The Story
of Saville
XVII.
It was over, his long suspense and doubt; the delicate daring hand
Had executed successfully the intellect’s keen command,—
O, scarce in the New Jerusalem paven with gold and with pearls,
Scarce shall the ransomed of God know rapture diviner than Kyrle’s!
For an hour or twain ’twas enough to enjoy, merely that God had said
“Let there be light!” for him once more, and had summoned his eyes from the dead,
But quickly the rift crept widening in,—’twas but a mere broken toy,
A splintered gem, a goblet cracked, if Saville did not share in his joy.
He blamed himself for granting her prayer,—she should have remained beside
Her husband and bravely fronted with him what weal or woe should betide,—
Alone? Why, not so alone had he been before they ever had met,—
A tenebrous wall of solitude, carven of solid jet,
Immured him round, and the air waxed cold, e’en as the sun had set.
