Oh, I am so happy, Philemon, so happy to love where it is now my duty to love; and if it were not for that dreadful memory of a father dying with harsh words in his ears, and the knowledge that you, my husband, yet not my husband, are bearing ever about with you echoes of words that in another nature would have turned tenderness into gall, I could be merry also and sing as I go about the house making it pleasant and comfortable against your speedy return.  As it is I can but lay my hand softly on my heart as its beatings grow too impetuous and say, “God bless my absent Philemon and help him to forgive me!  I forgive him and love him as I never thought I could.”

That you may see that these are not the weak outpourings of a lonely woman, I will here write that I heard to-day that John and James Zabel have gone into partnership in the ship-building business, John’s uncle having left him a legacy of several thousand dollars.  I hope they will do well.  James, they say, is full of business and is, to all appearance, perfectly cheerful.  This relieves me from too much worry in his regard.  God certainly knew what kind of a husband I needed.  May you find yourself equally blessed in your wife.

 Another letter to Philemon, a year later: 

Dear philemon: 

Hasten home, Philemon; I do not like these absences.  I am just now too weak and fearful.  Since we knew the great hope before us, I have looked often in your face for a sign that you remembered what this hope cannot but recall to my shuddering memory.  Philemon, Philemon, was I mad?  When I think what I said in my rage, and then feel the little life stirring about my heart, I wonder that God did not strike me dead rather than bestow upon me the greatest blessing that can come to woman.  Philemon, Philemon, if anything should happen to the child!  I think of it by day, I think of it by night.  I know you think of it too, though you show me such a cheerful countenance and make such great plans for the future.  “Will God remember my words, or will He forget?  It seems as if my reason hung upon this question.”

A note this time in answer to one from John Zabel: 

Dear John: 

Thank you for words which could have come from nobody else.  My child is dead.  Could I expect anything different?  If I did, God has rebuked me.

Philemon thinks only of me.  We understand each other so perfectly now that our greatest suffering comes in seeing each other’s pain.  My load I can bear, but his—­Come and see me, John; and tell James our house is open to him.  We have all done wrong, and are caught in one net of misfortune.  Let it make us friends again.

Below this in Philemon’s hand: