Theodore Winthrop

“ A faint light, as from a nickering wood-fire within, gleamed out into the hazy night. The window-sill was breast high to a man.
“There we used to sit,” he murmured, “my wife and I. There by the fire, in the evenings of autumns long passed, I have watched her love dying, and all my hopeful vigor dying, — dying into ashes.”
The mighty despotism of an old love mastered him for a moment. ”

“ He stole forward softly over the crisp, frosty grass, and looked cautiously in at the window.
Mrs. Brothertoft was seated alone before the fire. Guilt must sit alone and dwell alone. Loneliness is the necessity and the punishment of guilty hearts. No friends are faithful but the noble and the pure, and them guilt dreads and rejects. Mrs. Brothertoft was sitting alone in the fire-lit room. It was an instant before her husband’s eyes could distinguish objects within. He drew close to the window. ”

“ He perceived her. A thrill of pity and pardon killed all his old rancors. He felt that, though he must war against her for his daughter’s sake, he fought, reserving an infinite tenderness for his foe. ”