disturbing her sister-in-law, and felt as if her own better
fortune had rendered her involuntarily unfaithful, and as if altered and

diminished affection must be the consequence of the disclosure she had
to make. With a sudden step she turned away. But joy could not long be
repressed, even by circumstances that would have excited heavy grief
at another moment. Her mind was thronged with delightful thoughts,
till sleep stole on, and transformed them to visions, more delightful and
more wild, like the breath of winter (but what a cold comparison!)
working fantastic tracery upon a window.
When the night was far advanced, Mary awoke with a sudden start. A
vivid dream had latterly involved her in its unreal life, of which,
however, she could only remember that it had been broken in upon at
the most interesting point. For a little time, slumber hung about her like
a morning mist, hindering her from perceiving the distinct outline of
her situation. She listened with imperfect consciousness to two or three
volleys of a rapid and eager knocking; and first she deemed the noise a
matter of course, like the breath she drew; next, it appeared a thing in
which she had no concern; and lastly, she became aware that it was a
summons necessary to be obeyed. At the same moment, the pang of
recollection darted into her mind; the pall of sleep was thrown back
from the face of grief; the dim light of the chamber, and the objects
therein revealed, had retained all her suspended ideas, and restored
them as soon as she unclosed her eyes. Again there was a quick peal
upon the street- door. Fearing that her sister would also be disturbed,
Mary wrapped herself in a cloak and hood, took the lamp from the
hearth, and hastened to the window. By some accident, it had been left
unhasped, and yielded easily to her hand.
"Who's there?" asked Mary, trembling as she looked forth.
The storm was over, and the moon was up; it shone upon broken clouds
above, and below upon houses black with moisture, and upon little
lakes of the fallen rain, curling into silver beneath the quick
enchantment of a breeze. A young man in a sailor's dress, wet as if he
had come out of the depths of the sea, stood alone under the window.
Mary recognized him as one whose livelihood was gained by short
voyages along the coast; nor did she forget that, previous to her
marriage, he had been an unsuccessful wooer of her own.
"What do you seek here, Stephen?" said she.
"Cheer up, Mary, for I seek to comfort you," answered the rejected
lover. "You must know I got home not ten minutes ago, and the first

thing my good mother told me was the news about your husband. So,
without saying a word to the old woman, I clapped on my hat, and ran
out of the house. I could n't have slept a wink before speaking to you,
Mary, for the sake of old times."
"Stephen, I thought better of you!" exclaimed the widow, with gushing
tears and preparing to close the lattice; for she was no whit inclined to
imitate the first wife of Zadig.
"But stop, and hear my story out," cried the young sailor. "I tell you we
spoke a brig yesterday afternoon, bound in from Old England. And
who do you think I saw standing on deck, well and hearty, only a bit
thinner than he was five months ago?"
Mary leaned from the window, but could not speak. "Why, it was your
husband himself," continued the generous seaman. "He and three others
saved themselves on a spar, when the Blessing turned bottom upwards.
The brig will beat into the bay by daylight, with this wind, and you'll
see him here to-morrow. There's the comfort I bring you, Mary, and so
good night."
He hurried away, while Mary watched him with a doubt of waking
reality, that seemed stronger or weaker as he alternately