This time he took with him the broidered thing That I had wrought for him; and when I oped The little purse that he rewarded me, I found full golden payment five times told. Given for pity? thought I,--that alone? Is manly pity so munificent? Pity has mixtures that it knows not of! It was a cruel triumph, and I speak Of it with utter penitence and shame. I knew that he would come again; I knew His feet would bring him, though his soul rebelled; I knew that cheated heart of his would toy With the seductive chains that gave it thrall, And strive to reconcile its perjury With its own conscience of the better way, By fabrication of apologies It knew were false. And he did come again; Confessing a strange interest in me, And doing for me many kindly deeds. I knew the nature of the sympathy That drew him to my side, better than he; Though I could see that solemn change in him Which every face will wear, when Heaven and Hell Are struggling in the heart for mastery. He was unhappy; every sudden sound Startled his apprehensions; from his heart Rose heavy suspirations, charged with prayer, Desire, and deprecation, and remorse;-- Sighs like volcanic breathings--sighs that scorched His parching lips and spread his face with ashes,-- Sighs born in such convulsions of the soul That his strong frame quaked like Vesuvius, Burdened with restless lava. Day by day I marked this dalliance with sinful thought, Without a throb of pity in my heart. I took his gifts, which brought immunity From toil and care, as if they were my right. Day after day I saw my power increase, Until that noble spirit was a slave-- A craven, helpless, self-suspected slave. But this was not to last--thank God and him! One night he came, and there had been a change. My hand was kindly taken, but not held In the way wonted. He was self-possessed; The powers of darkness and his Christian heart Had had a struggle--his the victory; And on his manly brow the benison Of a majestic peace had been imposed. Was I to lose the guerdon of my guile? He was my all, and by the only means Left to a helpless, reckless thing, like me: My heart made pledge the strife should be renewed. I took no notice of his altered mood, But strove, by all the tricks of tenderness, To fan to life again the drooping flame Within his heart;--with what success, at last, The sequel shall reveal.