“Then o’er the waters stole the silver dawn,
And lo a fairy boat with silken sail! 
And in the boat an angel at the helm,
And at her feet the form of her I loved. 
The white mists parted as the boat sped on
In silence, lessening far and far away. 
And then the sunrise glimmered on the sail
A moment, and the angel turned her face: 
My mother!—­and I gave a joyful cry,
And stretched my hands, but lo the hovering mists
Closed in around them and the vision passed.

“The morning sun stole through the window-blinds
And fell upon my face and wakened me,
And I lay musing—­thinking of Pauline. 
Yes, she should know the depths of all my heart—­
The love I bore her all those lonely years;
The hope that held me steadfast to my toil,
And feel the higher and the holier love
Her precious gift had wakened in my soul. 
Yea, I would bless her for that precious gift—­
I had not known its treasures but for her,
And O for that would I forgive her all,
And bless the hand that smote me to the soul. 
That would be comfort to me all my days,
And if there came a bitter time to her,
’Twould pain her less to know that I forgave.

“A hasty rapping at my chamber-door;
In came my school-boy friend whose guest I was,
And said: 
        ’Come, Paul, the town is all ablaze! 
A sad—­a strange—­a marvelous suicide! 
Pauline, who was to be a bride to-day,
Was missed at dawn and after sunrise found—­
Traced by her robe and bonnet on the bridge,
Whence she had thrown herself and made an end—­’

“And he went on, but I could hear no more;
It fell upon me like a flash from heaven. 
As one with sudden terror dumb, I turned
And in my pillow buried up my face. 
Tears came at last, and then my friend passed out
In silence.  O the agony of that hour! 
O doubts and fears and half-read mysteries
That tore my heart and tortured all my soul!

“I arose.  About the town the wildest tales
And rumors ran; dame Gossip was agog. 
Some said she had been ill and lost her mind,
Some whispered hints, and others shook their heads
But none could fathom the marvelous mystery. 
Bearing a bitter anguish in my heart,
Half-crazed with dread and doubt and boding fears,
Hour after hour alone, disconsolate,
Among the scenes where we had wandered oft
I wandered, sat where once the stately pines
Domed the fair temple where we learned to love. 
O spot of sacred memories—­how changed! 
Yet chiefly wanting one dear, blushing face
That, in those happy days, made every place
Wherever we might wander—­hill or dale—­
Garden of love and peace and happiness. 
So heavy-hearted I returned.  My friend
Had brought for me a letter with his mail. 
I knew the hand upon the envelope—­
With throbbing heart I hastened to my room;
With trembling hands I broke the seal and read. 
One sheet inclosed another—­one was writ
At midnight by my loved and lost Pauline. 
Inclosed within, a letter false and forged,
Signed with my name—­such perfect counterfeit,
At sight I would have sworn it was my own. 
And thus her letter ran: