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Updated: June 24, 2025
In the very hour where all seemed lost to Jenny, Theophil's love for her was passing in the fire of this ordeal from a love whose elements had never, perhaps, quite combined, into that miraculous metal of true love, which can never again be separated into anything but itself, the true gold of love which, in some magical second of projection, has suddenly sprung out of those troubled ingredients of earth and iron, silver, honey, and pearl.
Have I seemed to shirk the subject of Theophil's feelings all this time? Well, I confess I have rather shrunk from writing down in so many words that he was in love with Isabel, obvious as the fact has been, just as he himself shrank from admitting the same truth even to his own soul.
To be a woman is to be a genius, but to be a clever woman is to be another man of talent." "That wouldn't be fair to Isabel." "No," assented Theophil, "Isabel is different too." And that brought them to Theophil's office and good-bye till the evening.
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.
The shame of that wild unfaithfulness burned in Theophil's soul for many days. It humiliated him like a physical degradation. To have been so drunkenly untrue! It was one of those shocks to the moral nature from which it never quite recovers, and Theophil's face lost some of its steadfastness, his walk some of its firmness, for this perfidy towards Jenny.
Theophil's interest was indeed centred in the purlieus of New Zion, but it was entirely retrospective; and though outwardly New Zion was more alive than ever, it seemed to him that activity which once started goes on of itself, and he realised that in his heart he cared nothing for the work itself, but only for the music to which it had once been set in motion.
"How wonderful life has been!" said Theophil; and the two drank, with their eyes firm and sweet upon each other. Then Isabel sat down again by Theophil's side, and leaning her head against his on the pillow, she took his hand. And the room became a heaven of silence.
Still a moment did at last come when the sobs subsided, and Jenny dried her tears. She was going to try, try to be happy again, try to forget it; and she tried so well that in a few days her face had grown even bright again, bright as silver. It could never again be bright as gold. And Theophil's love was like a sun pouring down upon her day by day. Yes, he loved her.
Their love was vowed to silence and absence, and in Theophil's life it must be more and more of a starlit background. So the weeks went by, and the marriage of Theophil and Jenny was now finally fixed for the 12th of February. On second thoughts, as their love grew serene once more, they had decided not to anticipate that date, for old Mrs.
That the eyes of the spirit could touch her, brought no healing to the eyes that at midnight would look up from the desk in Theophil's study to Jenny's empty chair, no touch of her to the hands that were so idle and empty now. Yet there were little services these hands might still do for her. There in her own little room her own books still stood in their places.
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