Isabel, indeed, still remained the heavenly love, but those who understand will know the strength of Jenny when I say that she became confirmed in this hour of trial as the household love of Theophil’s life.  Isabel remained the Muse, but it was Jenny, after all, in spite of those solemn words in the Wood of Silence, that was the wife; and if, at first sound, there seems less of heaven in such a love, it is surely only because when heaven has become incarnated upon earth we forget to call it heaven.

In the few moments of silence which followed Jenny’s words, it was some such turmoil of feelings and thoughts, questionings and conclusions, which passed through Theophil’s mind, at last resolving itself into words that sounded unexpected even in his own ears.

“Jenny,” he said, “it is quite true that I love Isabel and that she loves me.  But it is true that I love you too, love you more truly in this moment than I have ever loved you, and that no other woman can ever take your place.  If you give me up for Isabel’s sake, it will be no gain to her, for I would not go to her.  I love you, indeed I love you, and I want no other woman to be my wife.”

Jenny’s face brightened for a moment; they were good words, and they sounded real.  But then that embrace, how real that was; nothing again could ever be so real as that!

“Ah, Theophil dear; but you stood as though you loved her so; your arms were so tender, it was just as though they said ‘wife.’  You are deceiving yourself, dear, believe me, you are.  God knows how I love you; I have nothing in the world but you, and if...if...”

“Jenny, try and believe; let me show you how I can love you.  I seem never to have shown you before.  Let us begin our love over again from to-night.  I know your heart is bleeding, but let me heal it, dear.  I know this sorrow must lie heavy upon us for a long while yet, but it will pass, you shall see.  O you shall see how I love you.  Let us be married soon, dear; let us wait no longer...”

Theophil had raised his head, and as he spoke poured on Jenny all the appeal of his strong eyes; with all the might of his soul he willed her back to happiness, as Orpheus strove by his singing to bring back Eurydice from the shades.  She could not look into his set longing face without feeling that he was speaking true words.  Hope flickered for a moment in her sad eyes; yes! he wanted to come back to her; he wanted to be hers again.

But was it not too late?  Hadn’t something gone forever, something been killed?  Could even Theophil himself ever make her happy any more?  Then the misery flooded over her again in an irresistible sea, in which all kind words fell powerless as snowflakes; her resolution broke down, and with terrible sobs she flung herself into Theophil’s arms.

“O Theophil, my heart is breaking, my heart is breaking.”