Pink and white tyranny :: :: University of Virginia Library

WE have but one scene
more before our
story closes. It is night
now in Lillie's sick-room;
and her mother is anxiously
arranging the drapery, to
keep the fire-light from her
eyes, stepping noiselessly
about the room. She lies
there behind the curtains,
on her pillow, — the wreck
and remnant only of what
was once so beautiful.
During all these years, when the interests and pleasures
of life have been slowly dropping, leaf by leaf, and

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passing away like fading flowers, Lillie has learned to
do much thinking. It sometimes seems to take a stab,
a thrust, a wound, to open in some hearts the capacity
of deep feeling and deep thought. There are things
taught by suffering that can be taught in no other way.
By suffering sometimes is wrought out in a person the
power of loving, and of appreciating love. During the
first year, Lillie had often seemed to herself in a sort of
wild, chaotic state. The coming in of a strange new
spiritual life was something so inexplicable to her that
it agitated and distressed her; and sometimes, when
she appeared more petulant and fretful than usual, it
was only the stir and vibration on her weak nerves of
new feelings, which she wanted the power to express.
These emotions at first were painful to her. She felt
weak, miserable, and good for nothing. It seemed to
her that her whole life had been a wretched cheat, and
that she had ill repaid the devotion of her husband.
At first these thoughts only made her bitter and angry;
and she contended against them. But, as she sank
from day to day, and grew weaker and weaker, she
grew more gentle; and a better spirit seemed to enter
into her.

On this evening that we speak of, she had made up
her mind that she would try and tell her husband some
of the things that were passing in her mind.

“Tell John I want to see him,” she said to her
mother. “I wish he would come and sit with me.”

This was a summons for which John invariably left
every thing. He laid down his book as the word was

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brought to him, and soon was treading noiselessly at
her bedside.

“Well, Lillie dear,” he said, “how are you?”

She put out her little wasted hand; “John dear,” she
said, “sit down; I have something that I want to say
to you. I have been thinking, John, that this can't last
much longer.”

“What can't last, Lillie?” said John, trying to speak
cheerfully.

“I mean, John, that I am going to leave you soon,
for good and all; and I should not think you would be
sorry either.”

“Oh, come, come, my girl, it won't do to talk so!”
said John, patting her hand. “You must not be
blue.”

“And so, John,” said Lillie, going on without noticing
this interruption, “I wanted just to tell you, before
I got any weaker, that I know and feel just how patient
and noble and good you have always been to me.”

“O Lillie darling!” said John, “why shouldn't I
be? Poor little girl, how much you have suffered!”

“Well, now, John, I know perfectly well that I
have never been the wife that I ought to be to you.
You know it too; so don't try to say anything about
it. I was never the woman to have made you happy;
and it was not fair in me to marry you. I have lived
a dreadfully worldly, selfish life. And now, John, I am
come to the end. You dear good man, your trials with
me are almost over; but I want you to know that you
really have succeeded. John, I do love you now with

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all my heart, though I did not love you when I married
you. And, John, I do feel that God will take pity on
me, poor and good for nothing as I am, just because I
see how patient and kind you have always been to me
when I have been so very provoking. You see it has
made me think how good God must be, — because,
dear, we know that he is better than the best of us.”

“O Lillie, Lillie!” said John, leaning over her,
and taking her in his arms, “do live, I want you to
live. Don't leave me now, now that you really love
me!”

“Oh, no, John! it is best as it is, — I think I should
not have strength to be very good, if I were to get
well; and you would still have your little cross to
carry. No, dear, it is all right. And, John, you will
have the best of me in our Lillie. She looks like me:
but, John, she has your good heart; and she will be
more to you than I could be. She is just as sweet and
unselfish as I was selfish. I don't think I am quite so
bad now; and I think, if I lived, I should try to be a
great deal better.”

“O Lillie! I cannot bear to part with you! I never
have ceased to love you; and I never have loved any
other woman.”

“I know that, John. Oh! how much truer and
better you are than I have been! But I like to think
that you love me, — I like to think that you will be
sorry when I am gone, bad as I am, or was; for I insist
on it that I am a little better than I was. You remember
that story of Undine you read me one day? It

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seems as if most of my life I have been like Undine
before her soul came into her. But this last year I
have felt the coming in of a soul. It has troubled me;
it has come with a strange kind of pain. I have never
suffered so much. But it has done me good — it has
made me feel that I have an immortal soul, and that
you and I, John, shall meet in some better place hereafter.
— And there you will be rewarded for all your
goodness to me.”

As John sat there, and held the little frail hand, his
thoughts went back to the time when the wild impulse
of his heart had been to break away from this woman,
and never see her face again; and he gave thanks to
God, who had led him in a better way.

And so, at last, passed away the little story of
Lillie's life. But in the home which she has left now
grows another Lillie, fairer and sweeter than she, — the
tender confidant, the trusted friend of her father. And
often, when he lays his hand on her golden head, he
says, “Dear child, how like your mother you look!”

Of all that was painful in that experience, nothing
now remains. John thinks of her only as he thought
of her in the fair illusion of first love, — the dearest
and most sacred of all illusions.

The Lillie who guides his household, and is so motherly
to the younger children; who shares every thought
of his heart; who enters into every feeling and sympathy,

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[ILLUSTRATION] [Description: 706EAF. Page 331. In-line Illustration. Image of a headstone in the shape of a cross. On it is the name "LILLIE" and there are lillys growing in front of the headstone.] — she is the pure reward of his faithfulness and
constancy. She is a sacred and saintly Lillie, springing
out of the sod where he laid her mother, forgetting all
her faults for ever.

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