I went to see him to-day to ask. No, they had not let him know yet, but they had the ma.n.u.script. He would write me.

I made up my mind that I would not bother him again. I will wait, hard as it is.

I sat asking myself to-day, "Do you really mean that you believe that poem is going to stir the world--this huge, heedless world you see about you?

Have you truly that blind, unreasoning faith that you try to persuade yourself you have?"

Ah, I don't know what I believe now. Only, once I had my young courage,--I feared not the world, I could do anything. Now I am but one among a million.

March 16th.

I force myself to read these things that half-interest me; but I think I spend a quarter of my time wandering about whispering that they are going to publish it. I cry out, "Oh, they must!" I go into the library and stare at the magazine and think of it there. I walk past the publishers', and think of it there! I have been inquiring all about publishing, about terms and all that sort of thing. It makes my brain reel--why, they might pay me five hundred dollars for it! Think of it--five hundred dollars!--I could go crazy with such a thought as that.

And then I think what the reviews will say of it, and I cry, "Oh, no, it can't be true!"

Again I find myself saying, "Only let them take it! I don't care about the rest, whether it succeeds or not--let them take it!"

March 18th.

I walked past the editor's office to-day. It took just every bit of will that I had, not to go in. I said: "He might know even now, and I wouldn't hear till to-morrow!"

But I didn't do it. I said I would wait a week, anyhow.

March 20th.

I don't know what in the world to make of it.

The week ended to-day, and nothing yet; and I hit upon another scheme, I went to the publishers. I said: "I will ask them, and he needn't know anything about it and it won't bother him." So I went in and they referred me to the ma.n.u.script clerk. She said she had never heard of The Captive.

"But it's here somewhere," I said, "the editor brought it here."

"There is no ma.n.u.script ever comes here," she answered, "that is not entered on my books."

"But," I said, "some member of the firm must have it."

"If any member of the firm got it," she said, smiling, "the first thing he would do would be to bring it to me to enter in the books."

I insisted. I wanted to see somebody in the firm, but she answered me there was no use. Finally she suggested that they might know something about it up in the offices of the magazine. I went there, but no, no one had ever heard of it there.

I came home dazed. I don't know what in the world to make of it. He certainly said that the firm was reading it. I wrote to-night to ask him about it.

March 23d.

I have waited day by day in the utmost perplexity to hear from him about that. I should have heard from him yesterday. I don't know what in the world to make of it. Can he have gone in to them privately? Or can he have forgotten it--he is so busy!

I dread the latter circ.u.mstance--but I dread as much to anger him in the other case.

March 27th.

I waited four days more. I went up to see him. Just as I feared. I have annoyed him. I could see it. I know he must be tired of seeing my face.

"Mr. Stirling," he said, "I have told you that the poem is being read by the firm, and that I will let you know the moment I hear from them."

"I only came," I said, "because the clerk told me--"

"There are some things clerks don't know," he put in.

I tremble at the thought of making him angry. I will not go near him again.

March 30th.

I am doing my best to keep my mind on some reading, so as not to make the agony unbearable. But it is very hard--the mails disturb you. I can only read in the middle of the day, and at night. In the morning I expect the first mail, trembling; but after that I know a city letter can't come till afternoon, so I can read. Then again at night I know it can't come.

--I am reading The Ring and the Book. I have always found that it doesn't do to take vulgar opinions. I had supposed I should find The Ring and the Book hard reading.

It _is_ skippable--the consequence of having a foolish scheme to fill out. But the story of Pompilia and Giuseppi is one of the finest things I know of anywhere.

April 3d.

It has been another week. I could not stand it any more. I am going over to the publishers' again this afternoon.

--What in Heaven's name does this thing mean? I met the satisfied smile of the clerk again. "We have never seen the ma.n.u.script, Mr. Stirling!"

If you could only see how positive she is! "I don't know anything about what the editor told you, I can only tell you positively that he has never submitted any such ma.n.u.script to the firm, or to anybody connected with the firm."

That thing drove me wild. I don't know what to make of it. Surely he's given it to some one, for he told me so.

I went up to the magazine rooms, and he was in his office; but he had left word that he would not see any one, and they would not even take in my name.