Chapter 148
Fidelis by Adelaide N. Proctor, recorded for LibriVox.org. You have taken back the promise that you spoke so long ago, taken back the heart you gave me. I must even let it go. Where love once had breathed, pride dieth.
So I struggled but in vain, first to keep the links together, then to piece the broken chain. But it might not be, so freely, all your friendship I restore, and the heart that I had taken as my own forevermore. No shade of reproach shall touch you, dread no more a claim from me.
But I will not have you fancy that I count myself as free. I am bound by the old promise. What can break that golden chain? Not even the words that you have spoken or the sharpness of my pain. Do you think because you fail me and draw back your hand today
that from out the heart I gave you my strong love can fade away. It will live, no eyes may see it. In my soul it will lie deep, hidden from all, but I shall feel it,
often stirring in its sleep. So remember that the friendship, which you now think poor and vain, will endure in hope and patience till you ask for it again. Perhaps in some long twilight hour, like those we have known of old,
when past shadows gather round you and your present friends grow cold, you may stretch your hands out towards me. Ah, you will, I know not when. I shall nurse my love and keep it faithfully for you till then. End of poem.
Read by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. This recording is in the public domain.
