TELL Brother John to light the candles--he walked into the flames--

I am coming.

TWO HAD LIVED [_To M. D. R._]

I

Pa.s.sIONATELY musical--Janet Knott had been sent abroad to study.

HOMESICK and weary she wandered about in a strange city, knowing not even the language.

THE gray sky--the grayer buildings. Was there not in this city a kindly soul--one she could talk to--confide in--

IN a narrow street--suddenly the rich deep tones of an organ reached her soul--

BUILT in among great buildings a small Church. There at least she could find comfort--and the organ.

WAS it a Requiem--minor chords--the keys seemed to sob under the pressure of withered hands.

JANET sobbed too. She was homesick. Lonely--

THE music stopped and the old organist came down and spoke with her. He asked why she was crying.

YOUR music is so sad, she whispered--

AH, my child, that is life--I am told to compose a Requiem--

WHAT youth, filled with the joy of living, could play these minor chords.

I TOO was young once--A student at the University. I loved life then--

I DANCED--composed only waltzes--sang love songs. But now--sorrow has played on the chords of my heart--to teach me these deeper tones--to teach me music for the Pa.s.sion--for the Crucifixion.

YOU must learn, my child, that through sorrow men accomplish great things.

WHEN they weep they send out tones into the world that men remember and cherish.

BEETHOVEN lived and suffered--and has left to the world things of immortal greatness.

BUT now--go--else I shall sadden you beyond your years----

SLOWLY Janet walked through the darkening streets. The words of the organist filled her mind. She felt prophetically her heart must pa.s.s through fire.

WOULD she be strong enough--or would weakness--desire for joy--conquer and kill the power within.

II

THE homesick girl of seventeen has given place to a worldly wise young woman of twenty-five.

NO more longing for the land across the seas. The power within still sleeps--Paris. With its pleasure haunts, its lights, its theatres--

JANET KNOTT--the center of an admiring coterie--she plays light music--waltzes. The joy of being alive--the whirl of a great city--subdued laughter of groups of men and women walking in the moonlight--the flowering chestnut trees--the roses--

RACES of Longchamps--gay colors--a world of excitement.

LIFE--

ITS waves swept over her.

SHE had chosen between this and art--fulfillment of the Soul.

SOMETIMES shadows of her power rose--beckoned.

SHE consoled these moments with coquetry. A success--flowers

THE war broke out. Excitement still filled her. It would soon be over.

SOMETHING new--

THEN--one by one all the men she had known, flirted, danced with, left for the front. To die. That the enemy should not pa.s.s.

PARIS in danger. Death and sorrow near.

THE best in Janet Knott gradually awakened. A desire to help grew until she could contain it no longer.

ONE Sunday evening she went to Notre-Dame for Benediction--Kneeling in the shadows of the pillars she heard the organ--sad agonizing chords

SORROW has played on the chords of my heart to teach me these deeper tones--

THE memory of the little church, of the old organist--of herself, the former Janet, the homesick child.

HER gift--was it dead or only sleeping? Could she awaken it--Spin a new life on the webs of war--

THE shadow of the Janet of seventeen wept over the wasted years.

III

THERE seemed to be no end. The war-filled years crept slowly onward, each day bringing more sorrow--more death.

JANET was torn in two.