ace! He is her husband still, and she, she is
his lawful loving wife. Never was he so dear to her as now. Never did
his noble character so win her admiration, as she contemplates all the
scenes of her wedded life and reviews the evidences of it in the past.
How happy they have been! What bliss has been hers in the enjoyment of
his esteem and affection! She is even now to him, in his absence, the
one object of tender regard and constant thought. She knows how fondly
he dwells on her love, and how precious to him is the beauty which first
won him to her side. She is the "ewe lamb which he has nourished, which
has drank from his own cup and lain in his bosom"--she is his all. He
has been long away; the dangers of the battle field have surrounded
him, and now he is returned, alive, well; her heart bounds, she cannot
wait till she shall see him; yet how can she meet him? Ah! fatal
remembrance, how bitterly it has recalled her from her vision of
delight. It is not true! it cannot be true! it is but a horrible dream!
Her heart is true? She would at any moment have died for him. The entire
devotion of her warm nature is his. She had no willing part in that
revolting crime. Oh! must she suffer as if she had been an unfaithful
wife? Must she endure the anguish of seeing him turn coldly from her in
some future day? Must she now meet him and have all her joy marred by
that hateful secret? Must she take part in deceiving him, in imposing
upon him--him, the noble, magnanimous, pure-minded husband? Oh, wretched
one! was ever sorrow like hers?

The day passes, and the night, and he comes not. Can he have suspected
the truth? Slowly the tedious hours go by, while she endures the racking
tortures of suspense. The third day dawns, and with it come tidings that
he has returned to Rabbah, and his words of whole-souled devotion to his
duty and his God are repeated in her ears.--Faint not yet, strong heart;
a far more bitter cup is in store for thee.

* * * * *

Bathsheba is again a wife, the wife of a king, and in her arms lies her
first-born son. Terrible was the tempest which burst over her head, and
her heart will never again know aught of the serene, untroubled
happiness which once she knew. The storm has indeed lulled, but she sees
the clouds gathering new blackness, and her stricken spirit shrinks and
faints with foreboding fears. The little innocent being which she holds
fondly to her bosom, which seem