Then as she saw The nuns before her, in the interval Of gathering thought, re-limning life again From wonder if she had not died, and these Were guides or ministrants of another world, The nun with cape of blue to Elenor Said: "Drink this wine, this broth;" and Elenor Drank and arose, being lifted up by them, And taken through the convent door and given A little room as white and clean as light, And a bed of snowy linen.

Then they said: "This is the Convent where we send up prayers, Prayers for the souls who do not pray for self-- Rest, child, and be at peace; and if there be Friends you would tell that you are here, then we Will send the word for you, sleep now and rest."

And listening to their voices Elenor slept.

And when she woke a nurse was at her side, And food was served her, broths and fruit. Each day A doctor came to tell her all was well, And health would soon return.

So for a month Elenor Murray lay and heard the bells, And breathed the fragrance of the flowering city That floated through her window, in the stillness Of the convent dreamed, and said to self: This place Is good to die in, who is there to tell That I am here? There was no one. To them She gave her name, but said: "Till I am well Let me remain, and if I die, some place Must be for me for burial, put me there.

And if I live to go again to France And join my unit, let me have a writing That I did not desert, was stricken here And could not leave. For while I stole away From Nice to get a glimpse of Italy, I might have done so in my furlough time, And not stayed over it." And to Elenor The nuns said: "We will help you, but for now Rest and put by anxieties."

On a day Elenor Murray made confessional.

And to the nuns told bit by bit her life, Her childhood, schooling, travels, work in the war, What fate had followed her, what sufferings.

And Sister Mary, she who saw her first, And held the tray of gold with wine and broth, Sat often with her, read to her, and said: "Letters will go ahead of you to clear Your absence over time--be not afraid, All will be well."

And so when Elenor Murray Arose to leave she found all things prepared: A cab to take her to the train, compartments Reserved for her from place to place, her fare And tickets paid for, till at last she came To Brest and joined her unit, in three days Looked at the rolling waters as the s.h.i.+p Drove to America--such a coming home!

To what and whom?

Loveridge Chase returned and brought the letters To Coroner Merival from New York. That day The chemical a.n.a.lysis was finished, showed No ricin and no poison. Elenor Murray Died how? What were the circ.u.mstances? Then When Coroner Merival broke the seals of wax, And cut the twine that bound the package, found The man was Barrett Bays who wrote the letters-- There were a hundred--then he cast about To lay his hands on Barrett Bays, and found That Barrett Bays lived in Chicago, taught, Was a professor, aged some forty years.

Why did this Barrett Bays emerge not, speak, Come forward? Was it simply to conceal A pa.s.sion written in these letters here For his sake or his wife's? Or was it guilt For some complicity in Elenor's death?

And on this day the coroner had a letter From Margery Camp which said: "Where's Barrett Bays?

Why have you not arrested him? He knows Something, perhaps about the death of Elenor."

So Coroner Merival sent process forth To bring in Barrett Bays, _non est inventus_.

He had not visited his place of teaching, Been seen in haunts accustomed for some days-- Not since the death of Elenor Murray, none Knew where to find him, and none seemed to know What lay between this man and Elenor Murray.

This was the more suspicious. Then the _Times_ Made headlines of the letters, published some Wherein this Barrett Bays had written Elenor: "You are my hope in life, my morning star, My love at last, my all." From coast to coast The word was flashed about this Barrett Bays; And Mrs. Bays at Martha's Vineyard read, Turned up her nose, continued on the round Of gaieties, but to a chum relieved Her loathing with these words: "Another woman, He's soiled himself at last."

And Barrett Bays, Who roughed it in the Adirondacks, hoped The inquest's end would leave him undisclosed In Elenor Murray's life, though wracked with fear About the letters in the vault, some day To be unearthed, or taken, it might be, By Margery Camp for uses sinister-- He reading that the letters had been given To Coroner Merival, and seeing his name Printed in every sheet, saw no escape In any nook of earth, returned and walked In Merival's office: trembling, white as snow.

So Barrett Bays was sworn, before the jury Sat and replied to questions, said he knew Elenor Murray in the fall before She went to France, saw much of her for weeks; Had written her these letters before she left.

Had followed her in the war, and gone to France, Had seen her for some days in Paris when She had a furlough. Had come back and parted With Elenor Murray, broken with her, found A cause for crus.h.i.+ng out his love for her.

Came back to win forgetfulness, had written No word to her since leaving Paris--let Her letters lie unanswered; brought her letters, And gave them to the coroner. Then he told Of the day before her death, and how she came By motor to Chicago with her aunt, Named Irma Leese, and telephoned him, begged An hour for talk. "Come meet me by the river,"

She had said. And so went to meet her. Then he told Why he relented, after he had left her In Paris with no word beside this one: "This is the end." Now he was curious To know what she would say, what could be said Beyond what she had written--so he went Out of a curious but hardened heart.

BARRETT BAYS

"I was walking by the river," Barrett said, "When she arrived. I took her hand, no kiss, A silence for some minutes as we walked.

Then we began to take up point by point, For she was concentrated on the hope Of clearing up all doubtful things that we Might start anew, clear visioned, perfect friends, More perfect for mistakes and clouds. Her will Was pa.s.sionate beyond all other wills, And when she set her mind upon a course She could not be diverted, or if so, Her failure kept her brooding. What with me She wanted after what had stunned my faith I knew not, save she loved me. For in truth I have no money, and no prospects either To tempt cupidity."

"Well; first we talked-- You must be patient with me, gentlemen, You see my nerves--they're weakened--but I'll try To tell you all--well then--a gla.s.s of water-- At first we talked but trifles. Silences Came on us like great calms between the stir Of ineffectual breezes, like this day In August growing sultry as the sun Rose upward. She was striving to break down The hard corrosion of my thought, and I Could not surrender. Till at last, I said: 'That day in Paris when you stood revealed Can never be forgotten. Once I killed A love with hatred for a woman who Betrayed me, as you did. And you can kill A love with hatred but you kill your soul While killing love. And so with you I kept All hatred from my heart, but cannot keep A poisonous doubt of you from blood and brain.'...

I learned in Paris, (to be clear on this), That after she had given herself to me She fell back in the arms of Gregory Wenner.

And here as we were walking I revealed My agony, my anger, emptied out My heart of all its bitterness. At last When she protested it was natural For her to do what she had done, the act As natural as breathing, taking food, Not signifying faithlessness nor love-- Though she admitted had she loved me then She had not done so--I grew tense with rage, A serpent which grows stiff and rears its head To strike its enemy was what I seemed To myself then, and so I said to her In voice controlled and low, but deadly clear, 'What are you but a wh.o.r.e--you are a wh.o.r.e!'

Murderous words no doubt, but do you hear She justified herself with Gregory Wenner; Yes, justified herself when she had written And asked forgiveness--yes, brought me out To meet her by the river. And for what?

I said you wh.o.r.e, she shook from head to heels, And toppled, but I caught her in my arms, And held her up, she paled, head rolled around, Her eyes set, mouth fell open, all at once I saw that she was dead, or syncope Profound had come upon her. Elenor, What is the matter? Love came back to me, Love there with Death. I laid her on the ground.

I found her dead.

"If I had any thought There in that awful moment, it was this: To run away, escape, could I maintain An innocent presence there, be clear of fault?

And if I had that thought, as I believe, I had no other; all my mind's a blank Until I find myself at one o'clock Disrobing in my room, too full of drink, And trying to remember.

"With the morning I lay in bed and thought: Did Irma Leese Know anything of me, or did she know That Elenor went out to meet a man?

And if she did not know, who could disclose That I was with her? No one saw us there.

Could I not wait from day to day and see What turn the news would take? For at the last I did not kill her. If the inquest showed Her death was natural, as it was, for all Of me, why then my secret might be hidden In Elenor Murray's grave. And if they found That I was with her, brought me in the court, I could make clear my innocence. And thus I watched the papers, gambled with the chance Of never being known in this affair.

Does this sound like a coward? Put yourself In my place in that horror. Think of me With all these psychic sh.e.l.l shocks--first the war, Its great emotions, then this Elenor."

And thus he spoke and twisted hands, and twitched, And ended suddenly. Then David Borrow, And Winthrop Marion with the coroner Shot questions at him till he woke, regained A memory, concentration: Who are you?

What was your youth? Your love life? What your wife?

Where did you meet this Elenor at the first?

Why did you go to France? In Paris what Happened to break your balance? Tell us all.

For as they eyed him, he looked down, away, Stirred restless in the chair. And was it truth He told of meeting Elenor, her death?

Guilt like a guise was on his face. And one-- This Isaac Newfeldt, juryman, whispered, "Look, That man is guilty, let us fly the questions Like arrows at him till we bring him down."

And as they flew the arrows he came to And spoke as follows:--

"First, I am a heart That from my youth has sought for love and hungered.

And Elenor Murray's heart had hungered too, Which drew our hearts together, made our love As it were mystical, more real. I was A boy who sought for beauty, hope and faith In woman's love; at fourteen met a girl Who carried me to ecstasy till I walked In dreamland, stepping clouds. She loved me too.

I could not cure my heart, have always felt A dull pain for that girl. She died, you know.

I found another, rather made myself Discover my ideal in her, until My heart was sure she was the one. And then I woke up from this trance, went to another Still searching; always searching, reaching now An early cynicism, how to play with hearts, Extract their beauty, pa.s.s to someone else.

I was a little tired now, seemed to know There is no wonder woman, just a woman Somewhere to be a wife. And then I met The woman whom I married, thought to solve My problem with the average things of life; The satisfaction of insistent s.e.x, A home, a regular program, turn to work, Forget the dream, the quest. What did I find?

A woman who exhausted me and bored me, Stirred never a thought, a fancy, brought no friends, No pleasures or diversions, took from me All that I had to give of mind and heart, Purse, or what not. And she was barren too, And restless; by that restlessness relieved The boredom of our life; it took her off In travels here and there. And I was glad To have her absent, but it still is true There is a h.e.l.l in marriage, when it keeps Delights of freedom off, all other women Not willing to intrigue, pa.s.s distantly Your married man; but on the other hand What was my marriage with a wife away Six months or more of every year? And when I said to her, divorce me, she would say, You want your freedom to get married--well, The other woman shall not have you, if There is another woman, as I think.

And so the years went by. I'm thirty-five And meet a woman, play light heartedly, She is past thirty, understands nor asks A serious love. It's summer and we jaunt About the country, for my wife's away.

As usual, in the fall returns, and then My woman says, the holiday is over, Go back to work, and I'll go back to work.

I cannot give her up, would still go on For this delight so sweet to me. By will I hold her, stir the fire up to inflame Her hands for me, make love to her in short And find myself in love, beholding in her All beauties and all virtues. Well, at first What did I care what she had been before, Whose mistress, sweetheart? Now I cared and asked Fidelity from her, and this she pledged.

And so a settled life seemed come to us, We had found happiness. But on a day I caught her in unfaithfulness. A man She knew before she knew me crossed her path.

Why do they do this, even while their lips Are wet with kisses given you? I think A woman may be true in marriage, never In any free relations.h.i.+p. And then I left her, killed the love I had with hate.

Hate is an energy with which to save A heart knocked over by a blow like this.

To forgive this wrong is never to forget, But always to remember, with increasing Sorrow and dreams invest the ruined love.

And so I turned to hate, came from the flames As hard and glittering as crockery ware, And went my way with gallant gestures, winning An hour of rapture where it came to me.

And all the time my wife was much away, Yet left me in this state where I was kept From serious love if I had found the woman.

A pterodactyl in my life and soul: Had wings, could fly, but slumbered in the mud.

Was neither bird nor beast; as social being Was neither bachelor nor married man.

The years went on with work, day after day Arising to the task, night after night Returning for the rest with which to rise, Forever following the mad illusion, The dream, the expected friend, the great event Which should change life, and never finding it.

And all the while I see myself consumed, Sapped somehow by this wife and hating her; Then fearful for myself for hating her, Then melting into generosities For hating her. And so tossed back and forth Between such pa.s.sions, also never at peace From the dream of love, the woman and the mate I stagger, amble, hurtle through the years, And reach that summer of two years ago When life began to change. It was this way: My wife is home, for a wonder, and my friend, Most sympathetic, nearest, comes to dine.

He casts his comprehending eyes about, Takes all things in. As we go down to town, And afterward at luncheon, when alone He says to me: she is a worthy woman, Beautiful, too, there is no other woman To make you happier, the fault is yours, At least in part, remove your part of the fault, To woo her, give yourself, find good in her.

Go take a trip. For neither man nor woman Yields everything till wooed, tried out, beloved.

Bring all your energies to the trial of her.

She will respond, unfold, repay your work.

He won me with his words. I said to her, Let's summer at Lake Placid--so we went.

I tried his plan, did all I could, no use.

The woman is not mine, was never mine, Was meant for someone else. And in despair, In wrath as well, I left her and came back And telephoned a woman that I knew To dine with me. She came, was glad and gay, But as she drew her gloves off let me see A solitaire. What, you? I said to her, You leave me too? She smiled and answered me; Marriage may be the horror that you think, And yet we all must try it once, and Charles Is nearest my ideal of any man.

I have been very ill since last we met, Had not survived except for skillful hands, And Charles was good to me, with heart and purse.

My illness took my savings. I repay His goodness with my hand. I love him too.

You do not care to lose me. As for that I know one who will more than take my place; She is the nurse who nursed me back to health, I'll have you meet her, I can get her now.

She rose and telephoned. In half an hour Elenor Murray joined us, dined with us.

I watched her as she entered, did not see A single wonder in her, cannot now Remember how she looked, what dress she wore, What hat in point of color, anything.

After the dinner I rode home with them, Saw Elenor at luncheon next day. So The intimacy began."