POSSESSED

by

CLEVELAND MOFFETT

_Author of "Through the Wall", etc. _

NEW YORK

THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY

1920

Copyright 1920 by

THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY

_All Rights Reserved_

Printed in U. S. A. 

DEDICATION

Whatever the defects or limitations of this story, I can assure myreaders that it is largely based on truth. Many of the incidents, including the dual personality phenomena, were suggested by actualhappenings known to me. The doctor who accomplishes cures by occultmethods is a friend of mine, who lives and practises in New York City. Seraphine, the medium, is also a real person. The episode that isexplained by waves of terror passing from one apartment to another andseparately affecting three unsuspecting persons is not imaginary, butdrawn from an almost identical happening that I, myself, witnessed inParis, France. And the truth about women that I have tried to tell hasbeen largely obtained from women themselves, women in various walks oflife, who have been kind enough to give me most of the opinions andexperiences that are contained in Penelope's diary. To them I nowgratefully dedicate this book. 

C. M. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE

PROLOGUE 1

CHAPTER

 I. VOICES 6

 II. WHAT PENELOPE COULD NOT TELL THE DOCTOR 18

 III. A BOWL OF GOLD FISH 42

 IV. FIVE PURPLE MARKS 46

 V. WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE STUDIO 53

 VI. EARTH-BOUND 62

 VII. JEWELS 70

 VIII. WHITE SHAPES 80

 IX. THE CONFESSIONAL CLUB 90

 X. FAUVETTE 103

 XI. THE EVIL SPIRIT 111

 XII. X K C 115

 XIII. TERROR 128

 XIV. POSSESSED 142

 XV. DR. LEROY 149

 XVI. IRRESPONSIBLE HANDS 161

 XVII. THE HOUR OF THE DREAM 169

XVIII. PLAYING WITH FIRE 179

 XIX. PRIDE 192

 XX. THE MIRACLE 199

 XXI. THE TRUTH ABOUT WOMEN THAT NOBODY TELLS 210

 EPILOGUE 252

 "_Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life. _"

 PROVERBS, _Chapter IV, Verse 23_. 

POSSESSED

(_June, 1914_)

SCARLET LIGHTS

This story presents the fulfillment of an extraordinary prophecy madeone night, suddenly and dramatically, at a gathering of New Yorkers, brought together for hilarious purposes, including a little supper, inthe Washington Square apartment of Bobby Vallis--her full name wasRoberta. There were soft lights and low divans and the strumming of apainted ukulele that sang its little twisted soul out under the caressof Penelope's white fingers. I can still see the big black opal in itsquaint setting that had replaced her wedding ring and the yellow serpentof pliant gold coiled on her thumb with two bright rubies for its eyes. Penelope Wells! How little we realized what sinister forces were playingabout her that pleasant evening as we smoked and jested and sipped ourglasses, gazing from time to time up the broad vista of Fifth Avenuewith its lines of receding lights. 

There had been an impromptu session of the Confessional Club duringwhich several men, notably a poet in velveteen jacket, had vouchsafedsentimental or matrimonial revelations in the most approved GreenwichVillage style. And the ladies, unabashed, had discussed these things. 

But not a word did Penelope Wells speak of her own matrimonial troubles, which were known vaguely to most of us, although we had never met thedrunken brute of a husband who had made her life a torment. I can seeher now in profile against the open window, her eyes dark with theirslumberous fires. I remember the green earrings she wore that night, andhow they reached down under her heavy black braids--reached downcaressingly over her white neck. She was a strangely, fiercely beautifulcreature, made to love and to be loved, fated for tragic happenings. Shewas twenty-nine. 

The discussion waxed warm over the eternal question--how shall a womansatisfy her emotional nature when she has no chance or almost no chanceto marry the man she longs to marry?

Roberta Vallis put forth views that would have frozen old-fashionedmoralists into speechless disapproval--entire freedom of choice andaction for women as well as men, freedom to unite with a mate orseparate from a mate--both sexes to have exactly the sameresponsibilities or lack of responsibilities in these sentimentalarrangements. 

"No, no! I call that loathsome, abominable, " declared Penelope, and thepoet adoringly agreed with her, although his practice had beennotoriously at variance with these professions. 

"Suppose a woman finds herself married to some beast of a man, " flashedRoberta, "some worthless drunkard, do you mean to tell me it is her dutyto stick to such a husband, and spoil her whole life?"

To which Penelope, hiding her agitation, said: "I--I am not discussingthat phase of the question. I mean that if a woman is alone in theworld, if she longs for the companionship of a man--the intimatecompanionship--"

"Ha, ha, ha!" snickered the poet. I can see his close cropped yellowbeard and his red face wrinkling in merriment at this supposition. 

"I hate your Greenwich Village philosophy, " stormed Penelope. "Youhaven't the courage, the understanding to commit one big splendid sinthat even the angels in heaven might approve, but you fritter away yoursouls and spoil your bodies in cheap little sins that arejust--_disgusting!_"

The poet shrivelled under her scorn. 

"But--one splendid sin?" he stammered. "That means a woman must go toher mate, doesn't it?"

"Without marriage? Never! I'll tell you what a woman should do--I'lltell you what I would do, just to prove that I am not conventional, Iwould act on the principle that there is a sacred right God has given toevery woman who is born, a right that not even God Himself can take awayfrom her, I mean the right to--"

A muffled scream interrupted her, a quick catching of the breath by astout lady, a newcomer, who was seated on a divan, I should have judgedthis woman to be a rather commonplace person except that her deeplysunken eyes seemed to carry a far away expression as if she saw thingsthat were invisible to others. Now her eyes were fixed on Penelope. 

"Oh, the beautiful scarlet light!" she murmured. "There! Don't yousee--moving down her arm? And another one--on her shoulder! Scarletlights! My poor child! My poor child!"

Ordinarily we would have laughed at this, for, of course, we saw noscarlet lights, but somehow now we did not laugh. On the contrary wefell into hushed and wondering attention, and, turning to Roberta, welearned that this was Seraphine, a trance medium who had given séancesfor years to scientists and occult investigators, and was now assistingDr. W----, of the American Occult Society. 

"A séance! Magnificent! Let us have a séance!" whispered the poet. "Tellus, madam, can you really lift the veil of the future?"

But already Seraphine had settled back on the divan and I saw that hereyes had closed and her breathing was quieter, although her body wasshaken from time to time by little tremors as if she were recoveringfrom some great agitation. We watched her wonderingly, and presently shebegan to speak, at first slowly and painfully, then in her natural tone. Her message was so brief, so startling in its purport that there can beno question of any error in this record. 

"Penelope will--cross the ocean, " Seraphine began dreamily. "Her husbandwill die--very soon. There will be war--soon. She will go to the war andwill have honors conferred upon her--on the battlefield. She will--shewill, "--the medium's face changed startlingly to a mask of anguish andher bosom heaved. "Oh, my poor child! I see you--I see you going downto--_to horror--to terror_--Ah!"

She cried out in fright and stopped speaking; then, after a moment ofdazed effort, she came back to reality and looked at us as before out ofher sunken eyes, a plump little kindly faced woman resting against ablue pillow. 

 * * * * *

_Now, whatever one may think of mediums, the facts are that Penelope'shusband died suddenly in an automobile accident within a month of thismemorable evening. And within two months the great war burst upon theworld. And within a year Penelope did cross the ocean as a Red CrossNurse, and it is a matter of record that she was decorated for valorunder fire of the enemy. _

_This story has to do with the remainder of Seraphine's prophecy. _

CHAPTER I

(_January, 1919_)

VOICES

Penelope moved nervously in her chair, evidently very much troubledabout something as she waited in the doctor's office. Her two years inFrance had added a touch of mystery to her strange beauty. Her eyes weremore veiled in their burning, as if she had glimpsed something that hadfrightened her; yet they were eyes that, even unintentionally, carried amessage to men, an alluring, appealing message to men. With her redmouth, her fascinatingly unsymmetrical mouth, and her sinuous bodyPenelope Wells at thirty-three was the kind of woman men look at twiceand remember. She was dressed in black. 

When Dr. William Owen entered the front room of his Ninth Street officehe greeted her with the rough kindliness that a big man in hisprofession, a big-hearted man, shows to a young woman whose caseinterests him and whose personality is attractive. 

"I got your note, Mrs. Wells, " he began, "and I had a letter about youfrom my young friend, Captain Herrick. I needn't say that I had alreadyread about your bravery in the newspapers. The whole country has beensounding your praises. When did you get back to New York?"

"About a week ago, doctor. I came on a troop ship with several othernurses. I--I wish I had never come. "

There was a note of pathetic, ominous sadness in her voice. Even in hisfirst study of this lovely face, the doctor's experienced eye told himthat here was a case of complicated nervous breakdown. He wondered ifshe could have had a slight touch of shell shock. What a ghastly thingfor a high spirited, sensitive young woman to be out on those battlefields in France!

"You mustn't say that, Mrs. Wells. We are all very proud of you. Thinkof having the _croix de guerre_ pinned on your dress by the commandinggeneral before a whole regiment! Pretty fine for an American woman!"

Penelope Wells sat quite still, playing with the flexible serpent ringon her thumb, and looked at the doctor out of her wonderful deep eyesthat seemed to burn with a mysterious fire. Could there be somethingOriental about her--or--or Indian, the physician wondered. 

"Doctor, " she said, in a low tone, "I have come to tell you the truthabout myself, and the truth is that I deserve no credit for what I didthat day, because I--I did not want to live. I wanted them to kill me, Itook every chance so that they would kill me; but God willed itdifferently, the shells and bullets swept all around me, cut through mydress, through my hair, but did not harm me. "

"Tell me a little more about it, just quietly. How did you happen to goout there? Was it because you heard that Captain Herrick was wounded?That's the way the papers cabled the story. Was that true?" Then, seeingher face darken, he added: "Perhaps I ought not to ask that question?"

"Oh, yes, I want you to. I want you to know everything aboutme--everything. That's why I am here. Captain Herrick says you are agreat specialist in nervous troubles, and I have a feeling that unlessyou can help me nobody can. "

"Well, I have helped some people who felt pretty blue aboutlife--perhaps I can help you. Now, then, what is the immediate trouble?Any aches or pains? I must say you seem to be in splendid health, " hesmiled at her with cheery admiration. 

"It isn't my body. I have no physical suffering. I eat well enough, Isleep well, except--my dreams. I have horrible, torturing dreams, doctor. I'm afraid to go to sleep. I have the same dreams over and overagain, especially two dreams that haunt me. "

"How long have you had these dreams?"

"Ever since I went out that dreadful day from Montidier--when theGermans almost broke through. They told me Captain Herrick was lyingthere helpless, out beyond our lines. So I went to him. I don't know howI got there, but--I found him. He was wounded in the thigh and a Germanbeast was standing over him when I came up. He was going to run himthrough with a bayonet. And somehow, I--I don't know how I did it, butI caught up a pistol from a dead soldier and I shot the German. "

"Good Lord! You don't say! They didn't have that in the papers! What awoman! No wonder you've had bad dreams!"

Penelope passed a slender hand over her eyes as if to brush away evilmemories, then she said wearily: "It isn't that, they are not ordinarydreams. "

"Well, what kind of dreams are they? You say there are two dreams?"

"There are two that I have had over and over again, but there areothers, all part of a sequence with the same person in them. "

The doctor looked at her sharply. "The same person? A person that yourecognize?"

"Yes. "

"A person you have really seen? A man?"

"Yes, the man I killed. "

"Oh!"

"I told you he was a beast. I saw that in his face, but I _know_ it nowbecause I dream of things that he did as a conqueror--in the villages. "

"I see--brutal things?"

"Worse than that. In one dream I see him--Oh!" she shuddered and theagony in her eyes was more eloquent than words. 

"My dear lady, you are naturally wrought up by these dreadfulexperiences, you need rest, quiet surroundings, good food, a littlerelaxation----"

"No, no, no, " Mrs. Wells interrupted impatiently. 

"Don't tell me those old things. I am a trained nurse. I _know_ my caseis entirely different. "

"How is it different? We all have dreams. I have dreams myself. Onenight I dreamed that I was dissecting the janitor downstairs; sometimesI wish I had. "

Penelope brushed aside this effort at humor. "You haven't dreamed thattwenty times with every detail the same, have you? That's how I dream. Isee these faces, real faces, again and again. I hear the same cries, thesame words, vile words. Oh, I can't tell you how horrible it is!"

"But we are not responsible for our dreams, " the doctor insisted. 

She shook her head wearily. "That's just the point, it seems to me thatI am responsible. I feel as if I _enjoy_ these horrible dreams--while Iam dreaming them. When I am awake, the very thought of them makes meshudder, but while I am dreaming I seem to be an entirely differentperson--a low, vulgar creature proud of the brutal strength andcoarseness of her man. I seem to be a part of this human beast! When Iwake up I feel as if my soul had been stained, dragged in the mire, almost lost. It seems as if I could never again feel any self-respect. Oh, doctor, " Penelope's voice broke and the tears filled her eyes, "youmust help me! I cannot bear this torture any longer! What can I do toescape from such a curse?"

Seldom, in his years of practice, had the specialist been so moved by apatient's confession as was Dr. Owen during Penelope's revelation of hersuffering. As a kindly human soul he longed to help this agonizedmortal; as a scientific expert he was eager to solve the mystery of thisnervous disorder. He leaned toward her with a look of compassion. 

"Be assured, my dear Mrs. Wells, I shall do everything in my power tohelp you. And in order to accomplish what we want, I must understand agreat many things about your past life. " He drew a letter from hispocket. "Let me look over what Captain Herrick wrote me about you. Hm!He refers to your married life?"

"Yes. "

The doctor studied the letter in silence. "I see. Your husband diedabout four years ago?"

"Four years and a half. "

"I judge that your married life was not very happy?"

"That is true, it was very unhappy. "

"Is there anything in your memory of your husband, any details regardingyour married life, that may have a bearing on your present state ofmind?"

"I--I think perhaps there is, " she answered hesitatingly. 

"Is it something of an intimate nature that--er--you find it difficultto tell me about?"

"I will tell you about it, doctor, but, if you don't mind, " she made apathetic little gesture, "I would rather tell you at some other time. Ithas no bearing upon my immediate trouble, that is, I don't think ithas. "

"Good. We'll take that up later on. Now I want to ask another question. I understood you to say that when you did that brave act on the battlefield you really wanted to--to have the whole thing over with?"

"Yes, I did. "

"You did not go out to rescue Captain Herrick simply because you--let ussay, cared for him?"

For the first time Penelope's face lighted in an amused smile. "Ihaven't said that I care for Captain Herrick, have I? I don't mindtelling you, though, that I should not have gone into that danger if Ihad not known that Chris was wounded. I cared for him enough to want tohelp him. "

"But not enough to go on living?"

"No, I did not want to go on living. "

He eyed her with the business-like tenderness that an old doctor feelsfor a beautiful young patient. "Of course, you realize, Mrs. Wells, thatit will be impossible for me to help you or relieve your distressingsymptoms unless you tell me what is behind them. I must know clearly whyit was that you did not wish to go on living. "

"I understand, doctor, I am perfectly willing to tell you. It is becauseI was convinced that my mind was affected. "

"Oh!" He smiled at her indulgently. "I can tell you, my dear lady, thatI never saw a young woman who, as far as outward appearances go, struckme as being more sane and healthy than yourself. What gives you thisidea that your mind is affected? Not those dreams? You are surely toointelligent to give such importance to mere dreams?"

Penelope bit her red lips in perplexed indecision, then she leanednearer the doctor and spoke in a low tone, glancing nervously over hershoulder. Fear was plainly written on her face. 

"No--it's not just the dreams. They are horrible enough, but I havefaith that you will help me get rid of them. There's something else, something more serious, more uncanny. It terrifies me. I feel that I'min the power of some supernatural being who takes a fiendish delight intorturing me. I'm not a coward, Dr. Owen, " Penelope lifted her headproudly, "for I truly have no fear of real danger that I can see andface squarely, but the unseen, the unknown----" She broke off suddenly, a strained, listening look on her face. Then she shivered though theglowing fire in the grate was making the room almost uncomfortably warm. 

"Do you mind giving me some details?" Dr. Owen spoke in his gentlestmanner, for he realized that he must gain her confidence. 

Penelope continued with an effort:

"For several months I have heard voices about me, sometimes when no oneis present, sometimes in crowds on the street, at church, anywhere. Butthe voices that I hear are not the voices of real persons. "

"What kind of voices are they? Are they loud? Are they distinct? Or arethey only vague whispers?"

"They are perfectly distinct voices, just as clear as ordinary voices. And they are voices of different persons. I can tell them apart; butnone of them are voices of persons that I have ever seen or known. "

"Hm! I suppose you have heard, as a trained nurse, of what we callclairaudient hallucinations?"

"Yes, doctor, and I know that those hallucinations often appear in theearly stages of insanity. That is what distresses me. "

"How often do you hear these voices--not all the time? Do you hear themin the night?"

"I hear them at any time--day or night. I have tried not to notice them, I pretend that I do not hear them. I do my best to forget them. I haveprayed to God that He will make these voices cease troubling me, that Hewill make them go away; but nothing seems to do any good. "

"What kind of things do these voices say? Do they seem to be talking toyou directly?"

"Sometimes they do, sometimes they seem to be talking about me, as iftwo or three persons were discussing me, criticizing me. They say veryunkind things. It seems as if they read my thoughts and makemischievous, wicked comments on them. Sometimes they say horrid things, disgusting things. Sometimes they give me orders. I am to do this orthat; or I am not to do this or that. Sometimes they say the same wordover and over again, many times. It was that way when I went out on thebattlefield to help Captain Herrick. As I ran along, stumbling over thedead and wounded, I heard these voices crying out: 'Fool! Fool! Don't doit! You mustn't do it! You're a coward! You know you're a coward! You'regoing to be killed! You're a little fool to get yourself killed!'"

"And yet you went on? You did not obey these voices?"

"I went on because I was desperate. I tell you I wanted to die. What isthe use of living if one is persecuted like this? There is nothing tolive for, is there?"

He met her pathetic look with confidence. 

"I think there is, Mrs. Wells. There is a lot to live for. Thosehallucinations and dreams are not as uncommon as you think. I could giveyou cases of shell shock patients who have suffered in this way and comeback to normal health. You have been through enough, my young friend, tobring about a somewhat hysterical condition that is susceptible of cure, if you will put yourself in favorable conditions. Do you mind if I askyou straight out whether you have any objections to marrying a secondtime?"

"N--no, that is to say I--er----" The color burned in her cheeks andOwen took note of this under his grizzled brows. 

"As an old friend of the family--I mean Herrick's family--may I ask youif you would have any objection to Captain Herrick as ahusband--assuming that you are willing to accept any husband?"

"I like Captain Herrick very much, I--I think I care for him more thanany man I know, but----"

"Well? If you love Herrick and he loves you----" Owen broke off herewith a new thought, "Ah, perhaps that is the trouble, perhaps CaptainHerrick has not told you that he loves you? I hope, dear lady, I am notforcing your confidence?"

"No, doctor, I want you to know. Captain Herrick cares for me, he lovesme, he has asked me to marry him, but--I have refused him. "

"But why--if you love him? Why refuse him?"

"Oh, can't you see? Can't you understand? How could I think of such athing, knowing, as I do, that something is wrong with my mind? It isquite impossible. Besides, there is another reason. "

"Another reason?" he repeated. 

"It has to do with my married life. As I said I would rather tell youabout that some other time--if you don't mind?"

He saw that she could go no farther. 

"Exactly, some other time. Let us say in about two weeks. During thattime my prescription for you is a rest down at Atlantic City with longwalks and a dip in the pool every morning. Come back then and tell mehow you feel, and don't think about those dreams and voices. But thinkabout your past life--about those things that you find it hard to tellme. It may not be necessary to tell me provided you know the truthyourself. Will you promise that?" He smiled at her encouragingly as shenodded. "Good! Now be cheerful. I am not deceiving you, Mrs. Wells, I amtoo sensible an old timer to do that. I give you my word that thesetroubles can be easily handled. I really do not consider you in aserious condition. Now then, until two weeks from today. I'll make you afriendly little bet that when I see you again you'll be dreaming aboutflower gardens and blue skies and pretty sunsets. Good morning. "

He watched her closely as she turned with a sad yet hopeful smile toleave the room. 

"Thank you very much, doctor. I'll come back two weeks from today. "

Then she was gone. 

For some minutes Owen sat drumming on his desk, lost in thought. "ByGeorge, that's a queer case. _Her other reason is the real one. I wonderwhat it is?_"

CHAPTER II

WHAT PENELOPE COULD NOT TELL THE DOCTOR

(_Fragments from Her Diary_)

_Atlantic City, Tuesday. _

I cannot tell what is on my mind, I cannot tell _anyone_, even a doctor;but I will keep my promise and look into my past life. I will open thoseprecious, tragic, indiscreet little volumes bound in red leather inwhich I have for years put down my thoughts and intimate experiences. Ihave always found comfort in my diary. 

I am thirty-three years old and for ten years, beginning before I wasmarried, I have kept this record. I wrote of my unhappiness with myhusband; I wrote of my lonely widowhood and of my many temptations; Iwrote of my illness, my morbid cravings and hallucinations. 

There are several of these volumes and I have more than once been on thepoint of burning them, but somehow I could not. However imperfectly Ihave expressed myself and however mistaken I may be in my interpretationof life, I have at least not been afraid to speak the truth about myselfand about other women I have known, and truth, even the smallestfragment of it, is an infinitely precious thing. 

What a story of a woman's struggles and emotions is contained in thesepages! I wonder what Dr. Owen would think if he could read them. Heavens! How freely dare I draw upon these intimate chapters of my life?How much must the doctor know in order to help me--to save me?

Shall I reveal myself to him as I really was during those agitated yearsbefore my marriage when I faced the struggle of life, the temptations oflife--an attractive young woman alone in New York City, earning her ownliving?

And how shall I tell the truth about my unhappy married life--thetorture and degradation of it? The truth about my widowhood--those twogay years before the great disaster came, when, with money enough, I letmyself go in selfish pursuit of pleasure--playing with fire?

As I turn over these agitated pages I feel I have tried to be honest. Irebel against hypocrisy, I hate false pretense, often I make myself outworse than I really am. 

In one place I find this:

"There is no originality in women. They do what they see others do, theythink what they are told to think--like a flock of sheep. Their hair isa joke--absurd frizzles and ear puffs that are always imitated. Theirshoes are a tragedy. Their corsets are a crime. But they would dierather than change these ordered abominations. So would I. I flock withthe crowd. I hobble my skirts, wear summer furs, powder my nose, wave myhair (permanently or not) according to the commands of fashion, but Ihate myself for doing it. _I am a woman!_"

I am a woman and most women are liars--so are most men--but there ismore excuse for women because centuries of oppression have made usafraid to tell the truth. I try to be original by speaking thetruth--part of it, at least--in this diary. 

On one page I find this:

"The truth is that women love pursuit and are easily reconciled tocapture. Why else do they deck themselves out in finery, perfumethemselves, bejewel themselves, flaunt their charms (including decolletécharms and alluring bathing suit charms) in every possible way? I dothis myself--why? I have a supple figure and I dance without corsets, orrather with only a band to hold up my stockings. I wear low cut eveninggowns, the most captivating I can afford. I love to flirt. I could notlive without admiration, and other women are the same. They all havesomething that they are vain about--eyes, nose, mouth, voice, teeth, hair, complexion, hands, feet, figure--_something that they are vainabout. _ And what is vanity but a consciousness of power to attract menand make other women envious? _There are only two efforts that the humanrace take seriously (after they have fed themselves): the effort ofwomen to attract men, the effort of men to capture women. _"

 * * * * *

_Wednesday. _

In searching back through the years for the cause of this disaster thathas brought me to the point where a woman's reason is overthrown, I seethat I was always selfish, absorbed in my own problems and vanities, myown disappointments, grievances, emotions. It was what I could get outof life, not what I could give, that concerned me. I was vain of my goodlooks. I craved admiration. 

Once I wrote in my diary:

"I often stand before my mirror at night before I go to bed and admiremy own sombre beauty. I let my hair fall in a black cloud over myshoulders, then I braid it slowly with bare arms lifted in gracefulposes. I sway my hips like Carmen, I thrust red flowers into my bosom. Imove my head languidly, letting my white teeth gleam between red lips. Istudy my profile with a hand glass, getting the double reflection. Ismile and beckon with my eyes. Yes, I am a beautiful woman--primeval, elemental--I was made for love. "

Again I wrote, showing that I half understood the perils that beset me:

"Women are moths, they love to play with fire. They are irresistiblydriven--like poor little birds that dash themselves against alighthouse--towards the burning excitements connected with theallurement of men. They live for admiration. The besetting sin of allwomen is vanity; _vanity is a woman's consciousness of her power overmen. _"

And again:

"It is almost impossible for a fascinating woman not to flirt alittle--sometimes. For example, she passes a man on the street, adistinguished looking man. She does not know him, but their eyes havemet in a certain way and she feels that he is attracted by her. She hason a pretty dress with a bunch of violets. She wonders whether this manhas turned back to look at her--she is sure he has--she longs to lookback. No matter how much culture and breeding she has, _she longs tolook back_!"

No wonder that, with such thoughts and inclinations, I was always moreor less under temptation with men, who were drawn to me, I suppose, justas I was drawn to them. And I tried to excuse myself in the old way, ashere:

"It is certain that some women have strong emotional desires, whereasother women have none at all or scarcely any. This fact has an evidentbearing upon the question of women's morality. Some women must be judgedmore leniently than others. I have wondered if there are similardifferences in men. I doubt it!"

Of course I had agitating experiences with men because I half invitedthem. It seemed as if I could not help it. As I said to myself, I was amoth, I wanted to play with fire. 

On the next page I find this:

"Seraphine disapproves of my attitude towards men. She gave me a greattalking to last night and said things I would not take from anyone else. Dear old Seraphine, she is so fine and kind! She says there is nothingin my physical makeup that compels me to be a flirt. I can act morediscreetly if I wish to. It is my mental attitude toward romantic thingsthat is wrong. Thousands of women just as pretty as I am never placethemselves in situations with men that are almost certain to lead theminto temptation. They will not start an emotional episode that mayeasily, as they know quite well, have a dangerous ending. But I amalways ready to start, confident that my self-control will save me fromany immediate disaster. And so far it always has. "

How earnestly Seraphine sounded her warning. I wrote down her words andpromised to heed them: "_Remember, dear, that emotional desiredeliberately aroused in 'harmless flirtations' and then deliberatelyrepressed is an offense against womanhood, a menace to the health, and adegradation to the soul. _"

 * * * * *

_Thursday night. _

I am horribly sad tonight--lonely--discouraged. The doctor wants to knowabout my married life, about my husband. Why was I unhappy? Why is anywoman unhappy? Because her love is trampled on, degraded--the spiritualpart of it unsatisfied. Women are made for love and without love lifemeans nothing to them. Women are naturally finer than men, they aspiremore strongly to what is beautiful and spiritual, but their souls can becoarsened, their love can be killed. They can be driven--they have beendriven for centuries (through fear of men) into lies and deceits andsensuality or pretence of sensuality. 

The great tragedy of the world is sensuality, and it may exist betweenman and wife just as much as between a man and a paid woman. I don'tknow whether the Bible condemns sensuality between man and wife, but itought to. I remember a story by Tolstoy in which the great moraliststrips off our mask of hypocrisy and shows the hideous evil that resultswhen a man and a woman degrade the holy sacrament of marriage. That isnot love, but a perversion of love. How can God bless a union in whichthe wife is expected to conduct herself like a wanton or lose herhusband? And she loses him anyway, for sensuality in a man inevitablyleads him to promiscuousness. I know this to my sorrow!

Perhaps I am morbid. Perhaps I see life too clearly, know it too well. Ido not want to be cynical or bitter. Oh, if only those old days of faithand trust could come back to me! When I think of what I was before Imarried Julian I see that I was almost like a child in my ignorance ofthe animal side of man's nature.... 

 * * * * *

_Friday. _

Dr. Owen thinks my trouble is shell shock, but he is mistaken. I havetaken care of too many shell shock cases not to recognize the symptoms. Can I ever forget that darling soldier boy from Maryland who mistook mefor his mother? "They're coming! They're coming!" he screamed one night;you could hear him all over the hospital. Then he jumped out of bed likea wild man--it took two orderlies and an engineer to get him back underthe covers. I can see his poor wasted face when the little doctor cameto give him a hypodermic. There he lay panting, groaning: "Oh thoseguns! Oh those guns! They break my ears!" Then he sprang up again, hiseyes starting out of his head: "Look out, there! On the ammunitioncart! Look out, Bill! Oh my God, they've got Bill--my pal! Blown him tohell! Oh, oh, oh!" and he put his head down and sobbed like a woman. That is shell shock. I have nothing like that. I know what I am doing. 

 * * * * *

There was a storm today with great crashing waves, then everything grewcalm under a golden sunset. I take this as a good omen. I feel happieralready. The infinite peace of Nature is quieting my soul. I love thesea. I can almost say my prayers to the sea. 

 * * * * *

_Saturday. _

The swimming master pays me extravagant compliments every morning when Isplash about in the pool. I know my body is beautiful. Thank God, I havenever imprisoned it in corsets. 

I love the exercises I do in my room every morning. They bring back theplay spirit of my childhood. When I get out of bed I slip into a loosegarment, then I lie on the floor and stretch my spine along thecarpet--it's wonderful how this exhilarates one. After that I take deepbreaths at the open window, raising and lowering my arms--up as I drawmy breath in, down as I throw it out. Then I lie down again and lift mylegs straight up, the right, the left, then both together. I do thistwenty times, resting between changes and taking deep breaths. 

I sit cross-legged on the floor with my feet on a red and gold cushionand rotate my waist like an oriental dancer. I stand on my head andhands and curve my body to right and left in graceful flexings. I dothis no matter how cold it is. I do not feel the cold, for I am allaglow with health and strength. Then, before my bath, I do dumb-bellexercises in front of the mirror. 

I remember dining with my husband one night in a pink lace peignoir--wehad been married about three years--and during the dessert, I excusedmyself and went into my bedroom and, posing before a cheval glass, I letthe peignoir slip off my shoulders, and stood there like a piece ofpolished marble, rejoicing in my youth and loveliness!

How I hated my husband that night! He had taught me to drink. He hadmade me sensual. He had not yet assumed the coarse, red-faced brutishaspect that he wore later, but he had a coarse, red-faced brutish soul. Alas! his body was still fine enough to tempt me. And his mind wasdevilishly clever enough to captivate my fancy. He took away my faith, _even my faith in motherhood_. That was why I chiefly hated him. 

For three years my husband disgusted me with his unfaithfulness. Nowoman was too high or too low, too refined or too ignorant, for hispassing fancy, if only she had physical attractiveness--just a littlephysical attractiveness. Anything for variety, shop girl or duchess, kitchen maid or society leader, they were all the same to Julian. Heconfessed to me that he once made love to a little auburn-haired_divorcée_ while they were in a mourning carriage going to her sister'sfuneral. _Et elle s'est laissée faire!_

He was like a hunter following his prey, like an angler fishing, hecared only for the chase, for the capture. That was the man I hadmarried!

What a liar he was! He poisoned my mind with his lies, assuring me thatall men were like himself, hypocrites, incapable of being true to onewoman. And I believed him. The ghastly part of it is I still believehim. I can't help it. I have suffered too much. I can never have faithin another man, not even in Captain Herrick. That is why I shall nevermarry again--that is one reason. 

 * * * * *

_Sunday. _

A wonderful day! I strolled along the board walk in my new furs, and meta young mother pushing a baby carriage with two splendid baby boys--oneof them sucking at his bottle. Such babies! She let me hold the littlefellow and I cuddled him close in my arms and felt his soft cheeks andhis warm little chubby hands on my face. How I long for a baby of myown! I have thought--hoped--dreamed--

I went to the movies this evening with some friends and laughed so hardthat I thought I would break something in my internal machinery. 

When I returned to the hotel I found a letter from Captain Herrick--somanly and affectionate. He loves me! And I love him, more than anythingin the world. I feel so well today, so glad to be alive that if Chriswere here, I think I would promise him whatever he asked. I long to givemyself entirely--_my beauty, my passion, everything_--to this man that Ilove. 

And yet--alas!

Am I bold and vain to call myself beautiful?

 * * * * *

I find myself in my diary siding strongly with women against men inanything that has to do with emotional affairs, although I like menbetter than women. My tendency is always to blame the man. This ispartly because of the hideous wrong that was done me by my husband andpartly because I like to believe that, however blame-worthy women are inthe sex struggle and, whatever _faiblesses_ they may be guilty of, thefundamental cause of it all must be found in centuries of men'swickedness and oppression. 

I have written about this with much feeling. In one place I say:

"Sometimes I feel as if there were a conspiracy of men--all kinds ofmen, including the most serious and respectable--against the virtue ofattractive women. What a downfall of masculine reputations there wouldbe if women should tell a little of what they know about men! Only alittle! But women are silent in the main--through loyalty or throughfear. "

And again:

"What happens to an attractive woman who is forced to earn her ownliving? In the business world? In the artistic world? Anywhere? I donot say that men are a pack of wolves, but--I had such a heartbreakingexperience, especially in my brief musical career. I might have had asmall part in grand opera at the Metropolitan Opera House, New YorkCity, so one particular musical wolf assured me, if I would show alittle sympathy with his desire to assist me in some of therôles--occasional private rehearsals, and so on. Oh, the beast!... Hegave the part to another girl (her voice did not compare with mine) whowas less particular, and she made her début the next season. I went towork at Wanamaker's store!"

And still men pursued me. 

I find this entry:

"Roberta took me to dinner yesterday at the Lafayette with her friendMr. G----, a man of sixty, red-faced, fat and prosperous, the breezyWesterner type. He is giving a grand party at Sherry's and wants me tocome. I said I was afraid I couldn't, my real reason being that I haveno dress that is nice enough. He said nothing at the time, but kept hiseyes on me, and this evening, when I got home, there was a perfectlystunning dinner gown--it must have cost $250. --with a note from Mr. G---- begging me to accept it as I would a flower, since it meantabsolutely nothing to him. 

"How I longed to keep that gown! I think I should have kept it ifSeraphine had not happened in. 

"'Isn't this lovely?' I said, holding it up. 'Do you think I can acceptit?' Then I told her what Mr. G---- had said. 

"She looked at me out of her kind, wise eyes. 

"'Do you like him?'

"'Well--rather. '

"'Is he married or unmarried?'

"'I think he's married. '

"'Is he the man who gave Roberta her sables?'

"'Y-yes, ' I admitted. 

"She looked at me again. 

"'I can't decide for you, Pen; you must settle it with your ownconscience; but I am sure of one thing, that, if you accept this dress, you will pay for it, and probably pay much more than it is worth. '

"It ended in my sending the gown back and missing the dinner party, which made Mr. G---- furious, he blamed Roberta for my resistance, and alittle later he threw her over. Like most men of that type who promisewomen wonderful things, he was hard, selfish and exacting--acold-blooded sensualist. And poor Roberta, indolent and luxurious, wasobliged to go back to work--up at seven and on her feet all day fortwenty dollars a week. She had been spending twenty dollars a day!

"What is a woman to conclude from all this?" I wrote despairingly. "Iknow there are decent men in the world; there are employers who wouldnever think of becoming unduly interested in their good-looking womenassistants, who would never intimate that they had any claim upon theevenings of pretty stenographers or secretaries; there are lawyers whowould never force odious attentions upon an attractive woman whosedivorce case they might be handling--'_Dear lady, how about a littledinner and a cabaret show tonight?_'--There are old friends of thefamily, serious middle-aged men who would never take advantage of ayoung woman's weakness or distress; but, oh dear God! there are so manyothers who have no decency, no heart! A woman is desperate and mustconfide in someone. She has lost her position and is struggling to findanother. She craves innocent pleasure--music, the theatre, the dance. _She is so horribly lonely. _ Help me, counsel me, she pleads to some manwhom she trusts--any man, the average man. Does he help her? Yes, on onecondition, that she use her power as a woman. Not otherwise. This is agreat mystery to women--how men, who are naturally kind, can be socruel, so persistent, so infernally clever in forcing women to use theirpower for their own undoing. "

 * * * * *

_Tuesday. _

Here is an interesting thing that Kendall Brown once said on thissubject--I recorded it in my diary along with other sayings of thiserratic Greenwich Village poet and philosopher:

"The sex power of women is the most formidable power ever loosed uponearth, " he declared one evening. "Thrones totter before it. Captains ofindustry forget their millions in its presence. _Cherchez la femme!_This terrible power is possessed by every dark-eyed siren in a SecondAvenue boarding house, by every languishing, red-lipped blonde earningeighteen dollars a week in a department store. And she knows it! Othershave vast earthly possessions, stores of science, palaces of art, knowledge without end--she has a _tresor_ that makes baubles ofthese--she is the custodian of life, _she has the eternal life power_. "

How true that is!

Again I wrote:

"It may be argued that women are willing victims of this man conspiracy, I say _no_! Every woman in her heart longs to love _one_ man, to giveherself to _one_ man, to be true to _one_ man. Even the unfortunate inthe streets, if she receives just a little kindness, if she has onlyhalf a chance and is encouraged to right living by some decent fellow, will go through fire and water to show her gratitude and devotion. Butmen give women no chance. They pluck the roses in the garden and tramplethem under foot. Here is the great tragedy of modern life--_men wish tochange from one woman to another, whereas women do not wish to change. Acharacteristic sex difference between men and women is that men arenaturally promiscuous, but women abhor the thought of promiscuousness. _"

 * * * * *

_Sunday. _

A wave of repulsion runs over me as I quickly turn the pages of my lifewith Julian. And then a faint whisper comes to me: "The _truth_, youhave promised to tell it--at least to your own soul. "

_The truth!_

Slowly I turn back to what I wrote in those unhappy days:

"Why do I live with him? I no longer love him. At times I despise himand his slightest touch makes me shiver with disgust, yet I continue toendure this life--why?

"It is because of the great pity I have for him. He is weak andhelpless, almost child-like in his dependence on me. I am the prop whichholds up the last shreds of his self-respect. If I left him, he woulddrift lower and lower, I know it. Sometimes I pass some awful creaturestaggering along the sidewalks. He is dirty and uncared for. Long mattedhair falls across his bleared and sunken eyes. I say to myself: 'But foryou, Penelope Wells, that might be Julian. ' And this gives me courage totake up my burden once more. "

 * * * * *

And again I find:

"I am beginning to fear. I have been looking in my mirror and it seemsto me that my face is taking on the lines of animalism that I see dailybecoming deeper in Julian's face. Must I continue this degradation? If Iwere helping him to raise himself--but I am not, not really. It's tooheavy a weight for me to bear. I am sinking ... Sinking to his level. Icannot stand it. It is killing me.... "

 * * * * *

And again:

"I am too heartsick to write.... 

"I began this a week ago in agony of soul when I tried to set down myfeelings about a horrible night with Julian, but I could not. He hasbeen drinking--drinking for weeks--neglecting his business, breaking allhis promises to me. What can I do? How can I help him, strengthen him, keep him from doing some irrevocable thing that will utterly destroy ourhome and make me lose him? In spite of his weakness, his neglect, hisfaithlessness, I cannot bear the thought of losing him. My pride isinvolved and--and _something else_!

"He had not come home for dinner that night and it was ten o'clock whenI heard the door slam. Julian came into the living room and as soon as Isaw him my heart sank. He dropped into a chair without speaking. 

"'Tired, dear?' I said, trying to smile a welcome. 

"'Dead beat, ' he sighed and stared moodily into the fire. 

"I went to him and rested my hand lightly on his head and smoothed backhis hair as he liked me to do. He jerked away. 

"'Wish you'd let me alone, ' he muttered fretfully. 

"I drew back, knowing what this irritability meant, and we sat insilence gazing into the glowing ashes. His fingers beat a nervous tattooagainst the chair and presently, with some mumbled words, he rose andmoved towards the door. Now I knew the fight was on, the fight with theDemon, drink, that was drawing him away from me. I followed him into thehall. 

"'Don't go, ' I pleaded, but he pushed my hand from the door-knob. 

"'I'll be back soon, ' he said, reaching for his hat. 

"'Wait!' I whispered. Deep within I breathed a prayer: 'Brave heart, have courage; nimble wit, be alert; warm, white body hold him fast. '

"'Come back ... Before the fire ... I want to talk to you, ' I leanedagainst him caressingly, but I could feel no response as I nestledcloser. 

"'Don't you care for me any more?' I questioned tenderly. 

"He was still unyielding, his brain was busy with the thought of thebrown liquor that his whole system craved. Purposely I drew back myflowing sleeve and placed my warm flesh against his face. He turned tohis old seat before the fire. 

"'All right, I'll stay for ten minutes ... If what you say isimportant. '

"When he was once more comfortable, I brought a cushion to his chair andsnuggled down at his feet, with my head resting against him. I drew hishalf reluctant hand around my throat, then I exerted every part of mybrain force ... To hold him. Ceaselessly I talked of our old daystogether--camping trips to the Northern woods of Canada, wonderful weeksof idling down the river in our launch, days of ideal happiness, spenttogether. I appealed to his love for me, his old love, and the memory ofour early married life. He was unresponsive, and I could feel therestlessness of his fingers in my hair. 

"Presently he pushed me aside, not ungently this time but, nevertheless, firmly. Once more the struggle began, and now I must relyon the old physical lure to hold him.... Well, I won. I kept him with mebut was it worth such a sacrifice? As I think ... I burn with shame. "

There are many entries in my diary like this, for my life with Julianwas full of scenes when I tried so hard ... So hard ... All in vain!

 * * * * *

Here is another picture:

"Last night Julian came home in a hilarious mood. His habitual sullenlook had gone and he almost seemed the man who had won me--before I knewhim as he really is. 

"'Come along, Penny, ' he laughed as he caught me in his arms. 'We'regoing to celebrate. Dress up in that lacy black thing--you are seductionitself in it. '

"His praise made me happy and, responding to his mood, I changed myclothes quickly, and we set forth joyfully in anticipation of a pleasantevening. 

"Everything went well through the dinner, although I hesitated whenJulian ordered wine; but I was afraid to oppose him or to speak a singlejarring word. 

"'Drink up, Penny, and have some more. My God, but you are glorioustonight!' he whispered as he leaned across the table. 

"I smiled and emptied my glass, and soon I became as reckless and jovialas he. We went from one cabaret to another, laughing at everything. Allthe world was gay. There was no sorrow anywhere--only one grandcelebration. Julian was never so fascinating. I was proud of his goodlooks, of his wit, of his strength as he lifted me from the taxicab andalmost carried me into the house. 

"'My darling!' I breathed as my lips brushed his cheek, 'I love you!'

"'You see, Penny, how wonderful everything is when you are reasonable. If you will only drink with me once in a while, I'll never, never leaveyou. '

"He placed me gently in a chair. Soon the room began to whirl around ... And I knew no more.... 

"This morning my head ached and a thousand needles were piercing myeyes. I rang for the maid and asked for my husband. 

"'He brought you home last night, but he went out again later and hehasn't come back, ' she said and her eyes did not meet mine. 

"'Was I--was I?' I stammered, shame possessing me. 

"'Yes, Mrs. Wells, you were.... '

"God! What have I gained? I have degraded myself without doing Julianany good. I have sunk to his level and have not even been able to keephim at my side. I hate him! I hate myself even more!"

 * * * * *

I find a pitiful entry that I made only a few months before Julian waskilled. In a fit of anger he had left me, accusing me of being a drag onhis life, saying that I was to blame for all his follies. He was goingto be rid of me now. So he took all the money in the house and wentoff--I should never see him again. At last I had what I had longed for, my freedom, he had given it to me, flung it in my face. And then--

This is what I wrote six weeks later:

"Well, I'm a failure all right. Never again may I think well of myselfor feel that I am entitled to the joys of life. For I'm just a plainmoral coward. I couldn't even keep what was forced on me--my liberty. 

"Last Wednesday he came back, such a miserable wreck of a man, soutterly broken in every way that it would have moved a heart of stone. Inside of me is a sorrow too deep for expression, but somehow a peacealso. Now I am sure that my bondage will never cease. But I couldn'trefuse to take Julian back when I saw what a state he was in. Hisspiritual abasement was such an awful thing that I could not shame himby even letting him know that I understood it. "

 * * * * *

_Monday. _

I walked for hours beside the ocean, watching the waves, the sky, thesoaring gulls, --trying to tire myself out, searching into my heart forthe truth about my life--about my illness. I cannot find the truth. Ihave done what Dr. Owen told me to do as well as I can and--I do not seethat any good has come of it. I have stirred up ghosts of thepast--leering ghosts, and I hate them. I am sick of ignoble memories. Iwant to close forever the door on those unhappy years. I want to bewell, to live a sane life, to have a little pleasure; but.... 

 * * * * *

_Thursday. _

I am tired of Atlantic City. I am going back to New York tomorrow. Nodoubt I have benefited by these days of rest and change. My bad dreamsare gone and I have only heard the Voices once. Dr. Owen will say thathis prescription has been efficacious, but that is not true. I know_They_ are waiting for me in the city, waiting to torture me. Then whydo I go back? Because it is my fate. I am driven on by some power beyondmy control--driven on!

_Penelope will cross the ocean. Her husband will die very soon. Therewill be war soon. She will go to the war and honors will be conferredupon her on the battlefields. Then she will go down to horror--toterror!_

How that prophecy of Seraphine haunts me! All of it has come true exceptthe very last. Horror! Terror! These two are ever before me. These twoalready encompass me. These two will presently overwhelm meunless--unless--I don't know what. 

Seraphine is in New York, I have meant to go to see her, but--I amafraid, I am afraid of what she will tell me!

_New York, Saturday. _

I must set down here--to ease my tortured brain--some of the things thathave happened to me since I last wrote in this book, my confessional. 

When I got back to town I found an invitation to go to a Bohemian ball, and I decided to accept. _Vive la joie!_ So I put on a white dress andwent with Roberta Vallis and that ridiculous poet Kendall Brown. It wasthe first time I had danced since my husband died and I enjoyed it. 

Such a ball! They called it a Pagan Revel and it was! Egyptian costumesand a Russian orchestra. Some of the Egyptian slave maidens were dressedmostly in brown paint. Kendall says he helped dress them at the LiberalClub. Good heavens! Kendall's pose of lily white virtue amuses me. Hewent as a cave man with a leopard skin over his shoulders, and I dancedwith him two or three times. His talk reminds me of Julian. How well Iknow the methods of these sentimental pirates! What infinite patienceand adroitness they use in leading the talk towards dangerous ground!How seriously they begin! With what sincerity and ingenuous franknessthey proceed, and all the time they know exactly what they are doing, exactly what effects they are producing in a woman. 

Kendall spoke of the modern dance in a detached, intellectual way. Hedwelt on one particular development in the fox trot--had I noticedit?--there! that naval officer and the languishing blonde were doing itnow--which seemed to him unæsthetic. It might be harmful in some cases, say to a Class A woman. Being curious, I asked what he meant by a "ClassA" woman and this gave Kendall his opportunity to discourse onfundamental differences that exist among women, so he declares. I wish Iknew if what he says is true. He assures me he has it on the authorityof a Chicago specialist, but I never put much dependence on anythingthat Kendall Brown says. If this is true the whole romantic history ofthe world will have to be rewritten and the verdicts of numberlessjuries in murder trials _passionels_ ought to be set aside. 

The statement is that physical desire is universal among men, but notamong women. One-third of all women, Kendall puts them in Class C, haveno such desire; therefore, they deserve no particular credit forremaining virtuous. Another third of all women are in Class B, thenormal class, where this desire is or is not present, according tocircumstances. The last third of all women make up Class A, and thesewomen, being as strongly tempted as men (or more so), are condemned tothe same struggles that men experience, and, if they happen to bebeautiful, and without deep spirituality, they are fated to haveemotional experiences that may make them great heroines or artists, great adventuresses or outcasts. 

I am sure I do not belong in Class C, I _hope_ I belong in Class B, but Iam afraid--

 * * * * *

I knew _They_ were waiting for me. Last night I heard Them again--afterthe ball. It was a horrible night! I shall write to Dr. Owen that I mustsee him at once. 

CHAPTER III

A BOWL OF GOLD FISH

(_A letter from Penelope_)

_New York, February ----. _

DEAR DR. OWEN:

Did you think I had vanished from the earth? I know I ought to havereported to you a week ago, but--I fear Penelope Wells is an unreliableperson. Forgive me! I am in great distress. 

I will say, first, that Atlantic City did me a lot of good. I came backto town happier than I have been for months, in fact I was so encouragedthat I decided to amuse myself a little, as you advised. Last night Iwent to a rather gay ball with some friends, and I was beginning tothink myself almost normal, when suddenly--alas!

I had a strange experience this morning that frightens me. I was sittingat my desk writing a note when I glanced towards the window where thereis a bowl of gold fish, three beautiful fish and two snails. It amusesme to watch them sometimes. Well, as I looked up, the sunshine wasflashing on the little darting creatures and I felt myself drawn to thebowl, and for two or three minutes I stood there staring into it as if Iexpected to see something. Then, presently I _did_ see something, I sawmyself inside the bowl--in a kind of vision. I saw myself just asdistinctly as I ever saw anything. 

In order that you may understand this, doctor, I must explain thatCaptain Herrick took me home from the ball. It was two o'clock in themorning when we left the place and it had blown up cold during the rain, so that the streets were a glare of ice and our taxi was skiddinghorribly. When we got to Twelfth Street and Fifth Avenue there came afrightful explosion; a gas main had taken fire and flames were shootingtwenty feet into the air. I was terrified, for it made me think ofParis--the air raids, the night sirens, the long-distance cannon. Captain Herrick saw that I was quite hysterical and said that I mustn'tthink of going up to Eightieth Street. I must spend the night at hisstudio in Washington Square, only a few doors away, and he would go to ahotel. I agreed to this, for I was nearly frozen. 

When we entered the studio I was surprised to find what a beautifulplace it was. It seems that Captain Herrick has rented it from adistinguished artist. There is a great high ceiling and a wonderfulfireplace where logs were blazing. I was standing before this fireplacetrying to warm myself, when there came a crash overhead, it was only agas fixture that had fallen, but it seemed to me the whole building wascoming down. I almost fainted in terror and Chris caught me in his arms, trying to comfort me. Then, before I realized what he was doing, he haddrawn me close to him and kissed me. 

This made me very angry. I felt that he had no right to take advantageof my fright in this way and I told him I would not stay in his studio aminute longer. And I did not. I almost ran down the stairs, then outinto the street. It was foolish to get so agitated, but I could not helpit. I went over to the Brevoort and spent the night there. You willunderstand in a minute why I am telling you all this, it has to do withthe vision that I saw in the bowl of gold fish. 

In this vision I saw myself enter Captain Herrick's studio just as Ireally did--in my white satin dress. Christopher was with me in hisuniform. Then I saw myself lying on a divan and--Chris was bending overme, kissing me passionately. He kissed me many times, it seemed as if hewould never stop kissing me--in the vision. All this was as clear as amotion picture. The extraordinary part of it is, that I neither resistedhim nor responded in any way, I just seemed to be lying there--with myeyes closed--as if I were asleep. 

I am very much distressed about this. I _know_ that I did not really liedown on Captain Herrick's divan--I would not have done such a thing forthe world. I _know_ Captain Herrick did not really kiss me in thatpassionate way, as I saw him kiss me in the bowl of gold fish, but I_feel_ that he did. I am afraid that he did. I can't get over thefeeling that he did. This sounds like madness, doesn't it? A womancannot be ardently kissed by a man without knowing it, can she? PerhapsI am mad--perhaps this is the way mad people feel. 

Help me, doctor, if you can, and above all _please_ see CaptainHerrick--he is an old friend of yours--and find out exactly what I didat his studio. I must know the truth. And I can't ask Chris, can I?

Yours in anguish of soul, PENELOPE WELLS. 

P. S. --Please telephone me as soon as you get this and make anappointment to see me. 

CHAPTER IV

FIVE PURPLE MARKS

During his thirty years of medical experience among neurasthenic andhysterical women, Dr. William Owen had never encountered a more puzzlingcase than the one before him on this brisk winter morning when he setforth to answer the urgent appeal of Penelope Wells. Here was a casefated to be written about in many languages and discussed before learnedsocieties. A Boston psychologist was even to devote a chapter of hisgreat work "Mysteries of the Subconscious Mind" to the hallucinations ofPenelope W----. Poor Penelope!

When Dr. Owen entered her attractive sitting room with its prevailingtone of blue, he found his fair patient reclining on a _chaise longue_, her eyes heavy with anxiety. 

"It's good of you to come, doctor. I appreciate it, " she gave him herhand gratefully. "I expected to go to your office, but--something elsehas happened and I am--discouraged. " Her arm fell listlessly by herside. "So I telephoned you. "

"I am glad to come, you know I take a particular interest in you, " hesmiled cheerily and drew up a chair. "We must expect these set-backs, but you are improving. You show it in your face. And your letter showedit. I read your letter carefully--studied it and--"

"You haven't seen Captain Herrick?" she asked eagerly. 

"Not yet. I have asked him to dine with me this evening. "

Penelope sighed wearily and twined her fingers together in nervousagitation. 

"It's all so distressing. I can't understand it. Why did I see myself inthat bowl of gold fish, so distinctly? Tell me--why?"

"You mustn't take that seriously, Mrs. Wells. These crystal visions arecommon enough--the books are full of them. It's a phenomenon ofself-hypnotism. You are in a broken-down nervous condition after monthsof excessive strain--that's all, and these hallucinations result, justas colored shapes and patterns appear when you shut your eyes tight andpress your fingers against the eye-balls. "

This did not satisfy her. "What I want to know is whether there is anypossibility that I really did what I saw myself do in that vision? Doyou think there is?"

"Certainly not. I believe you did exactly what you tell me you did--youspent a few minutes in Christopher's studio and then came away angrybecause he kissed you. By the way, I don't see why one kiss from a manwho loves you and has asked you to marry him should have offended you soterribly, especially when you admit that you care for him?"

His tone was one of good-humored indulgence for capricious beauty, butMrs. Wells kept to her seriousness. 

"I didn't mean that I was really angry with Captain Herrick. I was angryat myself for the thrill of joy I felt when he kissed me and I wasfrightened by the wave of emotion that swept over me. I have beenfrightened all these days--even now!" She covered her eyes with her handas if shrinking from some painful memory. 

"Please don't agitate yourself. You must not get hysterical about this. You must have confidence in me and in your own powers of recuperation. And you must be sure to give me all the facts. Did I understand you tosay that something else has happened--since you wrote me?"

"Yes, something quite unbelievable--it happened last night. "

"Tell me about it--quietly, just as if you were discussing somebodyelse. "

Penelope smiled wistfully. "How kind and wise you are! I will try to becalm, but--it is hard for me. I had a dream last night, doctor, and thisdream is true. I have evidence that it is true. I did something lastnight without knowing it, and then I dreamed about it. "

"You did something without knowing it?"

"Yes, I put on a red dress and a black hat that I have not worn for fouryears, not since my husband died. For four years I have only worn blackor white. "

"Do I understand you to say that you put on these things without knowingthat you put them on?"

"Yes. "

"How do you know you did?"

"My maid told me so. You see my dream was so extraordinarily vivid--I'llgive you the details in a minute--that, as soon as I awakened, I rangfor Jeanne and questioned her. 'Jeanne, ' I said, 'you know the red dressthat I have not worn since my husband died?' She looked at me in a queerway and said: 'Madame is laughing at me. Madame knows quite well thatshe wore the red dress last night. ' Then she recalled everything indetail, how I sent her to a particular shelf where this dress was foldedaway and got her to freshen up a ribbon and press the skirt where it waswrinkled. Jeanne is also positive that I put on my black hat. Then, shesays, I went out; I left the house at five minutes to nine and came backabout eleven. There is no doubt about it. "

"And you remember nothing of all this?"

"Nothing. So--so you see, " she faltered, then she leaned impulsivelytoward the doctor. "As an expert will you please tell me if it ispossible for a woman to act like that unless her mind is affected?"

Dr. Owen tried to take this lightly. "I'm a fairly sane citizen myself, but if you asked me which suit I wore yesterday, I couldn't tell you. "

"You couldn't suddenly put on red clothes without knowing it, if you hadbeen wearing black clothes for years, could you?" she demanded. 

He laughed. "When it comes to clothes I might do anything. I might weara straw hat in January. But I couldn't go out of the house withoutknowing it. Do you mean to tell me you don't remember going out of thehouse last night?"

"I certainly do not. I remember nothing about it. I would have swornthat I went to bed early, " she insisted. 

"Hm! Have you any idea where you went?"

"Yes--I know where I went, but I only know this from my dream. I know Iwent to Captain Herrick's studio. You--you can ask him. "

"Of course. You haven't asked him yourself--you haven't telephoned, haveyou?"

"No, no! I would be ashamed to ask him. "

The doctor noted her increasing agitation and the flood of colormounting to her cheeks. 

"Steady now! Take it easy. Have you any idea what you did at the studio, assuming that you really went there?"

Penelope hesitated, biting her lips. "I know what I saw myself do in thedream. I acted in an impossible way. I--I--here is a little thing--youknow I never smoke, but in the dream I did smoke. "

"Have you ever smoked?"

"Yes, I did when my husband was living. He taught me. He said I was abetter sport when I was smoking a cigarette. "

"But you haven't smoked since your husband's death?"

"Not at all. I have not smoked once since he died, not once--until lastnight. "

The man of science eyed her searchingly. "Mrs. Wells, you are not hidinganything from me, are you?"

"No! No! Of course not! Don't frown at me like that--please don't. I amtrying my best to tell you the truth. I _know_ these things did nothappen, but--"

Here her self-control left her and, with a gesture of despair, Penelopesank forward on a little table beside her chair and sobbed hysterically, her face hidden in her arms. 

"There! There!" soothed Dr. Owen. "I was a brute. I have taxed youbeyond your strength. "

"I can't tell you how grateful I am for your patience and sympathy, "murmured Penelope through her tears, and, presently, regaining hercomposure, she continued her confession. 

"I want you to know everything--now. In my dream there was a scene ofpassion between Captain Herrick and myself. He held me in his arms andkissed me and I--I responded. We both seemed to be swept on by areckless madness and at one moment Chris seized me roughly with his handand--of course you think this is all an illusion, but--look here!" Shethrew open her loose garment and on her beautiful shoulder pointed tofive perfectly plain purple marks that might have been made by thefingers of a man's hand. 

"Extraordinary!" muttered the doctor. "Let me look at this closer. Haveyou got such a thing as a magnifying glass? Ah, thank you!"

For some moments he silently studied these strange marks on the fairyoung bosom, then he said very gravely: "Mrs. Wells, I want to thinkthis over before giving an opinion. And I must have a serious talk withCaptain Herrick. "

CHAPTER V

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE STUDIO

For the purposes of this narrative, which is concerned almostexclusively with the poignant strangeness of a woman's experiences, itis sufficient to say that Captain Christopher Herrick was what isgenerally known as a fine fellow--handsome, modest, well-to-do, altogether desirable as a lover and a husband. At thirty-five he hadmade for himself an enviable position as a New York architect, one whowas able to strike out boldly in new lines while maintaining areasonable respect for venerable traditions. He had served gallantly inthe war and he was now, for quite understandable reasons, desperately inlove with Penelope Wells. 

On this particular evening when Christopher had been summoned by hismuch respected friend, Dr. Owen, to dine and discuss a matter ofimmediate importance, the young officer had accepted eagerly. For sometime he had wanted to talk with the doctor about Penelope's nervouscondition. He was drawn to this girl by a force that stirred the depthsof his being--he could not live without her; yet his love was clouded byanxiety at her strange behavior. 

Christopher's face was troubled. His brain was in a turmoil. Thehappenings of the last few days bewildered him. Life had seemed sosimple, so beautiful, with just their great love for each other to buildon; but now.... He was only sure of one thing, that from the momentPenelope Wells had come to him as a ministering angel across the scarredand broken battle field, he had adored her with a love that would endureuntil the day of his death ... And, he told himself, beyond that!

"Chris, my boy, " began Owen in his bluff, cheery way when they hadretired to the study for coffee and cigars, "I am in a difficulty, Imust ask you some questions that may embarrass you--it's the only wayout. "

Herrick's clear, honest gaze met the doctor's eyes unflinchingly. 

"That's all right, sir. Go ahead. I suppose it's about Mrs. Wells?"

"Yes. I am very much interested in her case, not only on your account, but because she is a wonderful woman. When I write your father I'll tellhim he's going to have a daughter-in-law who will make him sit up andtake notice. Ha, ha!"

The young man's heavy brows contracted gloomily. 

"I wish that were true, sir, but--you know what I told you?"

"About her refusing you? Don't worry over that. Just wait until we gether health built up a little. "

"Do you think she will change her mind? Did she say so?" Herrick askedeagerly. 

"Pretty nearly that. If she doesn't marry you, she won't marry anyone. The fact is--Mrs. Wells is suffering from a nervous strain, I'm notsure what it is, but there are abnormal symptoms and--I hate to forceyour confidence, Chris, but, speaking as Mrs. Wells' medical adviser anda mighty good friend of yours, a sort of representative of yourfather--you know how close your father and I have always been?"

"Yes, sir, I know. I'll do anything you say. "

"You want to help this lovely lady? You want to make her happy?"

"That's what I want more than anything in this world, " the officer'sgrey eyes flashed with the spirit of a lover and a soldier. 

"Good. Now the way to do it is--you must help her by helping me. I thinkI understand the situation up to a week ago, but since then--well, it'sa little complicated. Mrs. Wells has paid you two visits in the last fewdays, hasn't she?"

"Yes. Did she tell you?"

"She told me a little. Try some of that port, Chris, and light anothercigar, " the older man said genially. "We may as well be comfortable. There! Now tell me about Mrs. Wells' first visit--after the dance?"

At this invitation the young officer began quite frankly and with acertain sense of humor to describe the circumstances that led up to theclimax, but presently he hesitated, and, observing this, Owen said: "Nofalse delicacy, please. It's extremely important to me as a doctor toknow everything that happened. You say Mrs. Wells came in chilled andfrightened and--then what?"

"Then I threw a couple of logs on the fire and was just going to gether some brandy against the cold when there came an awful racketoverhead, it shook the whole place and Penelope was so startledthat--just instinctively I put my arm around her. She clung to me and--Itried to soothe her and before I knew it--I couldn't help it--I kissedher. "

The doctor smiled. "If you hadn't kissed her under those circumstances, my boy, I would never have forgiven you. Perhaps she wouldn't either. Well?"

"It's going to be pretty tough, sir, to tell you--some of this, "stammered Herrick, frowning at the carpet. "Penelope got awfully angryand said she was going to leave. I apologized and tried to squaremyself, but she wouldn't have it. She said I had insulted her and sherefused to stay in my place another minute. I asked her to wait until Icould get a dry coat and umbrella for her and then I would take herwherever she wanted to go. She agreed to wait and I went into the otherroom. "

Christopher paused and drew his chair closer to the doctor. 

"Now here is a most extraordinary thing. When I left Penelope she wasstanding before the fire, furious with me, but when I came back, not twominutes later, she was lying on the divan with her eyes closed, apparently asleep. As I had been out of the room for so short a time, itseemed incredible that she could have really fallen asleep, yet thereshe was. I looked at her in astonishment. I wondered if she could havefainted, but I saw that her cheeks were flushed, her lips were red andshe was breathing regularly. I didn't know what to make of it. "

"Well?" questioned the doctor. 

Herrick shifted uneasily on his chair. "I haven't had much experiencewith women, sir, but I know they are complicated creatures, and Icouldn't help thinking that Penelope was playing a little joke on me; soI bent over her and, after I had made up my mind that she wasn't ill andwasn't asleep, I--I kissed her again. That's another queer thing. Herlips were warm, her breathing was as soft and regular as a child's, butshe never moved nor spoke nor responded in any way. She just lay thereand--"

"You thought she was shamming?" suggested Owen. 

"That's it, especially as she had been so angry with me just a fewminutes before. I couldn't imagine anything else. So--er--"

"Go on, " said the older man. 

"You know I have always respected women, and this woman was more to methan anything--she's the woman I want for my wife, so you see I would bethe last man in the world to show her disrespect, but--" the youngfellow flushed--"as I looked at her there on the divan--so beautiful--Ilonged to hold her in my arms and I said to myself that, even if she wastricking me, it was quite a pleasing trick--if she could stand it, Icould--so I--I kissed her some more. I begged her to speak to me, torespond to me, to tell me she returned my love and would be my wife; butshe didn't answer, didn't move, or speak, she didn't even open her eyes, and presently I was filled with a horrible sense of shame. I felt likea thief in the night, stealing caresses that were not meant for me orwillingly given. I realized that something terrible must have happenedto Penelope, although she looked so calm and beautiful. 

"And now my only thought was to call for help. I hurried into the nextroom and tried to get you on the telephone, but they said you were atthe hospital and could not be reached for an hour. Then I rushed back tothe studio and, as soon as I came in, I could scarcely believe my eyesbut there was Penelope standing in front of the fireplace, just as I hadleft her the first time. She was looking at the blazing logs with athoughtful expression and when I came close to her, she faced menaturally and pleasantly as if nothing had happened. 

"You can imagine my astonishment, I could not speak, but--I was sorelieved to find her recovered that I put my arm around heraffectionately and just touched my lips to her cheek. Heavens! Youshould have seen her then. She sprang away from me indignant. How daredI take such a liberty? Had she not reproved me already? It wasincredible that a man who professed to care for her, a gentleman, shouldbe so lacking in delicacy. And before I could do anything or explainanything, she had dashed out into the night alone, refusing even to letme walk beside her. Now then, " Christopher concluded, "what do you makeof that?"

"Strange!" nodded the doctor, "very strange. And in spite of this shecame to see you again?"

"Yes, two evenings later, without any warning, she burst into my studioabout nine o'clock. "

"In a red dress?"

"Yes. "

"And a black hat?"

"Yes. "

"Good Lord, it's true!" muttered Owen. "Go on, my boy. I want thedetails. This may be exceedingly important. Go right through the scenefrom the beginning. "

After a moment of perplexed silence, Christopher continued: "When I sayshe burst in, that about expresses it. She was like a whirlwind, a red, laughing, fascinating whirlwind. I had never seen her half sobeautiful--so alluring. I was mad about her and--half afraid of her. "

"Hm!" grunted Owen. "What did she do?"

"Do? She did a lot of things. In the first place she apologized forhaving been so silly the time before--after the ball. She said she wasill then, she didn't want to talk about it. Now she had come to makeamends--that was the idea. "

"I see. Well?"

"Well, we sat before the fire and she asked me to make her a cocktail. She said she had had the blues and she wanted to be gay. So I mixed somecocktails and she took two, and she certainly was gay. I didn't knowPenelope drank cocktails, but of course it was all right--lots of womendo. Then she wanted to sit on the divan and she bolstered me up withpillows. She said she liked divans. I hate to tell you all this, sir. "

"Go on, Chris. "

"Pretty soon she wanted a cigarette and she began to blow smoke in myface, laughing and fooling and--finally she put her lips up sotemptingly for another light that I ... I'll never forget how she bentover me and held my face between her two hands and kissed me slowly witha little sideways movement and told me to call her Fauvette--notPenelope. She said she hated the name Penelope. 'Call me Fauvette, ' shesaid. 'I am your Fauvette, all yours. '"

"Extraordinary! This was the woman who had been furious with you onlytwo nights before for daring to kiss her once?"

"Yes, sir. Now she was a siren, a wonderful, lithe creature, clinging tome. I almost lost control of myself. Once I caught her sharply by theshoulder--I tore her dress.... "

Christopher stopped as the power of these memories overcame him. Hecovered his eyes with one hand, while the other clutched the chair arm. 

The doctor waited. 

"Well, sir, " the young man resumed, "I don't know how I came throughthat night without dishonor, but I did. There was a moment of madness, then suddenly, distinctly, like a gentle bell I heard a voice inside me, a sort of spiritual voice saying two words that changed everything. '_Your wife!_' That is what she was to be, my wife! I loved her. I mustdefend her against herself, against myself. And I did. I got her out ofthat place--somehow. I got her home--somehow. I have been throughseveral battles, doctor, but this one was the hardest. "

Captain Herrick drew a long sigh and sat silent. 

"What's the answer, doctor?" he asked presently. 

"I don't know, Chris. Upon my soul, I don't know. "

CHAPTER VI

EARTH-BOUND

(_From Penelope's Diary_)

_Tuesday Night. _

Heaven help me! I have heard the words that sound my doom. I saw Dr. Owen this morning. It is all true--my dream, and what I saw myself do inthe bowl of goldfish. True! I did those incredible things. I wore my reddress and my black hat. I went to Captain Herrick's studio. I lay downon the divan--everything is true. Oh, God, this is too horrible! How canI ever face Christopher again? I wish I could die!

Dr. Owen questioned me about the name Fauvette--why did I askChristopher to call me Fauvette? I have no idea. I hate and despise thatname. It brings up memories that I wish might be forever blotted out ofmy mind. That was the name Julian used to call me when he had beendrinking. He would pretend that I was another person, Fauvette, andsometimes Fauvette would do things that I refused to do. Fauvette wouldyield to his over-powering physical charm and would say dreadful things, would enter into his mood and become just the sort of animal creaturethat he wanted. It was like a madness. 

_Wednesday morning. _

I cried my eyes out last night and lay awake for hours thinking about myunhappy life. All my pride and hopes have come to this--an irresponsiblemind. It makes no difference whether the cause is shell shock orsomething else, the fact remains that my mind does not work properly--Ido things without knowing or remembering what I do. I am sure I cannotlive long--what have I to live for? I have made a will leaving my littlefortune to Chris--he will never know how much I care for him--and myjewelry to Seraphine, except my silly thumb ring, which is for RobertaVallis. She loves it. 

This afternoon _They_ came again. _They_ never were so bad. I waswalking down Fifth Avenue and, as I reached the cathedral, I thought Iwould go in and say my prayers. I love the soft lights and the smell ofincense, but just at the door _They_ began insulting me. 

"Little fool! Little fool! She is going to say her prayers. Ha, ha!"They laughed. 

I knelt down and breathed an old benediction, shutting my ears againstthe Voices:

"_The peace of God which passeth all understanding--_"

"Fauvette! Fauvette!" _They_ mocked me. 

"_Keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God--_"

"She's a pretty little devil. I like her mouth. "

"_And of his son, Jesus Christ our Lord--_"

"Red dress! Red dress! Divan! Divan!"

"_And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the HolyGhost--_"

"She can't remember it. She's thinking of her lover. She wants to kissher lover. " Then _They_ said gross things and I could not go on. I gotup from my knees, heartbroken, and came away. 

 * * * * *

_Thursday night. _

I thought I should never be happy again, but whatever the future holdsfor me of darkness and sadness, I have had one radiantly happy day. Christopher telephoned this morning and arrived half an hour later withan armful of roses. He took me to luncheon, then for a drive in thePark, then to tea at the Plaza where we danced to delicious music, andfinally to dinner and the theater. He would not leave me. And over andover again he asked me to marry him. He will not hear of anything butthat I am to be his wife. He loves me, he worships me, he trusts meabsolutely. Nothing that has happened makes the slightest difference tohim. Dr. Owen is going to cure me in a few weeks, there is no doubtabout it, Christopher says, and anyhow, he loves me. 

If I were in Europe now I'd make a pilgrimage to the shrine of somesaint and heap up offerings of flowers. I _must_ do something to makeothers happy; my heart is overflowing with gratitude!

I thrilled with pride as I walked beside my lover on the Avenue thisafternoon. He looked so tall and splendid in his uniform. I love hiseyes--his shoulders--everything about him. My Christopher!

I am to give him his answer within a week, but--_what answer can I givehim?_

 * * * * *

_Friday morning. _

Alas! I have paid for my happiness--it was written, it had to be. I havelived through a night that cannot be described. Seraphine's propheticwords have come true. Horror! Terror! I cannot bear it any longer. It isquite impossible for me to bear it any longer. I have sent forSeraphine, begging her to come to me at once--this afternoon, thisevening, any time tonight, before I sleep again. I would sooner die thanendure another such night. 

 * * * * *

_Saturday morning. _

Seraphine did not get my note until late, but in spite of a snow-storm, she came to me and stayed all night. Dear Seraphine! She spends her lifehelping and comforting people in distress. She sees nothing but troublefrom morning till night, yet she is always cheerful and jolly. She saysGod wants her to laugh and grow fat, so she does. 

We talked for hours and I told her everything--or nearly everything. There is only one abominable memory that I can never tell to anyone, Imay write it some day in the red leather volume of my diary that islocked with a key and that must be burned before I die. I toldSeraphine how I was suddenly awakened Thursday night by a horriblefeeling that there was a _presence_ near me in my bedroom. Then I sleptagain and saw myself all in white lying on the ground surrounded by acircle of black birds with hateful red eyes--fiery eyes. These birdscame nearer and nearer and I knew I was suffering horribly as I laythere, yet I looked on calmly without a shred of sympathy for myself; infact I felt only amused contempt when I saw the dream image of poorPenelope start up from the ground with a scream of fright. 

While I opened my heart Seraphine sat silent, watching me like a lovingmother. Several times she touched my arm protectingly, and once her gazeswept quickly down my skirt, then up again, as if she saw somethingmoving. 

"What is it? What do you see?" I asked, but she did not tell me. 

When I had finished she kissed me tenderly and said she was so glad Ihad let her come to me in my distress. She told me there was a great andimmediate danger hanging over me, but that God's infinite love wouldprotect and heal me, as it protects all His children, if I would learnto draw upon it. 

I asked what this danger was and Seraphine said it would strike at mevery soon through a dark-haired woman; but she would try to help me, ifI would heed her warnings. I don't know why but I immediately thought ofRoberta Vallis, and the strange part of it is that within an hour, Roberta called me on the telephone to say she was coming up right away. Roberta and Seraphine had not seen each other for years, not since thatnight when Seraphine made her prophecy about me. 

Within a half hour Roberta arrived very grand in furs and jewels, quitedashingly pretty and pleased with herself--the real _joie de vivre_spirit. She was perfectly willing to reveal the source of this suddenmagnificence, but I did not ask her--I know enough of Bobby's loveaffairs already--and I could see that she was uneasy under Seraphine'sgravely disapproving eyes. She had come to invite me to a house-warmingparty that she is planning to give at her new apartment in the Hotel desArtistes. I shall meet all sorts of wonderful people, social andtheatrical celebrities, and there will be music. Seraphine's eyes keptsaying no, and I told Bobby I would telephone her tomorrow before sixo'clock. I was not sure whether I could accept because--"Haven't you anengagement for Thursday with Captain Herrick?" suggested Seraphine. 

Whereupon Bobby, with an impertinent little toss of her bobbed-off blackhair, said: "Oh, Pen, why do you waste your time on a commonplacearchitect? He will never satisfy you--not in a thousand years. Bye-bye, I'll see you at the party. " Then away she went, her eyes challengingSeraphine who stands for all the old homely virtues, including unselfishlove, that Bobby Vallis entirely disapproves of. What shall I do?Seraphine says I must not go to this party, but--_I want to go!_

 * * * * *

I have accepted Roberta's invitation, in spite of a warning from Seraphinethat something dreadful will happen to me if I go. I have a morbidcuriosity to see what experiences _can_ be in store for me that areworse than those I have gone through already. Besides, I do not believewhat Seraphine says--it is contrary to my reason, it is altogetherfantastic. And, even if it were true, even if I really am in thehorrible peril that she describes, what difference does it make where Igo or what I do? I am just a spiritual outcast, marked for suffering--alittle more or less _je m'en moque_. 

 * * * * *

I have hesitated to write down Seraphine's explanation of my trouble, even in my diary. I reject it with all the strength of my soul. Iconsider it absurd, I hate it, I try to forget it; but alas! it sticksin my thoughts like some ridiculous jingle. So I may as well face thething on paper, here in the privacy of my diary, and laugh at it. Ha, ha!--is that false-sounding laughter?

_Seraphine says that the great war has thrown the spirit world intoconfusion, especially in the lower levels where the new arrivals comeand linger. Millions, have died on the battle field in hatred andviolence. Great numbers of these have gone over so suddenly that theyare not able to adjust themselves to the other plane where theyconstitute an immense company of earth-bound souls that long to comeback. There are myriads of these unreconciled souls hovering all aboutus, crowding about us, eagerly, greedily, striving to come back. Some donot know that they are dead and rebel fiercely against their changedcondition. The drunkards still thirst after drink. The murderers want togo on killing. The gluttons would fain gorge themselves with food, thelustful with bodily excesses. All these evil spirits, cut off from theirold gratifications, try to satisfy their desires by re-entering earthlybodies, and often they succeed. That is the great peril of the war, shesays. What a horrible thought! I simply refuse to believe that suchthings are possible. _

_And yet--those Voices!_

CHAPTER VII

JEWELS

If this were a conventional novel and not simply a statement ofessential facts in the strange case of Penelope Wells, there would bemuch elaboration of details and minor characters, including the wife ofDr. William Owen and an adventure that befell this lady during aweek-end visit to Morristown, N. J. , since this adventure has a bearingupon the narrative. As it is, we must be content to know that Mrs. William Owen was an irritable and neurasthenic person, a thorn in theside of her distinguished husband, who was supposed to cure theseailments. He could not cure his wife, however, and had long since givenup trying. It was Mrs. Owen who quite unintentionally changed the courseof events for sad-eyed Penelope. 

It happened in this way. Dr. Owen received a call from Mrs. SeraphineWalters on the day following Seraphine's talk with Penelope and was notoverjoyed to learn that his visitor was a trance medium. If there wasone form of human activity that this hard-headed physician regarded withparticular detestation it was that of mediumship. All mediums, in hisopinion, were knaves or fools and their so-called occult manifestationswere either conjurers' trickery or self-created illusions of a hypnoticcharacter. He had never attended a spiritualistic séance and had nointention of doing so. 

But in spite of his aversion for Seraphine's _métier_, the doctor wasimpressed by the lady's gentle dignity and by her winsome confidencethat she must be lovingly received since she herself came armed soabundantly with the power of love. Furthermore, it appeared that themedium had called for no other reason than to furnish information abouther dear friend Penelope Wells, so the specialist listened politely. 

"You are the first spiritualist I ever talked to, Mrs. Walters, " he saidamiably. "You seem to have a sunny, joyous nature?"

Her face lighted up. "That is because I have so much to be grateful for, doctor. I have always been happy, almost always, even as a little girl, because--" She checked herself, laughing. "I guess you are notinterested in that. "

"Yes I am. Go on. "

"I was only going to say that I have always known that there arewonderful powers all about us, guarding us. "

"You knew this as a little girl?"

"Oh, yes, I used to see Them when I was playing alone. I thought Theywere fairies. It was a long time before I discovered that the otherchildren did not see Them. "

"Them! Hm! How long have you been doing active work as a medium?"

"About fifteen years. "

"What started you at it? I suppose there were indications that you hadunusual powers?"

"Yes. There were indications that I had been chosen for this work. Idon't know why I was chosen unless it is that I have never thought muchabout myself. That is the great sin--selfishness. My controls tell methat terrible punishment awaits selfish souls on the other side. I wasso happy when I learned that the exalted spirits can only manifestthrough a loving soul. They read our thoughts, see the color of our auraand, if they can, they come to those who have traits in common withtheir own. "

"If they can--how do you mean?"

"My controls tell me that many spirits cannot manifest at all, just asmany humans cannot serve as mediums. "

At this moment a maid entered the office and spoke to Dr. Owen in a lowtone saying that Mrs. Owen had sent her to remind the doctor that thiswas Saturday morning and that they were leaving for Morristown in anhour to be gone over Sunday. No message could have been more unfortunatethan this for Dr. Owen's equanimity, since he abominated week-endinvitations, particularly those like the present one (which Mrs. Owenrevelled in) from pretentiously rich people. 

"Very well. Tell Mrs. Owen I will be ready, " he said, then turned withchanged manner to poor Seraphine, whose brightening chances were nowhopelessly dissipated. 

"Suppose we come to the point, Mrs. Walters, " he went on. "I am ratherpressed for time and--you say you are a friend of Mrs. Wells? Have youany definite information bearing upon her condition?"

"Oh, yes, " she replied and at once made it clear that she was fullyinformed as to Penelope's distressing symptoms. 

"She is suffering from shell shock, " said the doctor. 

"No, no!" the medium disagreed, sweetly but firmly. "Penelope's troubleis due to something quite different and far more serious than shellshock. "

Then earnestly, undaunted by Owen's skeptical glances, Seraphineproceeded to set forth her belief that there is today in the world sucha thing as literal possession by evil spirits. 

"You mean that as applying to Mrs. Wells?" the doctor asked with a wearylift of the shoulders. 

"Yes, I do. I can give you evidence--if you will only listen--"

"My dear lady, I really cannot go into such a--purely speculative field. I must handle Mrs. Wells' case as I understand it with the help of meansthat I am familiar with. "

"Of course, but, doctor, " she begged, "don't be vexed with me, I am onlytrying to save this dear child, I love Penelope and--I _must_ sayit--you are not making progress. She is going straight on to--todisaster. I _know_ what I am saying. "

For a moment he hesitated. 

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to have a consultation with Dr. Edgar Leroy. "

"Dr. Edgar Leroy? Who is he? I never heard of him. "

"He is a New York doctor who has had great success in cases likePenelope's--cases of obsession or--possession. "

"Oh! Does he believe in that sort of thing? Is he a spiritualist?"

Seraphine felt the coldness of his tone and shrank from it, but shecontinued her effort, explaining that Dr. Leroy had been a regularpractitioner for years, but he had changed his methods after extendedpsychic investigations that had led him to new knowledge--such wonderfulknowledge! Her deep eyes burned with the zeal of a great faith. 

"I see. Where is his office?"

"In Fortieth Street--it's in the telephone book--Dr. Edgar Leroy. If youonly knew the extraordinary cures he has accomplished, you would realizehow necessary it is for Penelope to have the help he alone can giveher. "

She waited eagerly for his reply. 

"How do you happen to know so much about this doctor?"

"Because I have been allowed to help him. He uses me in diagnosis. "

"You mean that Dr. Leroy relies upon information that you give him as amedium in treating cases?" He spoke with frank disapproval. 

"Yes. "

Dr. Owen thought a moment. "Of course, Mrs. Wells is free to consultanyone she pleases, but I would not feel justified in advising her togo to Dr. Leroy. "

"But you _must_ advise it, you must insist upon it, " urged Seraphine. "Penelope relies entirely upon you, she will do nothing without yourapproval, and this is her only hope. "

"My dear lady, you certainly are not lacking in confidence, but you mustrealize that I cannot advise a treatment for Mrs. Wells that involvesthe use of spiritualistic agencies when I do not believe inspiritualism. In fact, I regard spiritualism as--"

Seraphine lifted her hand with a wistful little smile that checked theoutburst. 

"Don't say it--please don't. Will you do one thing, doctor, not for mebut for poor Penelope? Come to my house Monday night. I have a littleclass there, a class of eight. We have been working together for threemonths and--we have been getting results. You may be allowed to witnessmanifestations that will convince you. Will you come?" she pleaded. 

"You mean that I may see a spirit form? Or hear some tambourinesplaying? Something of that sort?" His tone was almost contemptuouslyincredulous. 

The anxious suppliant was gathering her forces to reply when the hallclock struck solemnly, bringing back disagreeably to the specialist'smind his impending social duty, and this was sufficient to turn thebalance of his decision definitely against Seraphine. He shook his headuncompromisingly. 

"I cannot do it, madam. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have strongconvictions on this subject and--" He rose to dismiss her. "Now I mustask you to excuse me. "

In spite of this disappointment Seraphine did not lose faith. "Dearchild, " she wrote to Penelope that night, "I am like a man in thedarkness who _knows_ the sun will rise soon and is not discouraged. Before many days Dr. Owen will listen to me and be convinced. "

Firm in this confidence, the medium returned to Dr. Owen's office thefollowing Monday morning, but she was coldly received. A rathercondescending young woman brought out word that the specialist wasexceedingly busy and could not see her. 

"But it is _so_ important, " pleaded Mrs. Walters with eyes that wouldhave moved a heart of stone. "Couldn't you ask him to give me a fewminutes? I'll be very grateful. "

The office assistant wavered. "I'll tell you why you had better comeback another day, madam, " she began confidentially; "Dr. Owen is verymuch upset because his wife has just lost some valuable jewelry. Yousee, Mrs. Owen went to Morristown for the week-end and took a jewel boxwith her in her trunk--there was a pearl necklace and some brooches andrings; but when she came to dress for dinner last night--"

"Wait! I--I hear something, " Seraphine murmured and sank down weakly ona chair. She closed her eyes and her breathing quickened, while theyoung woman bent over her in concern; but almost immediately the psychicrecovered herself and looked up with a friendly smile. 

"It's all right. You are very kind. I am happy now because I can dosomething for Dr. Owen. Please tell him his wife is mistaken in thinkingthat she took the jewels with her. The jewels are here in thishouse--now. "

"What makes you think that?"

"My control says so. " The medium spoke with such a quiet power of mannerthat the office assistant was impressed. 

"Suppose I tell Mrs. Owen?" she suggested. 

"Very well, tell Mrs. Owen. Ask her if I may go to the room where shelast remembers having her jewel box?"

The young woman withdrew with this message and presently returned to saythat Mrs. Owen would be glad if Seraphine would come up to her bedroom. A few minutes later Seraphine faced a querulous invalid propped upagainst lace pillows. 

"I am positive I put my jewel box in the trunk, " insisted Mrs. Owen. "Itis foolish to say that I did not, it is perfectly useless to look forthe jewels in this house. However--what are you doing? Why do you lookat me so strangely?"

"The jewels are--in this room--in a chintz sewing bag, " the psychicdeclared slowly, her eyes far away. 

"Absurd!"

"I see the sewing bag--distinctly. There are pink roses on it. "

"I have a sewing bag like that, " admitted the doctor's wife, "it is on ashelf in the closet--there! Will you get it for me, Miss Marshall? Weshall soon see about this. Now then!" She searched through the bag, butfound nothing. "I told you so. My husband is quite right in his ideasabout mediums. I really wish you had not disturbed me, " she saidimpatiently. 

But the medium answered pleasantly: "I have only repeated what mycontrol tells me. I am sorry if I have annoyed you. I advise you tosearch the house carefully. "

"I have done that already, " said Mrs. Owen. 

Whereupon Seraphine, still unruffled, took her departure, with theselast words at the door to the office assistant: "Please tell Dr. Owenthat I beg him most earnestly to have the house searched for his wife'sjewels. Otherwise one of the servants will find them. "

And Dr. Owen, in spite of his scientific prejudices, in spite of hiswife's positive declaration that the jewels had been stolen during hervisit, and that the house had been thoroughly searched, acted on thissuggestion and had the house searched again. _And this time the missingjewel box was found, with the necklace, rings and brooches all intact, in a chintz sewing bag covered with pink roses!_

It seems that Mrs. Owen had two chintz bags, one for ordinary sewing, one for darning, and in the latter bag, hanging on a nail behind thebureau, where the doctor's wife had absent-mindedly hidden it, themissing jewel box was discovered. 

"This beats the devil!" exclaimed the doctor when he heard the goodnews. And an hour later he sent the following telegram to Seraphine:"Jewels found, thanks to you. We are very grateful. I have reconsideredthe matter and accept your invitation for tonight. Will call at eighto'clock. "

CHAPTER VIII

WHITE SHAPES

(_From Penelope's Diary_)

_New York January 31, 1919. _

An extraordinary thing happened on Monday night at Seraphine'sapartment. I must write down the details before they fade from mymemory. Seraphine telephoned Monday morning that there was to be ameeting of her occult class in the evening and she wanted me to come asDr. Owen had promised to be there. She regarded this as a greatopportunity to help me. Darling Seraphine! Of course I could not refuse, although I abhor spiritualism. I love Seraphine for what she is, and inspite of her queer beliefs. 

When we were gathered together and after introductions to her class(there were six or seven devout believers), Seraphine explained that itwas difficult to obtain psychic manifestations in the presence of activedisbelief, and she begged us to maintain an attitude of friendlyopen-mindedness. I am afraid I did not do this all the time. 

We had first some psychic reminiscences and Seraphine described indetail how on a certain night years ago she and her sister were sleepingtogether in a heavy mahogany fourposter bed, when the whole bed withthe two women was lifted several inches from the floor and rocked about, and was then held suspended in the air while the chamber resounded withstrange music. In my opinion, this was a dream or an illusion. 

I am also skeptical about the testimony of one of the group, a New Yorkminister, who told us that his dead wife has come to him in the night onseveral occasions in materialized form and has spoken to him, kissedhim, and taken loving counsel with him about the children and aboutother matters. I am sure this minister was the victim of some kind ofhallucination. 

And I cannot believe a statement of Seraphine's regarding a Southernwoman who is possessed by an evil spirit that forces her to drinkingexcesses so that she has spoiled her whole life. Seraphine described tous with ghastly vividness the appearance of this evil entity which sheis able to _see_, through her clairvoyant vision, with its hideousleering countenance, inside the lady. For my part _I refuse to believeit_. 

I admit that I began to have creepy sensations when Seraphine went intoan entranced condition in the cabinet. Then came the happenings that Ido not understand and I know Dr. Owen does not understand them either, but that does not prove that they were supernatural. I distinctly sawtwo white shapes rise from the floor--one of them was so close to methat I could have touched it with my hand, but I did not because I wasafraid. Besides, I was sitting in a semi-circle with the others and ourhands were joined. Dr. Owen, however, was at the end of the line withone hand free, and I saw him reach out towards the apparition (it wasabout four feet high) and it seemed to me that his hand and arm passedright through the white shape. As he did this I heard a long sigh and arustling sound and I was conscious of a chilling breath on my face. Iasked Dr. Owen about this afterwards and he said that when his handtouched the shape it felt as if he was grasping thick smoke. 

The appearance of the second white shape was more terrifying becauseSeraphine came out of the cabinet when she evoked it. She wore a loosewhite garment and moved about the room in the near darkness like a womanwalking in her sleep. She repeated a beautiful prayer in a slow dreamyvoice--I wish I could remember it, the idea was that a great disastermight be averted if God would open the eyes of two of His doubtingchildren. I suppose she meant Dr. Owen and me. 

Then the second white shape appeared and seemed to rise and grow intothe likeness of a woman, but presently it wavered and dissolved. Seraphine reached out her arms towards it imploringly and I saw awoman's hand take shape clearly and rest on Seraphine's hand, but thispresently faded away, like a thing of vapor, and was gone. I have noidea what those white shapes were, or why they came, or why they went;but neither have I any idea as to the operation of X-rays. These whiteshapes may in a few years turn out to be perfectly simple laboratoryphenomena, no more mysterious than wireless phenomena were twenty-fiveyears ago. _I refuse to believe that a living person can be possessed byan evil spirit!_

Looking back at this séance, what troubles me is an utterance aboutmyself that is supposed to have been made by a voice from the otherside. This came at the very end when Seraphine went into an entrancedcondition again, with the lights up. 

"I have a message for one who is tenderly loved by an exalted spirit, "she said, sighing heavily, her eyes closed, "one who would come to her, but there is a barrier. She can regain health and happiness if she willcleanse her soul of evil. She must confess a sinful purpose that sheentertained in her heart on the night of June 14, 1914. "

June 14, 1914! I looked up this date in my diary and find that it wasthe occasion of Roberta Vallis' party when Seraphine made her prophecyabout me. Now I remember. We were considering what a woman can do tosatisfy her emotional nature if she has no chance to marry and longs forthe companionship of a man. I said, according to my diary, that "thereis a sacred right given by God to every woman who is born, a right thatnot even God Himself can take away--" Then I was interrupted bySeraphine and I did not tell them what that sacred right is or what useI personally proposed to make of it. 

But I knew and know still, and the question that distresses me iswhether an exalted spirit (could it be my mother?) really possesses thisknowledge of my wicked purpose--if it was wicked--or whether this issimply a case of mind reading by Seraphine. 

"_She can regain health and happiness if she will cleanse her soul ofevil--_" That was the message. Is it true? Is there evil in my heart?Have I entertained a sinful purpose? Have I the courage to answer thisquestion truthfully, even in these secret pages--have I?

Yes, I will put down the truth and justify myself in my own eyes. Then Iwill burn this book. I would die of shame if Christopher should everread this confession. 

As my chief justification, I dwell upon the frightful wrong that myhusband did me when he took away my faith in men, my faith in theirability or willingness to be true to one woman. He did this by his wordsand by his acts. He assured me that sex desire in the male is soresistless that, when conflict arises between this desire and theteachings of religion, it is the latter which are almost invariably setaside; with the result that great numbers of men, brought up asChristians, either renounce Christianity (if they are honest) or findthemselves forced into a life of hypocritical compromise in regard tosex indulgence. Julian told me this over and over again, no doubt toexcuse his own delinquencies, until it was burned into my soul that, whatever happened, I would never marry another man, and expose myself totorments and humiliations such as I had endured with him--never!

After my husband died I had to face a problem that confronts thousandsof high principled young women, widows, divorcées, in America and in allcountries--how could I bear the torture of this immense loneliness? Howcould I adjust myself to life without the intimate companionship of aman? How could I satisfy my emotional nature? How?

There were two solutions, a second marriage and a lover. I rejected thefirst solution for reasons already given and the second solution becauseof evidence all about me that one lover usually means two, three, half adozen lovers, since men grow weary and change and women, in lonelinessor desperation, change also. Never would I let myself sink to thedegrading level of sex _complaisance_ that is sadly or cynicallyaccepted by many women, self-supporting and self-respecting, in manyAmerican cities, simply because they cannot combat conditions that havebeen created and perpetuated by the stronger sex. 

Therefore I worked out a third solution that was to satisfy my emotionalnature and at the same time give me a reason for existence. I wouldadopt a little waif as my child, a French or Belgian waif, and I wouldbring up this child to be a useful and happy man or woman. I would loveit, care for it, teach it, and with this responsibility and_soulagement_, I would be able to endure the loneliness of the longyears stretching before me. I would find this child while I was inFrance working for the Red Cross and bring it home after the war, only--

_My purpose was to adopt a child that should be born of my own body!_

That is my sin, a sin never committed, save in intention, yet a sin thatwould have been committed, if things had happened differently. Thearguments (based on the sacred right of motherhood and the longing fora child) that led me to my original purpose still seem valid to me. Itis terrible to say this now, but I must tell the truth and the truth isthat, if I had not met Captain Herrick, I would have done this thing. Mywhole plan of life was changed because I loved Captain Herrick. What waspreviously impossible became possible, and what was previously possiblebecame impossible _because I loved Captain Herrick_. 

That is the truth. 

 * * * * *

_Tuesday. _

If I love him so much, why am I possessed by a horrible fear that I willrefuse to be his wife? Good God, what a woman I am! I love CaptainHerrick so much that I would gladly die for him--I have risked my lifefor him already--and yet--

I have promised Christopher his answer when we meet at Roberta's partyon Friday night, but I am not sure what I will say to him. Three days! Itold Roberta I would not go to her party unless she invited Christopher, so she did. 

_Wednesday. _

I feel much encouraged about my health. For nearly a week my sleep hasbeen free from dreams and They have not come near me. I begin to thinkDr. Owen is right. I have been suffering from nervous disturbancescaused by shell shock, and I am on the road to recovery. I need rest andrecreation, especially recreation--anything to divert my mind fromfears and somber thoughts. I say this to Seraphine when she warns methat I must not go to Roberta's party. She says I will go at my greatperil, but I refuse to entertain these fears. I crave the gaiety and_insouciance_ of Roberta's care-free Bohemians. Besides, I shall seeChristopher. I will tell him that I love him with all my soul and willmarry him--the sooner the better--any time. Within a month I may be Mrs. Christopher Herrick. How wonderful!

_Thursday. _

While I was looking back through my diary I came upon a reflection ofJulian's--he said that men take no real interest in other men, _as men_, although they are interested in all women. The fact that men are sexanimals makes no impression upon other men, whereas the fact that womenare sex animals makes an enormous impression. A man would hear of thetragic death of a thousand unknown men with comparative indifference, hedeclared, but would be distressed to hear of the death of a hundredunknown women. I wonder if that is true. I know that women are intenselyconscious that all other women are sex animals. Is that due to jealousy?

I came upon another thought of Julian's--about temptation. He pictured adrunkard who has sworn off drinking. This man announces his virtuousintentions from the housetops--he will never drink again, he will avoidtemptation, he will not attend a certain convivial gathering, saytonight at nine o'clock. He repeats this to himself and to others--hewill _not_ be present at this gathering. But all the time, deep down inhis heart, he knows that he will be present. He knows that nine o'clockwill find him in his accustomed seat smiling upon flowing glasses.... 

 * * * * *

I am afraid of tomorrow night. I am afraid of what I will say to CaptainHerrick!

_Friday morning. _

I dreamed last night that I was in a great purple forest and again I sawthe black birds with fiery eyes. They were in a circle around me, judging me. They wanted me to say something or do something, but I didnot know what it was, and I was in despair. Suddenly the trees openedand I saw a smooth black river pouring over a precipice and the birdsbore me to the river and dropped me into it. Then, as I struggled in thewater, Chris leaped from the bank to save me, but I fought against himand we were both swept along towards the precipice. He caught me in hisarms, but I struck at him and screamed--and then I awakened. 

 * * * * *

Seraphine gave me a beautiful prayer or affirmation to say when I amafraid. I say this over and over again and it comforts me: "_I am God'schild. God is my life, God is my strength. My soul is in unison with theperfect love of God. There is absolutely nothing to fear. All thoughtsof fear are banished from my mind. I will no longer be bound bythoughts of fear. _"

I shut my eyes tight and say this when I am going to sleep. 

CHAPTER IX

THE CONFESSIONAL CLUB

In setting forth the happenings at Roberta Vallis' party (with theirstartling psychic consequences to Penelope Wells) it is necessary to saya word about the Greenwich Village poet Kendall Brown, since heoriginated the Confessional Club. This remarkable organization grew outof a tirade against American hypocrisy made by Kendall one night in alittle Italian restaurant on Bleecker Street. 

What was most needed in this country and in all countries, the one thingthat alone could redeem mankind, declared Brown, soaring away on redwine enthusiasm, was truth. "Let us be honest and outspoken about thingsas they are, about men and women as they are, " he ran on in hischarmingly plausible way. "We are none of us very important, there isn'tmuch difference between saints and sinners--I'll argue that point withany man--_but_ there is one immensely valuable contribution that we canall make to the general store of life-knowledge, we can speak the exacttruth about ourselves and our experiences, instead of hiding it. Thatwould be a real service to humanity, for this composite truth, assembledand studied, must lead to wisdom; but men and women are such pitifulcowards, such cringing toadies to convention. It makes me sick!"

He refilled his glass slowly and continued: "Why is our talk stupid--alltalk, so stupid that we have to get drunk in order to endure life? Whyare we bores--all of us? Because we are afraid to say the essentialthings--what we know. We talk about what we don't know, like monkeys, and call it civilized. By God, I'd like to start a society for thedissemination of the truth that everybody knows and nobody tells!"

This phrase caught the fancy of Roberta Vallis whose fluttering, frivolous soul was appealed to by any line of reasoning that tended toput saints and sinners on the same level. She made Kendall repeat hisidea and then and there proposed that they adopt it. _A society for thedissemination of the truth that everybody knows and nobody tells!_Splendid! They must found this society--immediately. When should theyhave the first meeting?

In this casual way the Confessional Club came into being, with no fixedmembership, no dues or constitution, no regular place or time ofmeeting, and added one more to those amusing (sometimes inspiring)little groups that have flourished in Greenwich Village. It certainlyhad a real idea behind it. "We are loaded with human dynamite. We tellthe truth that is never told, " became the watchword of the society. 

All of which bears upon the present narrative because Roberta Vallis hadarranged to have one of these self-revealing séances as a feature of herparty; and she insisted that Penelope contribute an emotionalexperience. 

"You _must_ confess something, Pen, my sweet one, in order to be in thespirit of the evening, " she explained with bubbling exuberance, "anylittle thing. We all do it. Only be careful you don't make thatarchitect of yours jealous, " she teased. "Think up a classy confession, something weird--understand? Don't look so darned serious. It's only forfun. You can fake up something, dearie, if you're afraid to tell thetruth. Why, what's the matter?"

Penelope's face had changed startlingly, and was now overcast by sombrememories--by fears. Why had those lightly spoken words moved her sostrangely? Afraid to tell the truth! Was she afraid? With sinking heartshe recalled that message of Seraphine's exalted spirit--_Penelope mustcleanse her soul of evil!_

But--had she not cleansed her soul already? Had she not confessed thetruth about her longing for a child? And written it down in her diaryand prayed God to forgive her? Was not that enough? Why should thispressure to confess more be put upon her? Could it be that frivolous, selfish Roberta Vallis was the unconscious agent of some fateful powerurging Penelope Wells to look into her soul again?

Suddenly, in a flash of new understanding, Mrs. Wells decided. This wasno longer a trifling incident, but a happening of deep spiritual import. She was struggling desperately for health--for happiness. Perhaps thiswas her way of salvation, if she could only bring herself to say theone thing that--that ought to be said. After all, the opinion of thesecareless Bohemians mattered little--it was God's opinion that mattered. 

"Do you mind if I bring Seraphine to the party?" Penelope asked with afar-away look in her eyes. 

"Of course not--we'll be glad to have her. "

"All right, Bobby. I will make a confession. There is something I wantto confess. I don't know just the details, but--yes I do, too, it'sabout--" she hesitated, but went on with strengthening resolve, "it'sabout a trip I made once on a Fall River steamboat. "

Roberta's eyes danced at this prospect. 

"Splendid, Pen! We'll have yours last--just before the supper. "

And so it came about that it was Penelope herself who set into actionforces of the mind or the soul, memories and fears that were to changeher whole future. 

We need take no account of the other confessions (except one), tinsel ortawdry fragments from the drift-wood of life, that were offered blithelyby three or four members of the gay company. We are concerned withPenelope's confession, and with this only as it leads up to subsequentdevelopments of the evening. There was an ominous significance in thefact that Mrs. Wells made this confession before the man she loved. Whydid she do that? Why?

Penelope sat beside a Japanese screen of black and gold on which ared-tongued dragon coiled its embroidered length and, by the light of ayellow lantern just above (there was also a tiny blue lantern thatflung down a caressing ray upon her smooth dark hair and adorableshoulders) she glanced at some loose leaves taken from an old diary. Then, nerving herself for the effort, she began in a low, appealingtone, but rather unsteadily:

"I am going to tell you something that--it's very hard for me to speakof this, but--I want to tell it. I have a feeling that if I tell it Imay save myself and someone who is dear to me, " she looked down inembarrassment, "from--from a terrible danger. I feel more deeply aboutthis because--some of you remember a strange thing that happened fouryears ago when I was present at a meeting of this club. "

There were murmurs and nods of understanding from several of the guestswho settled themselves into positions of expectant attention. 

"Are we to have a second prophecy, Mrs. Walters?" inquired Kendall Brownbriskly of Seraphine, whose haunting eyes kept Penelope in lovingwatchfulness; but the medium made no reply. 

"The second prophecy has already been made, Kendall, " Mrs. Wellsanswered gravely. "I have come here tonight knowing that a disaster mayresult from my presence. Seraphine says that a disaster will result, but--I don't believe it. I can't believe it. What harm is there in mycoming to this party?"

She spoke vehemently with increasing agitation and the guests watchedher with fascinated interest. 

"A disaster? Tonight? Extraordinary! What kind of a disaster?"

Such were the questions and exclamations called forth by this startlingannouncement, and incredulous glances were addressed to the psychic; butSeraphine offered no enlightenment. She merely rocked placidly in herchair. 

"Go on, dear, " she said. 

And Penelope continued:

"You know I have been ill since I came back from France. There aresymptoms in my illness that are--peculiar--distressing. I have horriblefears that I have to fight all the time. Horrible dreams, one dream inparticular lately of a thing that happened on a Fall River steamboat. "

"A thing that really happened?" questioned a little gray-haired woman. 

"Yes, it really happened to me during a trip that I made on this boat;and now, years later, it continues to happen in my dreams. It terrifiesme, tortures me, for the thing was--it was something wrong that I did. I--I suppose it was a sin. "

A sin!

There was a tremor in her voice, a pathetic catch in her breath, almosta sob, as she forced herself to speak these words; then bravely, pleadingly, she lifted her eyes to her beloved. 

Over the gay company there came a surprised and sympathetic hush. Herrick straightened awkwardly, but never flinched in his loyalty orfondness--what an ordeal for a lover!--while Penelope paused as ifgathering strength to go on. 

"May I ask if this was before you were married?" queried the poet. 

"No. "

"After you were married?"

"Yes. My husband was with me. "

Penelope's voice sank almost to a whisper, and the unconscious twiningtogether of her fingers bore witness to her increasing distress. Everyone in the room felt the poignancy of the moment. If the operationof soul cleansing involved such stress as this, then even these heedlessmembers of the Confessional Club drew back disapprovingly. 

"Hold on, Pen!" interposed Roberta Vallis good-naturedly, wishing torelieve this embarrassment. "You're getting all fussed up. I guess you'dbetter cut out this story. I don't believe it's much good anyway. If youthink there are any sentimental variations on a Fall River steamboattheme that we are not fully conversant with, why you've got anotherguess coming. "

Penelope wavered and again her dark eyes yearned towards Christopher. Itwas cruelly hard to go on with her story, yet it was almost impossiblenow not to tell it. 

"I _want_ to make this confession, " she insisted, strong in her purpose, yet breaking under womanly weakness. "I must cleanse my soul of--ofevil--mustn't I?" her anguished eyes begged comfort of Seraphine. 

"You are right, dear child, " the medium answered gently, "but wait alittle. Sit over here by me. We have plenty of time. She took herfriend's icy hand in hers and drew her protectingly to a place besideher on the sofa. 

"To cheer you up, Pen, " laughed Bobby, "and create a general diversion, I'll tell a story myself--you'll see the kind of confession stuff wegenerally put over in our little group of unconventional thinkers. Attention, folks! Harken to the Tale of Dora the Dressmaker! Whichproves that the way of the transgressor, as observed on ManhattanIsland, is not always so darned hard. "

Then she told her story in the most approved Greenwich Village style, with slangy and cynical comments, all of which were received withchortles of satisfaction by the men and with no very severe disapprovalby the ladies--except Seraphine. 

"Dora was a pretty, frail looking girl--but really as strong as ahorse, " began Bobby gleefully, "one of those tall blondes who can passoff for aristocrats without being the real thing. She came from a smallSouthern town and had married a man who was no good. He drank and chasedafter women; and, in one of his drunken fits, he was run over on a darknight at the railroad crossing--fortunately. "

Penelope stirred uneasily at the memories in her own life conjured up bythis picture. 

"Dora had the usual small town collection of wedding cut glass anddoilies, which she put away in the attic, after husband's decease; and, with them, she also put away all respect and desire for the marriedstate. She was through with domesticity and all that it represented, andmade up her mind to devote the rest of her life to earning as big asalary as she could and having the best time possible. "

The rest of the story was a sordid account of this girl's effort tocombine business with pleasure, as men do, and of her startled discoveryone day, just at the moment of her greatest success--she had beenoffered the position of head designer in a wholesale dress house withcoveted trips to Europe--that she was about to become a mother. 

Penelope sighed wearily as she listened. Could she _never_ escape fromthis eternal sex theme?

"You see, " Bobby rattled on, "Dora knew she couldn't go to roof gardensand supper parties alone, and she couldn't keep a chap on a stringwithout paying--so she paid. Of course she camouflaged this part of herlife very daintily, as she did everything else, but going out eveningswas as important to her as her business ambition was. "

Mrs. Wells smiled faintly at the word camouflaged, for she knew betterthan anyone else that this supposed story of a dressmaker was really thestory of Roberta Vallis herself, thinly disguised. 

"The point is that after years of living exactly like a man, " MissVallis became a shade more serious here and a note of defiance creptinto her discourse, "with work and pleasure travelling along side byside, Dora was called upon to face a situation that would have broughther gay and prosperous career to a sad and shameful end in anywell-constructed Sunday School book; but please notice that it didnothing of the sort in real life. Did she lose her job? She did not. Orher health or reputation? Nothing like that. After she got over thefirst shock of surprise Dora decided to go through with the thing, and, being tall and thin, got away with it successfully. No one suspectedthat the illness which kept her away from her work was anything butinfluenza, and--well, the child didn't live, " she concluded abruptly asshe caught Seraphine's disapproving glance. "The point is that Dora istoday one of the most successful business women in Boston. "

A challenge to outraged virtue was in her tone, and all eyes turnedinstinctively to the psychic who was still rocking placidly. 

"Poor woman!" Seraphine said simply, which seemed to annoy Miss Vallis. 

"Why do you say that? Why is she a poor woman? She has everything shewants. "

"No! No indeed, " was the grave reply. "She has nothing that she reallywants. She has cut herself off from the operation of God's love. She issurrounded by forces that--Oh!" the medium's eyes closed for a momentand she drew a long breath, "my control tells me these forces ofevil--they will destroy this girl. "

Roberta essayed to answer mockingly, but the words died on her lips, andthere fell a moment of shivery silence until Kendall Brown broke thespell. 

"That story of Dora is a precious human document, " was the poet'sponderous pronouncement. "It is unpleasant, painful, but--what is thelesson? The lesson is that infinite trouble grows out of our rottensqueamishness about sex facts. This girl craved a reasonable amount ofpleasure after her work, and she got it. She refused to spend herevenings alone in her room reading a book. She wanted to dance, to enjoythe society of men--their intimate society. That brings us to the oldestand most resistless force in the world, a blessed force, a God-givenforce upon which all life depends--you know what I mean. And how do wedeal with this most formidable of forces? Are we grateful for it? Do weacknowledge its irresistible supremacy? No! We deal with it bypretending that it doesn't exist. We say to Friend Dora that, beingunmarried, she has nothing whatever to do with sex attraction, except toforget it. Does she forget it? She does not. Do the men allow her toforget it? They do not. And one fine day Friend Dora has a baby andeverybody says horrible, disgraceful! Rubbish! I maintain that the stateshould provide homes and proper care for the children we callillegitimate! What a word! I say _all_ children are legitimate, allmothers should be honored, yes, and financially protected. A woman whogives a child to the nation, regardless of who the father is, renders adistinguished service. She is a public benefactor. "

"Hear, hear!" approved several, but the little grey-haired womanobjected that this meant free love, whereupon Kendall was off again onhis hobby. 

"Love _is_ free, it always has been and always will be free. If youchain love down under smug rules you only kill it or distort it. I amnot arguing against marriage, but against hypocrisy. We may as wellrecognize that sex desire is so strong a force in the world--that--"

To all of this Penelope had listened with ill-concealed aversion, nowshe could no longer restrain her impatience. "Ridiculous!" sheinterrupted. "You exasperate me with your talk about the compellingclaims of oversexed individuals. Let them learn to behave themselves andcontrol themselves. "

"Mrs. Wells is absolutely right, " agreed Captain Herrick quietly, hiseyes challenging Brown. "If certain men insist on behaving likeorang-outangs in the jungle, then society should treat them asorang-outangs. "

This incisive statement somewhat jarred the poet's self-sufficiency andhe subsided for the moment, but jealousy is a cunning adversary and therival awaited his opportunity for counter-attack. 

As the discussion proceeded Kendall noticed that one of the loose pagesfrom Penelope's diary had fluttered to the floor and, recovering this, he glanced at it carelessly, then smiled as he plucked at his yellowbeard. 

"Excuse me, Mrs. Wells, " he said. "I could not help reading a few words. Won't you go on with your confession--please do. It sounds sowonderfully interesting. See--there--at the bottom!" He pointed to thelines. 

"Oh!" she murmured as she saw the writing, and two spots of color burnedin her cheeks. "Let me have it--I insist!"

"Certainly. But do read it to us. This is a real human interest story. _'Let me bow my head in shame and humble my spirit in the dust'_--wasn'tthat it?" laughed Kendall maliciously. 

At this, seeing the frightened look in Penelope's eyes, Captain Herrickstormed in: "You had no right to read those words or repeat them. "

"I am sorry, Mrs. Wells. I meant no offense, " apologized the poet, realizing that he had gone too far, but the harm was done. Somethingunaccountably serious had happened to Penelope Wells. Her face had gonedeathly white, and Roberta, suddenly sympathetic, hastened to her. 

"It's a shame to tease you, dearie. No more confession stuff. Now, folks, we'll have supper--down in the restaurant. Then we'll dance. Comeon! Feeling better, Pen? What you need is a cocktail and somechampagne. "

But Penelope lay like a stricken creature, her beautiful head limpagainst the pillow of her chair, her eyes filled with pain. 

"I--I'll be all right in a minute, Bobby, " she whispered. "Please godown now--all of you except Captain Herrick. We'll join you--a littlelater. You don't mind?" she turned to Herrick who was bending over heranxiously. Then she said softly: "Don't leave me, Chris. I don't feelquite like myself. I'm a little frightened. "

CHAPTER X

FAUVETTE

Thus it happened that Penelope and Captain Herrick did not descend tothe flower-spread supper room where dancing and good cheer awaited thegay company, but remained in Roberta's black and gold apartment, twolovers swept along by powers of fate far beyond their control, and nowfacing the greatest emotional moment of their lives. 

The catastrophe came gradually, yet at the end with startlingsuddenness. 

At first, when they were alone, Penelope seemed to recover from herdistress and began to talk naturally and serenely, as if her precedingagitations were forgotten. She told Christopher that Dr. Owen's wisecounsels had reassured her, and she now felt confident that her baddreams and other disturbing symptoms would soon leave her. 

"You see something has conquered all my sadness, all my fears, " shelooked at him shyly. 

For a moment he sat motionless, drinking in her splendid beauty, then heleaned towards her impulsively and spoke one word that carried all thedevotion of his soul: "Penelope!"

"Dear boy!" she murmured, her voice thrilling, and a moment later he hadclasped her in his arms. 

"You're mine! You love me! Thank God!"

But she disengaged herself gently, there was something she wished tosay. She would not deny her love, her great love for him. She realizedthat she had loved him from the first. Her resistance had been part ofher illness--it was not coquetry, he must not think that. Now her eyeswere opened and her heart was singing with joy. She was the happiestwoman in the world at the thought that she was to be his wife. 

"My darling! How I love you!" exclaimed Christopher, drawing her towardshim, his lips seeking hers. 

"No--no, " Penelope's voice was so serious, so full of alarm that herlover instantly obeyed. He drew away from her with a hurt, puzzledexpression in his eyes. Very gravely Penelope went on. "I love you, too, my darling, but I must ask you to make me a solemn promise. I shall bemost unhappy if you refuse. I want you to promise not to kissme, --as--as lovers kiss, passionately, ardently, until after we aremarried. "

"But, Pen, you--can't mean that seriously?"

With a wistful little smile she assured him that she did mean it mostseriously. 

In vain he protested. "But why? It's so absurd! Why shouldn't I kiss youwhen I love you better than anything in the world. "

"Chris, please, _please_ don't talk like that. You must trust me and dowhat I ask. You must, dear!"

A pathetic earnestness in her tone and a strange look in her eyes madeChristopher forget his privileges, and he made the promise. 

"Thank you, dear. Now I must tell you something else, " she went on. "Imust explain why I was so disturbed when Kendall Brown read those wordsfrom my diary. I _must_ tell you what they meant. "

But a masterful gesture from Herrick stopped her. He did not wish toknow anything about this. He trusted her entirely, he approved of herentirely, they must never speak of these old sad things again. 

Tears of gratitude suddenly filled her eyes. 

"Take this, dear, it belonged to my mother, " she said fondly and gavehim a circlet of twisted dolphins and he put it on his finger. Then hegave her a brown seal ring, engraved with old Armenian characters. 

"I got it in Constantinople, Pen. It's a talisman. It will bring usluck. "

They talked on, forgetful of the supper party downstairs, until a waitercame with cocktails and champagne that Roberta had sent up, but Penelopewould have none of these, saying that her love was too great to needstimulation. 

"I must drink to your health, dear, " said Herrick, and pouring out thebubbling liquid, he offered her a glass, but she shook her head. 

"No? Not even a sip? All right, sweetheart. I'll pledge you the finesttoast in the world, " he lifted his goblet. "My love! My wife!"

As Christopher set down his glass and turned to clasp his beloved in hisarms, he realized that there was a curious change in her face, a subtle, an almost indistinguishable change--the sweet radiance had gone. It wasthe word _wife_ that had stabbed Penelope with unforgettable memoriesand brought back her impulse to confess. Once more she tried to tell thestory of that tragic steamboat, but Christopher firmly andgood-naturedly refused to listen. Whatever she had done, her life hadbeen a hundred times finer and nobler than his. Not that he had anygreat burden on his conscience, but--well--With a chivalrous idea ofbalancing scores, he mentioned that there had been one or two thingsthat--er--and his embarrassment grew. 

Penelope's eyes caressed him. "I'm so glad, Chris, if there is somethingfor me to forgive. Is it--is it a woman story?"

"Well, yes. "

"Tell me. I won't misjudge you, dear, " she spoke confidently, although ashadow of pain flitted across her face. Then he began to tell of a hotelflirtation--a young woman he had met one night in Philadelphia. Shewasn't so very pretty, but--her husband had treated her like the deviland--she was very unhappy and--they had rather a mad time together. 

Christopher spoke in brief, business-like sentence's as if desiring toget through with a painful duty, but Penelope pressed him for details. 

"What was her name--her first name?"

"Katherine. "

"Did you have supper with her--did she drink?"

"Yes. "

"Was she--how shall I say it?--an alluring woman? Did she have a prettyfigure?"

The soldier looked at his sweetheart in surprise and, without answering, he struck a match and meditatively followed the yellow flame as itconsumed the wood. Penelope watched his well-shaped, well-kept hands. 

"Did she?"

"I--I suppose so. What difference does that make? Do you mind if Ismoke?"

"Of course not. " She took a cigarette from his silver case. "I'll haveone with you--from the same match! _Voilà!_" She inhaled deeply and blewout a grey cloud. "Tell me more about Katherine. "

His frown deepened. 

"Poor woman! She was reckless. I am sure she had never done a thing likethis before. I hadn't either. I don't mean that I've been an angel, Pen, but--" he paused, then, with a flash of self-justification: "I give youmy word of honor, in the main I have not done that sort of thing. "

She caught his hand impulsively. "I know you haven't. I'm so glad. Now I_will_ drink to--to you. " She rose and stood before him, a lithe youngcreature vibrant with life. "Touch your glass to mine. My dear boy! MyChristopher!"

They drank together. 

Then Herrick resumed his explanation. "I must tell you a little more, darling. You see I was sorry for this woman, her story was so pathetic. I wanted to help her, if I could, not to harm her. So I suggested thatwe each make a pledge to the other--"

He was intensely in earnest, but Penelope's eyes were now dancing inmockery. 

"Oh you reformer! You ridiculous boy!" she laughed. 

"It's true, I assure you. "

"I don't believe it. What was the pledge? No, don't tell me! Tell me ifyou kept it. "

He moved uneasily under her searching gaze, but did not answer. 

"Did you keep your pledge?" she insisted. 

"Yes. "

"For how long?"

He shifted again uncomfortably. 

"For several months, " he began, "but I must admit--"

"No, no!" she interrupted with a swift emotional change. "Don't admitanything. It was wicked of me to mock you. Come, we will drink to thelady in Philadelphia! Fill the glasses! To Katherine! And poor, weakhuman nature! Katherine! And all our good resolutions!"

Pen's eyes teased her lover with a gay _diablerie_ as she slowly emptiedher glass, and Herrick's heart quickened at the realization that thisbeautiful woman belonged to him--she belonged to him. At the same timehe was conscious of a vague uneasiness under the increasing allurementof her glances. Were there ever such eyes in the world? Was there eversuch a woman? Adorable as a saint, dangerous as a siren!

"There is one pledge I will never break, Pen, " he said tenderly. "I'llnever fail to do every possible thing to make you happy. "

"Will you take me back to Paris, Chris? I want to spend a whole year inParis with you. We'll go to fine hotels along the Champs Élysées, we'llprowl through those queer places in Montmartre, remember? and onceyou'll take me to a students' ball, won't you, dear? I'd love to danceat a students' ball--_with you_!" Her eyes burned on him underfluttering black lashes--such long curling lashes! "Let's drink toParis--_toi et moi, tous les deux ensemble, pas?_ Come!" She snatched upher glass again and emptied it quickly. 

A spirit of wild gaiety and abandon had caught Penelope--there was norestraining her. They must sit on the divan under that dull blue light, and talk of their love--their wonderful love that had swept aside allbarriers--while she smoked another cigarette. Christopher forgot to beafraid--he, too, was young! _Vive la joie!_

She nestled close to him against the pillows and, as they talked in lowtones, he drew her closer, breathing the perfume of her hair. She caughthis hand and clung to it, then slowly, restlessly, her fingers movedalong his arm. 

"My love! My love!" she whispered. 

"Sweetheart!" he looked deep into her soul, his heart poundingfuriously. 

"It was horrid of me, Chris, to make you promise--that, " she bent closeoffering him her lips. 

"Promise what?" he asked unsteadily. 

"Oh, Chris, " she whispered and her soft form seemed to envelope him. "Iam yours, yours!"

Then silence fell in the room while she pressed her eager mouth to his. 

"Penelope!" he thrilled deliriously. 

"Don't call me Penelope. It's so prim and old fashioned. I told you whatto call me--Fauvette. That's the name I like. Fauvette! I am yourFauvette. Say it. "

Her eyes consumed him. 

Christopher realized his danger, but he was powerless against the spellof her beauty. 

"My Fauvette!" he caught her in his arms. 

"Ah! Ah! _Mon cheri!_ Wait!" Swiftly she turned off the lights, thendarted back to him in the darkness. 

At this moment of supreme crisis the door of the apartment opened slowlyand, as the light streamed in, a figure entered that came like a gentleradiance. It was Seraphine. 

CHAPTER XI

THE EVIL SPIRIT

Penelope sprang up from the divan panting with anger. Her hair wasdishevelled. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the shadows. She glared atSeraphine. 

"How dare you come in here?" she demanded insolently. "What do you wanthere?"

With a smile of infinite compassion Mrs. Walters approached like aloving mother. "My child! My dear child!" she said tenderly. 

But the mad young creature repulsed her. "No, no! I hate you! Go away!"

The newcomer turned reassuringly to Captain Herrick. "I am Penelope'sfriend--Seraphine. "

"Ha! Seraphine! I am Fauvette! What do I care for you?" The frantic onesnapped her fingers at the other woman. 

"Penelope!" pleaded Christopher, shocked at her violence. 

She turned on him in fury. "You fool! You wouldn't take the chance Ioffered you. "

"I will quiet her, " said Mrs. Walters to Herrick. "Don't be alarmed. "

"You can't quiet me. I'll say anything I damn please. Go on, quiet me!Quiet Fauvette! I'd like to see you do it. Ha, ha, ha!" Her wildlaughter rang through the apartment. 

Christopher's face was tense with alarm and distress. "What can I do?What is the matter with her?" he appealed to Seraphine. 

"She is ill. She is not herself, " was the grave reply. "I'll call Dr. Owen; I'll tell him to come at once. "

He hurried out of the room and the two women faced each other. 

Fauvette sank back on the divan and lay there in sullen defiance. "Nowwe're alone--you and I. What are you going to do about it?" was herharsh challenge. 

The psychic did not answer, but her lips moved as if in prayer; then shespoke sternly, her deep eyes widening: "I see your scarlet lights, yoursinister face. "

From the shadowy corner Fauvette sneered: "I see your soft, sentimentalChristmas card face. I'm not afraid of you. I laugh at you. " And pealsof shrill, almost satanic, laughter rang through the room. 

Seraphine advanced slowly, holding out her hands. 

"I know your ways, creature of darkness. I command you to leave thispure body that you would defile. "

And fierce the answer came: "No! Damn you! You are not strong enough todrive me out. "

"Think of the tortures you are preparing for yourself. "

"Don't you worry about my tortures. "

"Have pity on Penelope. It will be counted in your favor. "

There were snarling throat-sounds, then these menacing words: "No! I'mgoing to put Penelope out of business. "

"Where is Penelope now?"

"She is sleeping. Poor nut!"

"She knows nothing about Fauvette?"

"Nothing. "

"She remembers nothing that Fauvette says?"

"Nothing. "

There was a long silence in the darkened room while Seraphine prayed. 

"You know very well that Dr. Leroy can drive you out, " she saidpresently. 

"He can't do it. Let him try. Nobody can drive me out. Besides, youwon't get Dr. Leroy. "

"Why not?"

"This other doctor won't have him. "

"Dr. Owen?"

"Yes. I know damned well how to fix him. I'll tell him some things thatwill make him sit up and take notice. "

"How do you mean you will fix him?"

"Never mind. You'll see. If I can't have Herrick, Penelope is _never_going to have him. "

The medium closed her eyes and seemed to listen. "You mean Penelope willnever have him because of something you are going to tell Dr. Owen--something about--about chemistry?" she groped for the word. 

"Ye-es, " unwillingly. 

"Dr. Owen will not believe you. "

"He _will_ believe me. "

"No!" declared Seraphine dreamily. "There are greater powers than youfighting for Penelope. "

CHAPTER XII

X K C

We come now to what has been regarded by some authorities as the mostremarkable feature in the case of Penelope Wells, a development almostwithout parallel in the records of abnormal psychology. All books onthis subject record instances of jealousy or hostility between tworecurring personalities in the same individual. A woman in onepersonality writes a letter that humiliates her in another personality. A little girl eats a certain article of food while in one personalitysimply because she knows that her other personality hates thatparticular food. And so on. It almost never occurs, however, that anevil personality will commit an act or a crime that is abhorrent to theindividual's fundamental nature. Neither through hypnotism nor throughany manifestation of a dual nature will a person become a thief or amurderer unless there is really in that person a latent tendency towardsstealing or killing. There is always some germ of Mr. Hyde'sbloodthirstiness in the benevolence of Dr. Jekyll. 

But Penelope Wells, under the domination of her Fauvette personality, now entered upon a course that was certain to bring disgrace and sorrowupon a man she loved with all her heart, a man for whom she had riskedher life on the battle field. Here is one of those mysteries that willnot be cleared up until we better understand these strange anddistressing phenomena of the sick brain or the sick soul. 

In presenting this development it must be mentioned that Dr. WilliamOwen was not only a specialist on nervous diseases but a chemist of widereputation in the field of laboratory investigation. For a year and ahalf preceding the end of the war he had held a major's commission inthe army and had spent much time in a government research laboratory, studying poison gases. 

In August, 1918, he had discovered a toxic product of extraordinaryvirulence, not a gas, but a tasteless and odorless liquid containingharmful bacteria. These bacteria showed great resistance against heatand cold and were able to propagate and disseminate themselves withincredible rapidity through living creatures, rats, earth worms, birds, cattle, dogs, fleas, that might feed upon them or come in contact withthem. The deadliness of this product was so great, as appeared fromlaboratory tests, that it was believed all human life might beexterminated in a region intensively inoculated (from airplanes or guns)with the liquid. This was only a possibility, but it was an enormouslyimportant possibility. 

A report on this formidable discovery had been prepared by Dr. Owen forthe Washington authorities with such extreme secrecy that the chemicalformula for the liquid had been indicated simply by the letters X K C, the product being referred to as X K C liquid. Moreover, the onlyperson, except Dr. Owen, in possession of the full facts touching thisdiscovery was Captain Herrick who had assisted the doctor in hisinvestigations. Herrick had been cautioned to guard this secret as hewould his life, since there was involved in it nothing less than thepossibility of preventing future wars through the power of its potentialterribleness. 

The bearing of all this upon our narrative was presently made clear asthe conflict developed between tortured Penelope and the psychic inRoberta Vallis' studio. 

For some moments the two women eyed each other in hostile silence, whichwas broken presently by the sound of footsteps in the hall. 

"Ah! Here comes your doctor!" mocked the fair creature on the divan. "Now watch Fauvette!"

The door opened and Dr. Owen, followed by Herrick, both grave-faced, entered the apartment. 

Christopher turned anxiously to Seraphine: "What has happened? Is shebetter?"

Mrs. Walters shook her head, but when the young officer looked atPenelope his fears were lessened, for she (was it from dissimulation orweariness?) gave no indication of her recent frenzy, but seemed to beresting peacefully against the cushions. 

"Let's have a little more light here, " said Dr. Owen, and he turned onthe electrics. "I'm afraid you have overtaxed your strength, Mrs. Wells. "

Penelope answered gently with perfect self-possession: "I'm afraid Ihave, doctor, I'm sorry to give you so much trouble. " And she smiledsweetly at Herrick. 

The specialist drew up a chair and studied his patient thoughtfully. There was an added austerity in his usual professional manner. 

"Captain Herrick tells me that you made some rather strange remarks justnow?" he said tentatively. 

Mrs. Wells met him with a look of half amused understanding. 

"Did I?" she answered carelessly, and as she spoke she took up a penciland made formless scrawls on a sheet of paper. "I suppose he refers tomy calling him a fool. It is a little unusual, isn't it?"

She laughed in a mirthless way. 

"Why did you do it?"

"I haven't any idea. "

"And you spoke unkindly to Seraphine? That isn't like you. "

"No? How do you know what I am like?" she answered quickly, her handstill fidgeting with the pencil. 

Dr. Owen observed her attentively and did not speak for some moments. Seraphine and Christopher drew their chairs nearer, as if they knew thatthe tension of restraint was about to break. 

"You must realize that you have been under a great strain, Mrs. Wells, "resumed the doctor, "and you are tired--you are very tired. "

Her answer came dreamily, absent-mindedly: "Yes, I am tired, " and, asshe spoke, Penelope's tragic eyes closed wearily. But her fingers stillclutched the pencil and continued to move it over the white sheet. 

"Look!" whispered Seraphine, "she is making letters upside down. "

"That's queer!" nodded Owen. "She is writing backwards--from right toleft. Hello!" He started in surprise as he saw, on bending closer, thatPenelope had covered the sheet with large printed letters--X--K--C, written over and over again. 

Greatly disturbed, Dr. Owen roused his patient and questioned her aboutthis; but she insisted that she had no idea what she had written or whatthe letters meant. A little later, however, she acknowledged that thiswas not true. 

"What! You did know what you wrote?" the scientist demanded. His wholemanner had changed. His eyes were cold and accusing. He was no longer asympathetic physician tactful towards the whims of a pretty woman, but amajor in the United States Army defending the interests of his country. 

"This is a very serious matter, Mrs. Wells, please understand that. Youtold me just now that you did not know what you wrote on the sheet ofpaper?"

Penelope faced him scornfully. Her cheeks were flushed. Her bosomheaved. 

"I said that, but it wasn't true. I lied to you. I did know what Iwrote. "

"You know what those letters mean?"

"Yes, I do!"

"What do they mean?"

"They mean some kind of poison stuff that you have made for the army. "

"How do you know that?"

"He told me, " she turned to Captain Herrick who had listened in dumbbewilderment. 

"How can you say such a thing?" Chris protested. 

"Because it's true, " she flung the words at him defiantly. 

The young officer went close to her and looked searchingly into hereyes. 

"Think what you are saying, " he begged. "Remember what this means. Remember that--"

She cut in viciously: "You shut up! I have no more use for you. I tellyou it's true. "

"Don't believe her, doctor, " interposed Seraphine: "She is notresponsible for what she says. "

"I am responsible. I know exactly what I am saying. "

"It is not true, sir, " put in Captain Herrick. "May I add that--"

"Wait! Why are you confessing this, Mrs. Wells?"

Like a fury Fauvette glared at Christopher. 

"Because he turned me down. I'm sore on him. He's not on the level. "

"Not on the level? Are you speaking of him as a lover or an officer?"

"Both ways. He's not on the level at all. "

"Oh, Penelope!" grieved the heartbroken lover. 

She eyed him scornfully. "You needn't Penelope me! I said I have no usefor you. A Sunday school sweetheart! Ha! I'll tell you something else, doctor, I'm not the only one who knows about your X K C stuff. "

"Mrs. Wells, " Dr. Owen spoke slowly, "are you deliberately accusingCaptain Herrick of disloyalty?"

"Yes, I am. "

Herrick stiffened under this insult, white-faced, but he did not speak. 

"He meant to sell this information--for money, " she added. 

"My God!" breathed Christopher. 

"Captain Herrick told you this?"

"Yes, he did. He said we would go abroad and live together--likemillionaires. You did! You know damned well you did, " she almostscreamed the words at Herrick, then she sank back on the divanexhausted, and lay still, her eyes closed. 

The doctor's face was ominously set as he turned to his young friend. 

"Chris, my boy, I need not tell you that I cannot believe this monstrousaccusation. At the same time, I saw Mrs. Wells write down those lettersthat are only known to you and to me. I saw that with my own eyes--yousaw it, too. "

"Yes, sir. "

"And you heard what she said?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Under the circumstances, as your superior officer, I don't see how Ihave any choice except to--"

Here Mrs. Walters interrupted: "May I speak? It is still possible toavert a great disaster. "

The doctor shook his head. "You have heard Mrs. Wells' confession. Nopower on earth can prevent an investigation of this, " he declared withmilitary finality. 

Seraphine's lips moved in silent prayer. Her face was transfigured asher eyes fell tenderly upon the white-faced, tortured sleeper. 

"No power on earth, but--God can prevent it, " she murmured and movednearer to Penelope whose face was convulsed as if by a terrifying dream. Then, with hands extended over the beautiful figure, the psychic prayedaloud, while Herrick and the doctor, caught by the power of her faith, looked on in wondering silence. 

_"God of love, let Thine infinite power descend upon this Thy torturedchild and drive out all evil and wickedness from her. Open the eyes ofthese men so that they may understand and be merciful. Oh, God, grant usa sign! Let Thy light descend upon us. "_

Captain Herrick has always maintained that at this moment, as he watchedhis beloved, his heart clutched with horrible forebodings, he distinctly_saw_ (Dr. Owen did not see this) a faint stream of bluish radianceplaying over her from the direction of Seraphine, and enveloping her. Itis certain that Penelope's face immediately became peaceful and theconvulsive twitchings that had shaken her body ceased. 

"Look!" marvelled Christopher. "She is smiling in her sleep. "

Seraphine turned to Dr. Owen, with radiant countenance. 

"It is God's sign. Come! Penelope will awaken soon and must findherself alone with her lover. It will be the real Penelope. You willsee. Let us draw back into the shadows. You stay near her, " she motionedto Herrick, then turned down the lights except a yellow-shaded lamp nearthe sleeper. 

And, presently, watching with breathless interest, these three sawPenelope stir naturally and open her eyes. 

"Why, how strange!" she exclaimed. "I must have gone to sleep. Why didyou let me go to sleep, Chris?" she questioned her lover, with bright, happy eyes in which there was no trace of her recent perturbations ofspirit. 

"It's all right, Pen, " he said reassuringly. "You were a little--alittle faint, I guess. "

She held out her hand lovingly and beckoned him to her side. 

"Sit by me here. I had such a horrible dream. I'm so glad to see you, dear. I'm so glad to be awake. Oh!" She started up in embarrassment asshe saw that her dress was disarranged. "What's the matter with mydress? What did I do? What has happened? Tell me. You must tell me, " shebegged in confusion. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart, " he soothed her. "It was the excitement of allthat talk--that ass of a poet. "

Penelope passed her hand over her eyes in a troubled effort to remember. It was pathetic to see her groping backwards through a daze of confusedimpressions. The last clear thing in her mind was exchanging rings withher lover. How long had they been here? What time was it? What mustRoberta think of them, staying up in her apartment all alone?

Christopher assured her that what Roberta thought (she and her gayfriends were still dancing downstairs) was the very least of hispreoccupations, and he was planning to turn his sweetheart's thoughtsinto a different channel when Seraphine came forward out of the shadowsfollowed by Dr. Owen. 

"Why, Seraphine!" exclaimed Penelope in astonishment. "Where did youcome from? And Dr. Owen?"

Seraphine greeted her friend lovingly and kissed her, but there wasunconcealed anxiety in her voice and manner. 

"Dear child, something very serious has happened. You were ill and--Dr. Owen came to help you. He wants to ask you some questions. "

"Yes?" replied Penelope, her face paling. 

Then the doctor, with scarcely any prelude and with almost brutaldirectness, said: "Mrs. Wells, I want you to tell me why you accusedCaptain Herrick of disloyalty. "

Poor Penelope! She could only gasp for breath and turn whiter still. Accuse her dear Christopher whom she loved and honored above all men ofany wrong or baseness! God in heaven! If she had done this she wanted todie. 

"I--I didn't, " she stammered. "I couldn't do such a thing. "

But the doctor was relentless. "If what you said to me a few minutes agois true, " he went on coldly, "it will be my duty, as a major in theUnited States Army, to order the arrest of Captain Herrick for treasonagainst the government. "

At this startling assertion Penelope fell back as if struck down by amortal wound, and lay still on the couch, a pitiful crumpled figure. Theothers gathered around her apprehensively. 

"You were very harsh, sir, " reproached Herrick. 

"It was the best thing for you and for Mrs. Wells, " answered Dr. Owen, bending over his patient, who lay there with dark-circled eyes closed, oblivious to her surroundings. "At least I have no doubt as to hersincerity, I mean as to the genuineness of this shock. "

The doctor was sorely perplexed as he faced this situation. What was hisduty? Here was a definite charge of extreme gravity made against a youngman of unimpeachable character by the very last person in the world whowould naturally make such an accusation, that is the woman who lovedhim. Must he assume that the patient's mind was affected? The idea thatChristopher Herrick could be capable of a treasonable act was altogetherpreposterous, a thing that Owen rejected indignantly, yet there was theevidence of his own senses. Penelope had written those letters that werenot known to anyone except Herrick and himself? And she knew what theymeant. _How did she know?_ Was it possible Chris had told her?

But, even so, why had Penelope betrayed and denounced her lover?

At this moment Seraphine turned to the doctor in gentle appeal. 

"Don't you see what the explanation is?" she whispered with eloquenteyes. 

"It seems to be a case of dual personality, " he answered. 

"It's more than that, doctor. "

The scientist moved impatiently, then, remembering what he had seen atSeraphine's apartment, and the recovery of his wife's jewels, hesoftened the skepticism of his tone. 

"You think it is one of those cases you told me about of--possession?That's absurd!"

"Why is it absurd? Doesn't the Bible speak of possession by evilspirits? Is the Bible absurd? Did not Christ cast out evil spirits?"

"I suppose so, but--times have changed. "

"Not in the spirit world. Oh no!"

"Anyway, the thing is not capable of proof. "

"Yes, it is, if you will not shut your mind against the evidence. Oh, "she pleaded, "if you only had faith enough to let Dr. Leroy treatPenelope! What harm could it do? You say yourself this is a case of dualpersonality. Do you know how to cure that trouble? Do you?" sheinsisted. 

"Perhaps not, " he admitted, "but--that is not the only thing. It must bemade clear to me how Mrs. Wells came into possession of an extremelyprecious secret of the war department. "

The medium's face shone with an inspired light as she answered: "That isthe work of an evil entity, doctor, I know what I am saying. You _must_let me prove it. Look at that young woman--honored by all the world. "She pointed to Penelope resting peacefully. "Think what she has done!Think of her bravery, her kindness, her sincerity. Look at CaptainHerrick--the soul of honor! You know him, doctor, I tell you it isimpossible that these two are guilty of treason. "

Dr. Owen could not resist the power of this appeal. He was deeply movedin spite of himself. "You say you can prove that Mrs. Wells is possessedby an evil spirit? How can you prove it?"

"Give me permission to take Penelope to Dr. Leroy's hospital for a fewdays--will you?" she begged. "You will see for yourself that I amright. "

"See for myself? Great heavens! You don't mean to tell me that--?" thedoctor stopped short before the vivid memory of those white shapes thatthis woman once before had so strangely evoked. 

Seraphine stood silent in deep concentration, then she said slowly:"Yes, that is what I mean. I believe that God, for His great purposes, will let you _see_ this evil spirit. "

CHAPTER XIII

TERROR

(_Statement by Seraphine_)

At the request of Dr. William Owen I am writing this account of whathappened last night after Roberta Vallis' party. What happened duringthe party was terrible enough, but what came later, after the doctor andthe guests had gone and we three women were alone together, Roberta andPenelope and I, was infinitely worse. 

I am told to put down details of the night, as far as I can rememberthem, so that these may be kept in the records of the American OccultSociety. There never was a clearer case of an evil spirit workingdestructively against a living person, although other noble souls havefaced a similar ordeal, especially returned soldiers and Red Crossworkers, and some have not survived it. Remember those pitiful, unaccountable suicides of our bravest and our fairest. In every case_there was a reason_!

Penelope did not go home after the party, she was in no condition to doso, but stayed at Roberta's, and I stayed with her, at least I promisedto stay, for I knew she needed me. I knew that the greatest danger wasstill threatening her. 

When the guests had gone we took off our things (Roberta let me have herlittle spare room on the mezzanine floor and she gave Penelope her ownbig bedroom with the old French furniture), then a Russian singer, atall blond, Margaret G----, came in from the next apartment and wetalked for a long time. Pen and Bobby smoke cigarettes and drankcordials; they drank in a nervous, hysterical way, as if they felt they_must_ drink, and, strangely enough, the more they drank the moreintensely sober they became. _I understood this!_

Such talk! Miss Gordon had just returned to America by way of Tokio. Shehad been in London, Paris, Petrograd, Cairo; and, everywhere, as aresult of the war, she said, she found a mad carnival of recklessnessand extravagance. Everywhere the old standards of decency and honor hadbeen set aside, greed and lust were rampant, the whole human race seemedto be swept as with a mighty tide, by three fierce desires--for money, for pleasure, for sensuality. And God had been forgotten!

I, who know how hideously true this is, tried to show these women _why_it is true, especially Penelope, whose eyes were burning dangerously, but they were not interested in my moralizing. "Let us eat, drink and bemerry, for tomorrow we die, " mocked Margaret G----, emptying her glass, and Roberta joined her, while Penelope hesitated. 

"Wait! For God's sake, wait!" I caught the poor child's arm and thewine spilled over the carpet. Never shall I forget the look in her eyesas she drew back her head and faced me. I realized that the powers ofevil were striving again for the soul of Penelope Wells. Poor, torturedchild!

"Why shouldn't we eat, drink and be merry?" she demanded boldly, and Iwas silent. 

How could I explain to this dear, misguided one that, even as thoserollicking words were spoken, I felt the clutch of a cold forebodingthat I know only too well. 

_For tomorrow we die!_

The Russian singer presently withdrew as if she were annoyed atsomething, saying to Roberta that she would see her later. It seems theyhad arranged that Roberta should pass the night in Margaret G----'sapartment so that Penelope might have the large bedroom. 

It was now after two o'clock and I suggested that we all needed sleep, my thought being for Penelope; but she was aggressively awake, andRoberta, as if bent on further excitement, started a new subject thatcame like a challenge to me. She began innocently enough by putting herarm around Penelope, as she sat on the bedside between the drapedcurtains--I never saw her so beautiful--and saying sweetly: "You don'tknow how terribly I'm going to miss you, Pen, when you get married. "

Married! That word, so full of exquisite sentiment, seemed to stir onlywhat was evil in Penelope. Her face hardened, her eyes narrowedcynically. 

"Good old Bobby! I'm not so sure that I shall marry at all. I'm alittle fed up with this holy matrimony stuff. Perhaps I want my freedomjust as much as you do. "

For a moment I caught her steady defiant gaze, then her eyes dropped andshifted. I knew that Penelope was gone. 

After this outburst the _other one_ was restrained enough for a time anddid not betray herself by violent utterances. Apparently she waslistening attentively to Roberta Vallis' views about life and love andthe destiny of woman, these views being as extreme and selfish as themost wayward nature could demand. 

I realized that the moment was critical and concentrated all myspiritual power in an appeal to Penelope, praying that God would bringher back and make her heed my words. I spoke gently of God's love forHis children and said that we need fear no evil within us or about us, no dangers of any sort, if we will learn to draw to us and through usthat healing and protecting love. We can do this, we must do this byestablishing a love-current from God to us and from us to God, bykeeping it flowing just as an electrician keeps an electrical currentflowing--every day, every hour. It is not enough to pray for God's love, we must keep our spiritual connections right, exactly as an electriciankeeps his electrical connections right, if we expect the current toflow. We cannot make our electric lamps burn by merely wishing them toburn, although there is a boundless ocean of electricity waiting to bedrawn upon. We must know how to tap that ocean. Similarly, the power ofGod's infinite love will not descend upon us simply because we need itor ask for it. We must ask for it in the right way. We must establishthe right love-connections. We must set the love-current flowing, andkeep it flowing, _from God to us and from us back to God_; and this canbe done only by confessing our sins, by cleansing our hearts of evilthoughts and desires. _Not even God Himself can make the sun shine uponthose who wilfully hide in the shadows!_

I saw that they were listening impatiently and more than once Robertatried to interrupt me, but I persisted and said what I had to say aswell as I could, with all the love in my heart, for I knew that myprecious Penelope's fate was hanging in the balance. 

When I had finished Roberta got up from the bed where she had beensitting and lighted a cigarette. 

"Now, then, it's my turn, " she began. I could see her eyes shining withan evil purpose. "You've heard her pretty little speech, Pen. You'veheard her talk about the wonderful power of God's love, and a greatrigamarole about how it guards us from all evil, if we say our prayersand confess our sins and so on. I say that is all bunk, and I can proveit. Take women--they've always said their prayers more than men, alwaysconfessed their sins more than men, always been more loving than men, haven't they? And what's the result? Has God protected them from theevils of life more than men? He has not. God has let women get the worstof it right straight along through the centuries. Women have always beenthe slaves of men, haven't they?--in spite of all their love anddevotion, in spite of all their prayers and tears? How do you accountfor that?"

She flashed this at me with a wicked little toss of her head andPenelope chimed in: "Yes, I'd like to know that myself. " But, when Itried to answer, Roberta cut me off with a new flood of violence. 

"I'll let you know how I account for it, " she went on angrily. "It'sbecause all the churches in the world, all the smug preachers in theworld, like you, have gone on shooting out this very same kind of hotair that you've been giving us; and the women, silly fools, have fallenfor it. _But not the men!_ The women have tried to live by love andprayer and unselfishness; they have said: 'God's will be done, ' 'Godwill protect us'; and what is the result? How has God protected thewomen, who _did_ believe? And how has He punished the men who refused tobelieve? He has made the men masters of the world, lords of everything;and He has kept the women in bondage, hasn't He?--in factory bondage, innursery bondage, in prostitution bondage? Is what I say true, or isn'tit true? I ask you, I ask any person who has got such a thing as a clearbrain and is not simply a mushy sentimentalist, is what I say true?"

Again I tried to answer, but again she cut me short and rushed on in ablaze of excitement. 

"So it has been through all the pitiful history of women, until a fewyears ago, the poor, foolish creatures began to wake up. At last womenare getting rid of their delusions and emerging from their slavery--why?Because they have begun to imitate men, and go straight after the thingthey want, the thing that is worth while, _by using their power aswomen_, and not depending upon the power of love or the power of God orany other power. Believe me, the greatest power in the world is thepower of women _as women_, and we may as well use it to the limit, justas men would. We can get anything we want out of men by learning to usethis power, and, I tell you, Pen, there isn't anything better in thisgood old United States than money. So far men have had the money, they've ground it out of the poor and the ignorant, especially women, but now women are going after money and getting it, just like the men. Why not? If I want a sable coat and a limousine and a nice duplexapartment, why shouldn't I have them, if I can get them without breakingthe law? And I _can_ get them; so can you, Pen, if you'll play the cardsyou hold in your hand. Haven't I done it? You don't see me eating inChilds restaurants to any great extent these days, do you? And I'm notworrying about clothes, or about paying my rent. "

The poison of her words was stealing into Penelope's soul and defilingit, yet I was powerless to restrain her. 

"Listen to this, child, and remember it, women are the equals of mentoday in every line, and they're going to have their full share of thegood things of life. They're going to have freedom, and that means theright to do as they please without asking the permission of any man. Women are going to have their own latch keys and their own bankaccounts. They're going to cut off their hair and put pockets in theirskirts, and have babies, if they feel like it, or not have them, if theydon't feel like it. The greatest revolution the world has ever known isgoing on now, it's the revolution of women. Let the men open their eyes!How did women get the suffrage? Was it by praying for it? Was it by thepower of love? Was it by the mercy of God? No! They got the suffrage byfighting for it, by going out and hustling for it, just the way menhustle for what they want. If women had depended on the power of God'slove to give them the suffrage, they wouldn't have got it in a millionyears. "

Of course, those were not Roberta's exact words, but I am sure I havegiven the substance of them, and I cannot exaggerate the defiantbitterness of her tone. She was a powerful devil's advocate and I sawthat wavering Penelope (if it still was Penelope) was deeply impressedby this false and wicked reasoning. She looked at me out of herwonderful eyes--unflinching, cruel, then the balance swung against me. 

"I believe you are right, Roberta Vallis, " she spoke with raisedforefinger and a show of judicial consideration. "It's a bold speech fora woman, I never heard the thing put that way before, but--I'm damned ifI see what the answer is except--"

"Oh, Penelope!" I interrupted, trying in vain to reach her with my eyes. 

"You shut up, " she answered spitefully. "I said I'm _damned_ if I seewhat the answer is except your answer, Bobby, that women have alwaysbeen fools and dupes--dupes of religious superstition invented by menfor the benefit of men and never accepted by men. "

Roberta applauded this. "Bravo! little one! I'll tell that to KendallBrown. _Women have always been dupes of religious superstition inventedby men for the benefit of men and never accepted by men!_ Go on! Tell ussome more. "

And Penelope went on, flinging aside all restraint, while my heart sank. 

"Take my own life. Look at it! I had an ignoble husband. Why didn't Ileave him? Because I was loving, trusting. I thought I could save him. Isaid prayers for him. I asked God to strengthen him. And what was theresult? The result was that Julian not only destroyed himself, but hedestroyed what was best in me. Did God interfere? Did God give anymanifestation of His infinite love? Not so that you could notice it. "

She paused with heaving bosom and then swept on in her mad discourse. 

"And then, when I was left alone in the world, what happened? I wentabroad as a Red Cross nurse. I tried my best to help in the war. I tookcare of the wounded--under fire. I bore every hardship. I said myprayers. And God put a curse upon me--yes He did. He took all chance ofhappiness and health and love away from me. He made me do things that Inever meant to do, that I don't remember doing. "

Her cheeks were burning scarlet, her eyes shone like black stars. Itried to stop her. "My darling, you are ill!"

"Ill? Who made me ill? God made me ill, didn't He? That's my reward, isn't it? That's what has come of all my love and faith. If that's whatGod does, you can have Him. I don't want Him. I'll go with Roberta. I'll do as Roberta does--yes, I will. " She almost screamed the words. 

How I prayed then for wisdom!

"No--no!" I said slowly but firmly. "You will _not_ go with Roberta. Youwill go with me. "

"I must say I like your impertinence, " Roberta put in, her face white, her voice trembling with fury. "This happens to be my apartment, Mrs. Seraphine Walters, and now you can get damned well out of it. "

I saw that I could no nothing more, for Penelope's eyes were hard setagainst me. They both wanted me to go. 

"Good night. God bless you, dear, " I said. 

"Don't you worry about God's blessing us. You can tell Him the next timeyou make your report that there is a young woman named Roberta Vallisliving at the Hotel des Artistes who is getting along quite well, thankyou, without--"

"Don't say it, please don't say it, " I begged. "You have no idea whatdangers are threatening, what evil powers are about us--even now--here. "

She laughed in my face. "I snap my fingers at your evil powers and yourGod of Love. I don't believe in either of them. I'm not afraid of eitherof them. Evil powers! Ha! Let them come if they want to. Here! We'lldrink defiance to the powers of evil. Come on, Pen!"

"Defiance to the powers of evil, " laughed my poor soul-sick Penelope, lifting her glass. 

With a shudder I watched these two tragically led young women as theystood there, draped in white, and drank this sacrilegious toast; then, heavy-hearted, I came away. 

It was nearly four o'clock when I reached my home and I was so exhaustedby the emotions of the night that I lay down without undressing andalmost immediately fell into a troubled sleep. Then, suddenly, I awokewith a start of alarm and a sense that a voice had called me. And, though my bedroom was dark, I distinctly saw a white vaporish formpassing over me as if someone had blown a cloud of tobacco smoke in myface. Once before I had had this experience of a white form passing overme--it was when my mother died. 

I got up quickly, knowing that this was a summons, and, as I put on myhat and cloak, I heard my control telling me that I must go to Penelope. I knelt down and prayed that I might not be too late. Then I hurriedback to the hotel and got there at half-past five. It was still night. 

A sleepy elevator girl took me up to Roberta's apartment and I foundthat the door opened at my touch. In another moment I was standing inthe silent hall looking down a long passage that led to Penelope'sbedroom. The bedroom door was ajar and a dim light from the chamberillumined the way before me. 

Thus far I had acted swiftly, almost mechanically, knowing that I hadonly one thing to do, and I had been aware of no particular emotionexcept a natural anxiety; but now, the moment I entered this apartmentand closed the door behind me, I was conscious of a freezing, paralyzingfear, a sensation as real as the touch of a hand or the sound of abell. It was something that could not be resisted. I was bathed in anatmosphere of terror. I was afraid to a degree that made my breath stop, my heart stop.... 

The passage leading to Penelope's bedroom was not more than six yardslong, but it seemed as if it took me an hour to traverse it. I couldscarcely force my lagging steps, one by one, to carry me. And everyhideous moment brought me the vision of Penelope lying on that curtainedbed, her beautiful face distorted, her eager young life--crushed out ofher. Oh God, how I prayed!

When at last I came into the bedroom I faced another struggle. There wasabsolute silence. No sound of breathing from the bed, although I saw awoman's form under the sheets. But not her face, which was hidden by thecurtain. For a long time I stood beside that bed, rigid with fear, before I found courage to draw the curtain back. At last I drew it backand--there lay Penelope, sleeping peacefully, quite unharmed. I wasstunned with relief, with amazement and--suddenly her eyes opened andshe gave a wild but joyful cry and flung her arms around my neck, sobbing hysterically. 

"Oh! Oh! My dear, dear Seraphine! You came to me. You forgave me. Youdid not abandon your poor Penelope. " She clung to me like a child infrantic, pitiful terror. 

Then she told me that she too had gone through a frightful experience. When Roberta had left her, about an hour before, to sleep in theadjoining apartment, as they had arranged with Margaret G----, Penelopehad tried to compose herself on her pillow, but she had scarcely falleninto a doze when she was awakened by the same sense of horrible fearthat had overcome me. She was about to die--by violence. An assassin wascoming--he was near her. She could hardly breathe. It was almost beyondher power to rise from the bed and search the apartment, but she didthis. There was nothing, and yet the terror persisted. She huddledherself under the bed-covers and waited, saying her prayers. And when Ientered the apartment and came down the passage--so slowly, sostealthily!--she _knew_ it was the murderer coming to kill her. And whenI paused at her bedside--how long it was before I drew the curtain!--shealmost died again, waiting for the blow. 

Of course I did not leave Penelope after this, but comforted her andprayed with her and rejoiced that her madness was past. Then we tried tosleep, locked in each other's arms, but, shortly after six, there came atimid knock at the door and, all of a tremble, Jeanne entered, Penelope's French maid who had come with her mistress to Roberta's partyand had occupied a small room overhead, and she told us with hystericalsobs that she had not closed her eyes all night for ghastly visions ofPenelope murdered in her bed. 

Now it is easy to scoff at premonitions and haunting fears, but therecan be no doubt that on this night an evil spirit was present inRoberta's apartment, a hideous, destructive entity that cameand--wavered in its deadly purpose against Penelope, then--_manifestedto Roberta Vallis in the adjoining apartment_, for when I went inthere a little later I found Roberta--she who had mocked God and defiedthe powers of evil--I found her in her bed, her face convulsed with alook of indescribable terror--_dead!_

The hotel doctor reported it as a case of heart failure, but DoctorWilliam Owen, who has an honest mind, acknowledged that all this wasbeyond his understanding. This tragedy made him realize at last thatthere may be sinister agencies in us and about us that cannot be dealtwith by mere medical skill. And, at my pleading, he directed that Mrs. Wells be placed immediately in the care of Dr. Edgar Leroy. 

Thank God, my precious Penelope will receive psychic treatment before itis too late. There is no other hope for her but this. 

CHAPTER XIV

POSSESSED

(_From Penelope's Diary_)

_At Dr. Leroy's Sanitarium. _

I understand why people kill themselves. There was an hour last night, that horrible hour between four and five (I have seen so many hospitalpatients die then), when I was resolved to kill myself. Seraphine wassleeping in the next room--she has not left me since I came to thisplace yesterday--and I longed to waken her for a last talk, but decidednot to. What was the use? I must settle this for myself--whether it waspossible for me to go on living or not, I must fight out this battlealone--with my own soul. 

I decided to kill myself because I felt sure, after what had happened, that I was condemned to madness. This is evidently a place where madpeople are treated. They call it a Sanitarium, but I know what thatmeans. Seraphine speaks of Dr. Leroy (I have only seen him once) as awonderful spiritual healer and she says I will love him because he is sokind and wise; but none of this deceives me. I know they have brought meto a place for mad people. 

Here is a thought that makes me waver--what if death is notannihilation? What if I find myself in some new state where there areother horrors and terrors--worse than those that I have suffered? TheVoices tell me this--taunting me. And then Christopher! He loves me somuch! He will be so sorry, if I do this!

While I was hesitating--it was just before dawn--Seraphine came to me. She talked to me, soothed me, and, at last, she told me the truth aboutmyself. She said that all my troubles come from this, that I ampossessed by an evil spirit! _Literally possessed!_ This is what she wasleading up to when she told me about the great company of earth-boundsouls that are hovering about us since the war, striving to come back!

The extraordinary part of it is that I no longer regard this as afantastic impossibility. I no longer reject it. I am not terrified orhorrified by the thought, but almost welcome it, since it offers anexplanation of what has happened that does not involve madness. I ameither possessed by an evil spirit or I am mad, and of these two Iprefer the evil spirit. That, at least, is a definite cause carryingwith it the hope of a cure, for we read that evil spirits were cast outin olden times, and they may be again. 

 * * * * *

One thing convinces me that what Seraphine says is true--I did somethingat Roberta's party that my own soul or spirit, even in madness, couldnever have done. I accused Christopher of committing a crime. I accusedhim of treason! Christopher! My love! Seraphine bears witness to this. I _must_ be possessed by an evil spirit! This would account forsomething else that happened last night. I was just falling into atroubled sleep when--_no, I cannot tell it!_

 * * * * *

Christopher sent me a gorgeous basket of roses this morning with hislove. He loves me in spite of the devil and all his angels--he said thatto Seraphine. How wonderful! I wish they would let me see him, andyet--I am ashamed. How can I ever face Christopher again?

There is something strange about Roberta Vallis--I feel it. She did notcome in to speak to me or say good-bye before I left her apartment--thatmorning. Why not? I asked Seraphine if there was anything the matterwith Roberta--had I done anything to offend her?--but the only answer Icould get was that Roberta is not well. Seraphine is keeping somethingback--I am sure of it. 

 * * * * *

Seraphine knows of two cases where evil spirits have been cast out. Onewas a New York silversmith who had never shown any talent for art, butwho suddenly began to paint remarkable pictures, which sold for goodprices. He was desperately unhappy, however, because he felt sure thathe was becoming insane. He had visions of scenes that he was impelled topaint and he suffered from clairaudient hallucinations. Two well knownneurologists declared that he was a victim of paranoia and must soon beconfined in an asylum. This man was brought back to a normal conditionby Dr. Leroy's treatment, and the first step in his improvement was whenhe grasped the idea that his abnormal symptoms were due to possession. This satisfied his reason and drove away his fears (I understand that), especially when he was assured that an evil spirit can be driven out bythe power of God's love as easily as an evil germ or humour of the bodycan be driven out by the same agency. What a blessed thought!

Seraphine says we must obey the safeguarding rules with which God hassurrounded the operation of His love, if we would enjoy the blessedguardianship of that love. We must not expect God to change His rulesfor us. _We must cleanse our hearts of evil!_

The other case of possession was not a patient of Dr. Leroy, but cameunder Seraphine's notice while she was attending a sufferer. This wasAlice E----, a charming, refined girl about twenty, the daughter ofwell-bred people who lived in Boston. They were somewhat stricter infamily discipline than most American parents, consequently Alice, frombabyhood up, was guarded and protected in every possible way. She andher mother were almost inseparable companions. There was absolutely noway in which Alice could have become acquainted with people of theunderworld, or heard the vile expressions that she afterward used in anevil personality. Her face showed unusual innocence and purity, herdisposition was affectionate and serene. 

But when she was about seventeen Alice began to have strange spells ofirritability; she would grow sullen and stubborn, and soon these uglymoods became more violent; she would burst into horrible tirades againsther father and mother and declare that she couldn't stand theirgoody-goody ways, that they were so damned pious they made her sick. Then rage and lust seemed to possess her and she would talk about men ina shocking way, using unspeakable words, while the expression of herface and the posture of her body became those of a wanton. 

At first Alice could not tell when these attacks were coming on, butlater, when she was about twenty, she knew and would beg her family tokeep "that dreadful, horrible girl" from taking hold of her. "She'sgoing to change me! Oh, keep her away! Don't let her get me!" she wouldcry out in terror. 

Through the last days of the poor girl's life the struggle between thereal Alice and the gutter woman went on almost constantly. Alice wouldimplore Seraphine to make the wicked girl go away so that when the endcame (she knew she was going to die) she might be herself. But the evilspirit had firm possession and a few hours before her death Alice'smouth was coarse and sensual, her eyes were wicked, her whole expressionrevolting. 

Seraphine sent word to the family that they must not come into the room;then, kneeling by the bedside of the dying girl, she nerved herself fora last struggle between the powers of good and evil. With all thestrength of her pure soul she invoked God's love to restore and healthis afflicted child ere she departed for the Great Beyond; and, an hourbefore the end, the family were admitted to the chamber and looked uponAlice's pillowed face, sweetly smiling, beautiful and unsullied, as theyhad always known her and cherished her. _God's love had prevailed!_

 * * * * *

When Seraphine left me my mind had become calm and hopeful and I hadgiven up my wicked purpose. I fell asleep praying that God would save mefrom the powers of darkness, that His love would watch over me andprotect me from all evil, especially from that dream on the Fall Riversteamboat, the one that has tortured me so many nights. 

I awakened suddenly to the knowledge that a terrible thing had happened, an incredible thing. I was alone in my bedroom, _and yet I was notalone_! I had escaped one degradation only to face another. I was awake, fully awake; yet I was more abdominally tempted than ever I was in mydreams. With all the strength of my soul I fought against theaggressions of a real presence that--_that touched me!_ I cried out, Istruggled, I begged God to save me or else to let me die. And thenSeraphine came to me again in my agony. 

But before she came the Voices sounded worse than ever, nearer about methan ever. Why was I such a fool? Why was I so obstinate in resisting myfate? Was I not Their appointed sacrifice? Why not be resigned to theinevitable? Why not... ? They laughed and fluttered close to me withvile murmurings while I prayed against them with all my strength. 

"_God of love, guard Thy child; God of power, save Thy child_, " Iprayed. 

A harsh, cruel voice broke in to tell me that Roberta Vallis was dead, she died of terror because she had defied Them, as I had defied Them;and, in three days, the Voice said that I, too, would die of terror. Three days remained to me, three nights with my dream and a hideousawakening, unless--

Then Seraphine opened my bedroom door and I sobbed in her arms a longtime before I could speak. 

"Is--is Roberta dead?" I gasped. 

She looked at me strangely and I knew it was true. 

"Yes, dear, " she answered gently, and tried to comfort me again, but itwas in vain. 

"I have only three days to live, Seraphine, " I said solemnly. "Threedays and three nights!"

Then I told her what the evil spirit had said, and she listened withgrave attention. 

CHAPTER XV

DR. LEROY

There may now be presented, as bearing upon Mrs. Wells' strange illness, a conversation which took place between Dr. William Owen and Dr. EdgarLeroy, the psychic healer, on the evening following Penelope's entranceinto the Leroy sanitarium on Fortieth Street, just south of Bryant Park. 

Owen began in his bluff, outspoken way: "Doctor, I have put into yourhands a lady I am very fond of, in spite of the fact that your theoriescontradict everything I stand for. Not very complimentary, is it?--but Imay as well tell you the truth. Mrs. Wells has not improved under mytreatment, I admit that, and I have turned her over to you as a sort oflast hope. "

Leroy's rather stern face brightened with a flash of humor. 

"The same thing has happened to other physicians, doctor. I believe youdiagnose this case as shell shock?"

"Unquestionably--with unfavorable developments, dual personalitycomplications--I wrote you. "

"Yes. I spent several hours with Mrs. Wells last evening when shearrived. She was agitated, but I soothed her and explained certainthings that had troubled her, and, gradually, she grew calm. I think Ican help her. "

In spite of himself Dr. Owen was favorably impressed both by the man andhis surroundings. There was nothing garish or freakish or Oriental aboutthe place, which was furnished with the business-like simplicity of anordinary doctor's office. And Leroy certainly had a fine head--aclean-shaven face with heavy black brows under which shone grave, kindlyeyes that twinkled now and then in good-natured understanding. He wasabout ten years younger than his colleague. 

"May I ask, doctor, if there is any scientific evidence to prove theexistence of this healing spiritual power that you use or think youuse?" In spite of himself, Owen put this question a littlepatronizingly. 

"There are the results--the cures. And there is the evidence ofChristianity. Spiritual power is the basis of Christianity, isn't it?"

A deeper note sounded here, and the hard-headed materialist began torealize that he was in the presence of an unusual personality, developedby suffering and struggle, a man who had finally reached a haven of sureand comforting belief. There was great kindness in this face as well asstrength. 

"Nothing else? Is there no evidence similar to that which convinces usthat the X-rays really exist?"

Leroy thought a moment, then he spoke with a quiet impressiveness thatwas not lost upon Dr. Owen. 

"There is evidence that would probably convince any fair-minded personwho was willing to give to the investigation time enough to get results. The X-rays were not discovered in a day, were they? Suppose I tell youhow I got into this occult field--would that interest you?"

"Very much. "

"Take that other chair--make yourself comfortable--that's better. Itbegan accidentally with certain persistent hallucinations, as I used tocall them, in a patient of mine, a Southern lady whom I attended when Iwas a regular practitioner like yourself. These hallucinations worriedme, and, being an open-minded man, I found it impossible to dismiss themas of trivial importance; so I began an investigation that led me--well, it led me very far, it is still leading me, for I am scarcely over thethreshold of that mysterious region where spirit phenomena occur. Iresolved to know _for myself_ whether these things are true. "

"And you think they are true?"

"I know they are true, " was the grave reply. 

Dr. Owen listened attentively while Leroy described his first gropingefforts to determine whether or not he personally possessed psychicpowers. He began with regular periods of mental concentration, anopening of the soul, as it were, to spirit impressions; he would sitalone, in a state of meditative receptiveness for ten or fifteen minutesevery day, and later several times a day, waiting for something tohappen--he did not know what. 

Day after day the psychologist persisted in this singular experimentand, soon, he began to see small blue figures, irregularly shaped, thatmoved rapidly about the room and cast no shadows. Some of these bluefigures were luminous, and among them were occasional luminous whitefigures. As weeks passed and his efforts continued, there came anoticeable increase in the number of these moving shapes until, when thedoctor desired it, he could make them swarm everywhere, over the walls, the pictures, the bookcases. 

"Wait!" interrupted Owen. "Do you see these blue shapes or luminousfigures at all times? Do you see them now?"

"No. I only see them when I desire to see them--when I prepare myself touse them--for a case. "

Leroy told how the phenomena continued to increase in frequency and inintensity, how gradually he felt an unmistakable sense of power growingin himself, as if he had somehow tapped a vast source of energy, a kindof spiritual trolley-line, and he was now impelled to use this power. Hemade his first trial on a poor man who had suffered for years fromheadaches that seemed incurable. 

"Stretch out on that reclining chair, close your eyes, don't think ofanything, " ordered the experimenter. Then he laid his hands on the man'sforehead and concentrated his mind in the psychic way he had adopted. Almost immediately the blue shapes appeared in great numbers, and beganto pour themselves in fine, pulsing streams, like a purplish mist, overthe patient's brow and head and shoulders, over his whole body until hewas completely enveloped in them, laved by them, penetrated by them. 

"That was a crude beginning, " Leroy went on, "but it drove away thoseobstinate headaches for three months; then a second laying on of handscompleted the cure. After that, as months passed, other persons werecured in the same way--especially nervous cases. Whatever these bluestreams are, they benefit the patient in most cases. One woman told me, during a treatment, that _she saw blue shapes about her_!"

"You hypnotized her, " declared Owen. 

"Possibly. I did not intend to. "

"What I want to know is, have you ever treated a case like this one ofMrs. Wells?"

"Yes, I treated a young woman in Mrs. Wells' profession, a trainednurse. She came of good family and was very intelligent, but she wasdriven toward certain forms of depravity. It was pretty bad. All effortsto change her had failed and, at last, her mother in desperation decidedto try psychic treatment. "

"And you cured her?"

"Yes. She is now doing useful work in Washington for the Red Cross. "

"How did you cure her--it wasn't simply by the laying on of hands, wasit?"

"No. I recognize the necessity of getting at the forgotten or concealedcauses of these abnormalities, just as Freud does in hispsycho-analysis, but, instead of following the uncertain trail ofdreams, I conceived the idea of discovering the truth by clairvoyantrevelation. I engaged Mrs. Seraphine Walters to assist me in my work. She has astonishing psychic gifts and--" he hesitated. 

"Yes?"

"In her entranced condition, Mrs. Walters discovered things about thisyoung woman, painful things that had been hidden for years and--well, Iwas able to relieve her of her fears and check her waywardness, " heconcluded abruptly. 

"But the details? Tell me more about this case. What were the painfulthings that Mrs. Walters discovered?"

Leroy shook his head. 

"What's the use? I can state the result of my treatment, but if I gointo details, if I try to make you understand the cause of this youngwoman's evil desires and how I overcame them--" he paused, his eyesshining with an inspired light. "Don't you see, doctor, you and I do notspeak the same language. You are always in opposition. You have nofaith. It's your narrow training. "

"Narrow?" snorted the other. 

"Yes, you scientists are childishly narrow. You believe in atoms andions and electrons that you have never seen and never will see, but ifanyone mentions secrets of the soul that control human happiness, youlaugh or sneer. "

"Not necessarily. I suppose you refer to your theory of possession byevil spirits. If you could only furnish any evidence--"

"It isn't my theory. It's as old as Christianity, it's a part ofChristianity. As to evidence, my dear sir, you are blind to evidence. The young lady I speak of was despaired of by everybody, she was on herway to an insane asylum, two alienists had declared her case hopeless, yet, thanks to psychic treatment, she was restored to health andhappiness. Does that impress you? Not at all if you call it acoincidence. And if I am fortunate enough to cure Mrs. Wells, whom youhave failed to cure, you will call that a coincidence, too. "

Dr. Owen tried to control his irritation, but his prejudices got thebetter of him. 

"Of course I want to see Mrs. Wells cured, but--do you mean to tell meseriously that you believe she is possessed by an evil spirit?"

"I believe that some malignant influence is near her and able to controlher--intermittently. How else do you account for the facts in her case?Even Mrs. Wells believes this. "

"That is because Seraphine put the notion in her head. It'sunfortunate. "

"No, she believes this because of the way her friend died. You know howshe died?"

"Miss Vallis? She died suddenly, but the cause of her death is doubtful. People die suddenly from all sorts of causes. "

"Yes, " answered Leroy with a significant tightening of the lips, "andone of the causes is fear. People die suddenly of fear, doctor. "

"Referring to Mrs. Wells and her bad dreams?"

"Precisely. If you had seen her last night--after midnight--watching theclock with dark, furtive glances, watching, waiting, as the handsapproached half past twelve, you would understand what fear can do to awoman. That is Mrs. Wells' worst symptom, she is afraid--not all thetime but intermittently. "

Owen leaned forward in concentrated attention. 

"Why was she in such a state at half past twelve rather than at anyother time?"

"Because the change in her takes place then, the change into her otherpersonality. "

"Fauvette? You saw her--in that personality?"

"Yes. I saw her. Besides, she told me about it in advance. She knowswhat is going to take place, but is powerless against it. Every night atexactly half past twelve there comes a violent period that lasts untilone o'clock. Then she falls into a deep sleep, and a dream begins, always the same dream, a horrible dream that terrifies her and drainsher life forces. She had this dream last night, she will have it againtonight, and again tomorrow night. _She believes that she will dietomorrow night, just as her friend died!_"

"Good God! What a pity!" exclaimed Owen. "Why does she think she isgoing to die tomorrow night?"

"Her Voices tell her so, and she believes them. "

"She told you this?"

"Yes. "

The older man tapped impatiently on his chair-arm. 

"And you? What did you say to her? You surely do not believe that Mrs. Wells will die tomorrow night? You know these are only the morbidfancies of an hysterical woman, don't you?"

Leroy rose quietly and took down a volume from the bookcase. 

"How we love to argue over the _names_ of things!" he answered gravely. "I don't care what you call the influence or obsession that threatensthis lady. I ask, What do you propose to do about it? Do _you_ believethat Mrs. Wells will die tomorrow night? Do you?"

Owen moved uncomfortably on his chair, frowned, snapped his fingerssoftly and finally admitted that he did not know. 

"Ah! Then is it your idea to wait without doing anything until tomorrownight comes, and see if Mrs. Wells really does die at half-past twelve, and then, if she does, as the Vallis woman died, to simply say: 'It'svery strange, it's too bad!' and let it go at that? Is that your idea?Will you take that responsibility?"

"No, certainly not. I don't mean to interfere with your plans. I toldyou I have left this matter entirely in your hands, " answered theskeptic, his aggressiveness suddenly calmed. 

"Very well. Take my word, doctor, fear is terribly destructive, it maycause death. Listen to this case, cited by a French psychologist. " Heturned over the pages. "Daughter of an English nobleman, engaged to aman she loves, perfectly happy; but one night she is visited, or thinksshe is, by her dead mother who says she will come for her daughter thenext day at noon. The girl tells her father she is going to die. Shereads her Bible, sings hymns to the accompaniment of a guitar, and justbefore noon, although apparently in excellent health, she asks to behelped to a large arm chair in her bedroom. At noon exactly she drawstwo or three gasping breaths and sinks back into her chair, dead. Thatshows what fear will do. "

But his adversary was still unconvinced. 

"What does that prove? Do you think you could have saved this youngwoman if you had been in charge of the case?"

"Perhaps. I hope to save Mrs. Wells. "

"How?"

Leroy hesitated, frowned with a nervous squinting, as if he were tryingto solve a baffling problem. 

"How? I wish I could tell you, doctor, but you would not understand. That is the sad part of my work, I am all alone. "

His eyes burned somberly, then he spoke with intense feeling. 

"Not one of you orthodox physicians will join me in my effort to savemillions of unfortunates from the tragedy of our state hospitals. Youwon't lift a hand to help me. You all say there is nothing to be done. What a wicked evasion of responsibility! Nothing to be done? I tell youthere is everything to be done. Suppose you had a daughter or a sisteror a wife who was suffering from such an affliction--how would you feel?God grant you may never know how you would feel. Why do you doctorsscoff at miracles when the Bible is full of them and we all live amongthem? What is life but an unceasing miracle? Tell me how you move yourfinger except by a miracle? What is vision? What is death? How do you_know_ that spirits of the departed, good and bad, do not come back tohelp us--or to harm us? Many great men believe this and always have. Many fine women know that this is true. Mrs. Walters has actually _seen_an evil spirit hovering about a girl who was called insane. How do youknow that insanity is not caused by evil possession?"

"Hold on! I can't answer all those questions, " laughed Owen and now hismanner changed quite charmingly as he made an _amende honorable_. "I'm astubborn old fool, doctor. I ought to have had more sense than to getinto this argument. What I care about is to have this dear lady restoredto health and happiness. There!" He held out his hand. "Forgive me! Themore miracles you can work for her cure, the better I shall like it. "

At this Leroy relented in his turn. 

"Dr. Owen, I will not conceal from you that Mrs. Wells is in greatperil. I have no more doubt that she will die tomorrow night, unless sheconsents to do something that I have already indicated to her asnecessary, than I have of your presence in this room. "

"Extraordinary! Do you really mean that? What is this thing? Is it adefinite thing, or is it some--some spiritual thing?"

Dr. Leroy sighed and shook his head. 

"It's hard for you to believe, isn't it? I suppose you want me to giveMrs. Wells a dose of medicine or put a hot water bag at her feet. No, doctor, it's much more difficult than that. "

The veteran pondered this in puzzled exasperation. 

"If Mrs. Wells does this definite thing that you have told her to do, will she be saved?"

"Yes, I think so, " Leroy spoke confidently. 

There came a knock at the office door, but both men were so absorbed intheir conversation that they paid no attention to it. 

"Is there any doubt about her doing this definite thing that will saveher?"

"That's the trouble, she fights against doing it with all her strength. She says she cannot do it. _But I tell her she must do it!_"

The knock sounded sharper. An attendant had come with a message fromSeraphine asking Dr. Leroy to come to her at once. She was upstairs inMrs. Wells' sitting-room. Something serious had happened. 

"Tell Mrs. Walters that I will be right up, " he said. "You had betterwait here, doctor. " Leroy glanced at his watch. "It's half-past nine. Wehave three hours. "

CHAPTER XVI

IRRESPONSIBLE HANDS

Dr. Leroy found Mrs. Walters in the attractive sitting-room, brightenedby flowers (most of them sent by Christopher) that had been set apartfor Penelope. The medium, usually so serene, was pale and agitated andhad evidently been repairing some recent disorder of her hair and dress. 

"She is asleep, doctor, " panted Seraphine, and she pointed to the closeddoor of the bedroom. "We have had quite a bad time. "

Then Seraphine told the doctor what had happened. She and Penelope hadspent the evening pleasantly, sewing and chatting, and Mrs. Wells hadseemed her old joyous self, free from fears and agitations. She listenedwith touching confidence when the medium assured her that her mother'sexalted spirit was trying to help her. And she promised to bear in mindDr. Leroy's injunction that, just before composing herself to sleep, shemust hold the thought strongly that she was God's child, guarded fromall evil by the power of God's love. Also she would search into herheart to find the obstacle that prevented her mother from coming closerto her. 

About nine o'clock Penelope said she was sleepy and would lie down torest, at which Seraphine rejoiced, hoping this might indicate a break inthe spell of fear that had kept Mrs. Wells in exhausting suspense. Perhaps this was an answer to their prayers. She assisted the patient, lovingly and encouragingly, to prepare herself for the night and athalf-past nine left her in bed with the light extinguished and the doorleading into the sitting-room open, so that she could hear the slightestcall. 

About twenty minutes later, as Seraphine sat meditating, her attentionwas attracted by a sound from the bedroom and, looking through the door, she was surprised to see Mrs. Wells sitting up in bed and writingrapidly on a large pad from which she tore sheets now and then, lettingthese fall to the floor. So dim was the bedroom light that it wasimpossible for Penelope to see her penciled writing, nor did she evenglance at the words, but held her eyes fixed in a far-away stare, as ifshe were guided by some distant voice or vision. After a time, Penelopeceased writing and sank back in slumber upon her pillow, allowing thepad to fall by her side. 

"Automatic writing, " nodded the psychologist. 

"Yes. I entered the bedroom softly and picked up the sheets. There aretwo communications, one in a large scrawl written by a woman--I believe, it is Penelope's mother. The other is in a small regular hand with quickpowerful strokes, evidently a man's writing. There! You see thehandwriting is quite different from Penelope's. "

Leroy studied the sheets in silence. 

"Have you read these messages?"

"I read one of them, doctor, the one from Penelope's mother--it is fullof love and wisdom--and I was just beginning the other when a terriblething happened. That is why I sent for you. I was sitting in thisrocking chair with my back turned to the bedroom door, absorbed inreading this message, when suddenly--"

"Wait! Let me read it first. Hello! It's for Captain Herrick. "

"Not all of it. Won't you read it aloud, doctor?"

The medium closed her eyes while Leroy, speaking in a low tone butdistinctly, repeated this mysterious communication:

_Tell Captain Herrick it was I he saw on the battlefield guiding thestumbling footsteps of my little girl, helping her to find the placewhere he lay. I realized that, through her love for him, which she wouldexperience later, she would build better and higher ideals than the onesshe was then holding deep within her soul. Tell him also that he is indanger from something he is carrying.... _

Here the writing became impossible to decipher. 

"See how the powers of Love work against the powers of Evil!" mused thepsychic. "I must show this to Captain Herrick. Well, what happened?"

Seraphine went on to say that she had just begun to read the secondpiece of automatic writing and had only finished a few lines--enough tosee that it was very different from the first--when she felt a clutch ofhands around her throat and realized that Fauvette had crept upcunningly from behind. There had been a struggle in which the mediumtried vainly to cry out for help or to reach the bell, but her enemy wastoo strong for her, and she had grown weaker; then, using strategy, shelet herself fall limp under the murderous hands, whereupon Fauvette, laughing triumphantly, had loosened her grip for a moment and allowedSeraphine to free herself. 

"Then I caught her and held her so that I could look into her eyes and, finally, I subdued her. She cried out that she would come back again, but I forced her to lie down and almost instantly she fell into a deepsleep. "

"It was your love and your fearlessness that gave you the victory, "Leroy said quietly. Then he took up the other message and read it withdarkening eyes. 

"Horrible! The change must have come while she was writing this. "

He opened the bedroom door softly and, with infinite compassion in hisrugged face, bent over Penelope who was sleeping peacefully, herloveliness marred by no sign of evil. 

An hour passed now, during which the spiritual physician gave Seraphineher instructions for the night and made preparations for the strugglethat he knew was before him. 

 * * * * *

Meantime Captain Herrick had reached the sanitarium and, finding Dr. Owen in the study, had laid before him a plan to save Penelope, if itwas true, as Christopher believed, that her trouble was simply in theimagination. He proposed to divert his sweetheart's attention so thatshe would not know when the deadly Fauvette hour was at hand. And tothis end he had arranged to have the clocks set back half an hour. 

"It can't do any harm, can it, sir?" he urged with a lover's ardor, "andit may succeed. Dr. Leroy says it's fear that's killing her. Well, we'lldrive away her fear. I've fixed it at the church down the street, theone that chimes the quarter-hours, to have that clock put back. And theclocks in the house are easy. What do you think of it, sir?" he askedeagerly. 

The old doctor frowned in perplexity. 

"I don't know, Chris. You'll have to put this up to Dr. Leroy. He's awonderful fellow. I've had my eyes opened tonight or mysoul--something. "

The two men smoked solemnly. 

"I believe we're going to save Penelope, my boy--somehow. It's a mightyqueer world. I don't know but we are all more or less possessed by evilspirits, Chris. What are these brainstorms that overwhelm the best ofus? Why do good men and women, on some sudden, devilish impulse, doabominable things, criminal things, that they never meant to do? Wedoctors pretend to be skeptical, but we all come up against creepystuff, inside confession stuff that we don't talk about. "

He was silent again. 

"There was a patient of mine in Chicago, a tough old rounder, " Owenresumed, "who changed overnight into the straightest chap you ever heardof--because he went down to the edge of the Great Shadow--he was one ofthe passengers saved from the Titanic. He told me that when he wasstruggling there in the icy ocean, after the ship sank, _he saw whiteshapes hovering over the waters, holding up the drowning_! I nevermentioned that until tonight. "

They smoked without speaking. 

"I--I had an experience like that myself, sir, " ventured Christopher. "I've never spoken of it either--people would call me crazy, but--thatnight when I lay out there in front of Montidier, among the dead anddying, I saw a white shape moving over the battlefields. "

"You did?"

"Yes, sir. It was the figure of a woman--coming towards me--she seemedto be leading Penelope. I saw her distinctly--she had a beautiful face. "

Silence again. 

Dr. Leroy joined them presently and, on learning of Captain Herrick'splan, he made no objections to it, but said it would fail. 

"We are dealing with an evil power, gentlemen, that is far too clever tobe deceived by such a trick, " he assured them; but Christopher wasresolved to try. 

Leroy then described Seraphine's narrow escape and showed them theautomatic writing, the message from Penelope's mother, not the evilmessage; whereupon Christopher, in amazement, gave the corroborativetestimony of his battlefield experience. The psychologist noddedgravely. 

At five minutes of twelve (correct time) Seraphine sent down word thatMrs. Wells had awakened and was asking eagerly for Captain Herrick. 

"Go to her at once, my young friend, " directed Leroy. "Do all you can toencourage her and make her happy. Tell her there is nothing to fearbecause her mother's pure soul is guarding her. Show her this messagefrom her mother. And whatever happens do not let your own faith waver. Iassure you our precautions are taken against everything. God bless you. "

When Christopher had gone, Leroy told Dr. Owen about the secondcommunication in automatic writing which he had withheld from CaptainHerrick. 

"This is undoubtedly from the evil spirit, " he said, and he read italoud:

"_I was one of many loosed upon earth when the war began. I rodescreaming upon clouds of poison gas. I danced over red battlefields. Ientered one of the Gray ones, an officer, and revelled with him inravished villages. Then I saw Penelope going about on errands of mercy, I saw her beautiful body and the little spots on her soul that she didnot know about, and when her nerves were shattered, I entered into her. Now she is mine. I defy YOU to drive me out. Already her star burnsscarlet through a mist of evil memories. I see it now as she sleeps! Ishall come back tonight and make her dream. _"

"You see what we have against us, " Leroy said, and his face was sad, yetfixed with a stern purpose. 

And now the old materialist asked anxiously, not scoffingly: "Doctor, doyou really believe that this spirit can drag Mrs. Wells down?"

"That depends upon herself. Mrs. Wells knows what she must do. I havetold her. If she does this, she will be safe. If not--"

His eyes were inexpressibly tragic, and at this moment the neighboringchimes resounded musically through the quiet sanitarium--_a quarter totwelve!_

CHAPTER XVII

THE HOUR OF THE DREAM

When Seraphine led Captain Herrick into the bedroom where Penelope laypropped up against pillows, her dark hair in braids and a Chineseembroidered scarf brightening her white garment, it seemed toChristopher that his beloved had never been so adorably beautiful. 

Gallantly and tenderly he kissed the slim white hand that his ladyextended with a brave but pathetic smile. 

Seraphine withdrew discreetly. 

The lovers were alone. 

It was an oppressive night, almost like summer, and Penelope, concernedfor her sweetheart's comfort, insisted that he take off his heavy coat, and draw up an easy chair by her bedside. 

They tried to talk of pleasant things--the lovely flowers he had senther--how well she was looking--but it was no use. The weight of theapproaching crisis was upon both of them. 

"Oh, Chris, how we go on pretending--up to the very last!" she liftedher eyes appealingly. "We know what has happened--what may happen, but--" she drew in her breath sharply and a little shiver ran throughher. "I--I'm afraid. "

He took her hand strongly in his and with all a lover's ardor andtenderness tried to comfort her. Then, rather clumsily, he showed herthe automatic writing, not quite sure whether to present this as a thingthat he believed in or not. 

Penelope studied the large, scrawled words. 

"How wonderful!" she murmured. "I remember vaguely writing something, but I had no idea what it was. My mother! It must be true! It's herhandwriting. She was watching over us, dear--she is watching over usstill. That ought to give us courage, oughtn't it?"

She glanced nervously at the little gilt clock that was ticking quietlyover the fireplace. Ten minutes to twelve!

"What is this danger, that she speaks of, Chris? What is it--that youare carrying?"

The captain's answer was partly an evasion. He really did not know whatdanger was referred to, unless it could be a small flask from thelaboratory with a gas specimen for Dr. Owen that he had left in theother room in his coat, but this was in a little steel container andcould do no harm. 

"It may mean some spiritual danger, Pen, from selfishness or want offaith or--or something like that, " he suggested. "I guess I am selfishand impatient--don't you think so?"

"Impatient, Chris?"

"I mean impatient for you to get well, impatient to take you far awayfrom all these doctors and dreams, and just have you to myself. Thatisn't very wicked, is it, sweetheart?"

He stroked her hand fondly and looked deep into her wonderful eyes. Penelope sighed. 

"I--I suppose it will all be over soon--I mean we shall know what'sgoing to happen, won't we?"

It was her first open reference to the peril hanging over them, andagain, involuntarily, she glanced at the clock. Five minutes to twelve!It was really twenty-five minutes past twelve!--but she did not knowthat. 

"Darling, I don't believe anything is going to happen. Our troubles areover. You are guarded by this beautiful love--all these prayers. I'vebeen saying prayers, myself, Pen--for both of us. "

"Dear boy!"

"I want you to promise me one thing--you love me, don't you? No matterwhat happens, you love me?"

Her eyes glowed on him. 

"Oh yes, with all my heart. "

"You're going to be my wife. "

"Ye--es, if--if--"

"All right, we'll put down the _ifs_. I want you to promise that if thisfoolish spell, or whatever it is, is broken tonight--if nothing happensat half-past twelve, and you don't have this bad dream, then you'llforget the whole miserable business and marry me tomorrow. There! Willyou?"

"Oh, Chris! Tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow! I'm not a psychologist or a doctor, but I believe I cancure you myself. Will you promise, Pen?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude and fondness. 

"You want me--anyway?"

"Anyway. "

"Then I say--yes! I will! I will! Oh my love!" She drew him slowly downto her and kissed his eyes gently, her face radiant with sweetness andpurity. A moment later the chimes rang out twelve. 

As the minutes passed Christopher watched her in breathless butconfident expectation. The crisis had come and she was passing it--shehad passed it safely. They talked on fondly--five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes, and still there were no untoward developments, no signof anything evil or irrational. Penelope was her own adorable self. Thespell was broken. Nothing had happened. 

"You see, it's all right?" he laughed. "You needn't be afraid any more. "

"Wait!" she looked at the clock. "Ten minutes yet!"

He longed to tell her that they had already passed the fatal moment, passed it by twenty minutes, but he restrained his ardor. 

"Chris, my love, if we are really to be married tomorrow--how wonderfulthat seems!--I must have no secrets from you. What my mother said istrue--a woman must cleanse her soul. I want to tell you something--formy sake, not for yours--then we will never refer to it again. "

"But, Penelope--"

"For my sake, Chris. "

"It isn't about that steamboat?"

"It is, darling. I must tell it. Fix the pillows behind me. There! Sitclose to me--that's right. Now listen! This dream is a repetition ofwhat happened on the boat. It would have been much better if I had toldyou all about it long ago. "

"Why?"

She hesitated. 

"Because--it is not so much the memory of what I did that worries me, asthe fear that--you will be ashamed of me or--or hate me--when you know. "

Herrick saw that her cheeks were flushed, but at least her mind wasoccupied, he reflected, and the minutes were passing. 

"I could never be ashamed of you, Penelope. "

"If I were only sure of that, " she sighed, then with a great effort, andspeaking low, sometimes scarcely lifting her eyes, she told her loverthe story of the Fall River steamboat. 

The main point was that her husband, a coarse sensualist, whom shedespised, had, during the year preceding his death, accepted a _chambreapart_ arrangement, that being the only condition on which Penelopewould continue to live with him, but, on the occasion of this journeydown from Newport, he had broken his promise and entered her stateroom. 

"It was an oppressive night, like this, " she said, "and I had left thedeck door ajar, held on a hook. I was trying to sleep, when suddenly Isaw a man's arm pushed in through the opening. I shall never forget myfright, as I saw that black sleeve. Do you understand what I mean?Look!"

Gathering her draperies about her, Penelope sprang lightly out of bedand moved swiftly to the bedroom door, while Christopher, startled, followed the beauty of her sinuous form. 

"His arm came through--like this, " she stepped outside the bedroom, and, reaching around the edge of the door showed her exquisite bare armwithin. "See? Then my husband entered slowly and--as soon as I saw hiseyes, " her agitation was increasing, "I knew what to expect. His facewas flushed. He had been drinking. He looked at me and--then he lockedthe door--like this. I crouched away from him, I was frozen with terror, but--but--" she twined her hands in distress. "Oh, you'll hate me! Iknow you'll hate me!"

"No!"

"I tried so hard to resist him. I pleaded, I wept. I begged on myknees--like this. "

"Please--please don't, " murmured Christopher, as he felt the softness ofher supplicating body. 

"But Julian was pitiless. He caught me in his arms. I fought againsthim. I struck him as I felt his loathsome kisses. I said I would screamfor help and--he laughed at me. Then--"

She stopped abruptly, leaving her confession unfinished, and, standingclose to her lover, held him fascinated by the wild appeal of her eyesand the heaving of her bosom. 

Suddenly Christopher's heart froze with terror. The dreaded change hadcome. This glorious young creature whose glances thrilled him, whoseflaunted beauty maddened him, was not Penelope any more, but _theother_, Fauvette, the temptress, the wanton. 

"Chris!" she stepped before him splendid in the intensity of heremotion. Her garment was disarranged, her beautiful hair spread over herwhite shoulders. She came close to him--closer--and clung to him. 

"Why--why did you lock that door?" he asked unsteadily. 

"I did not notice, " she answered in pretended innocence, and he knewthat she was lying. "Do you mind, dear? Do you mind being alone withme?" Then, before he could answer, she offered her lips. "My love! Myhusband! Kiss me!"

It was too much. He clasped her in his arms and held her. He knew hisdanger, but forgot everything in the deliciousness of her embraces. 

"Penelope!"

She drew back in displeasure. 

"No! I'm not Penelope. Look at me! Look!"

What was it the soldier read in those siren eyes--what depths ofallurement--what sublime degradation?

"Fauvette!" he faltered. 

"Yes, your Fauvette. Say it!"

He said it, knowing that his power of resistance was breaking. He wasgoing to yield to her, he could not help yielding. What did theconsequences matter? She was too beautiful. 

Then slowly, musically, the neighboring chimes resounded. 

A quarter to one!

And Christopher remembered. 

God! What should he do? He straightened from her with hands clenched andeyes hardening. 

In a flash she saw the change. She knew what he was thinking and pressedclose to him, offering again her red lips. 

"No!"

"Don't be a fool! You can save _her_, your goody-goody Penelope. It'sthe only way. I will leave her alone, except occasionally--I swear Iwill. "

"No! You're lying!" It seemed as if he repeated words spoken within him. 

"Lying?" Her eyes half closed over slumberous fires. "Do you thinkPenelope can ever love you as I can--as your Fauvette can? Share herwith me or--" she panted, "or you will lose her entirely. Penelope diestomorrow night, you know that, unless--"

Frantically she tried to encircle him with her arms, but Herrickrepulsed her. Some power beyond himself was strengthening him. 

"Oh!" she cried in fury, "you don't deserve to have a beautiful woman. Very well! This is the end!" She darted to the bedroom door and unlockedit. "Come! I'll show you. "

Deathly pale, she led the way into the sitting-room and, going toChristopher's coat, she drew out a small flask. 

"There! This is the danger she wrote about. _I know. _ Spiritual danger!Ha! I'm going to open this. Yes, I am. You can't stop me. "

"Don't! It's death!"

But already she had unscrewed a metal stopper and drawn forth a smallglass vial filled with a colorless liquid. 

"One step nearer, and I'll smash this on the floor!" she threatened. "IfI can't have you, _she_ never shall!"

The captain faced her quietly, knowing well what was at stake. 

"Penelope!"

She stamped her foot. "I'm not Penelope. I'm Fauvette. I hate Penelope. For the last time--will you do what I want?"

"No!"

She lifted the vial. 

"Stop!" came a masterful voice, and, turning, they saw Dr. Leroystanding in the outer doorway. Back of him were Seraphine and Dr. Owen. 

"Give that to me. "

The psychologist advanced toward her slowly, holding out his hands. Fauvette stared at him, trembling. 

"No! I'll throw it down. "

His eyes blazed upon her. His outspread arms seemed to envelope her. 

"You cannot throw it down! Come nearer! Give it to me!"

Like a frightened child she obeyed. 

"Now go into the bedroom! Lie down! Sleep!"

Again she obeyed, turning and walking slowly to the bed; but there shepaused and said with scornful deliberateness: "You can drive me outnow, but I'll come back when she sleeps. I'll make her dream. Damn you!And tomorrow night--Ha! You'll see!"

Dr. Leroy's stern gaze did not falter, but compelled Penelope to go backto the couch, where almost immediately her tragic eyes closed inslumber. 

CHAPTER XVIII

PLAYING WITH FIRE

What happened on the last day, or rather the last night, of Mrs. Wells'psychological crisis may be regarded either as a purely subjectivephenomena, a dream or a startling experience of the soul, or assomething that came from without, a telepathic or spiritualisticmanifestation. In any case note must be made of the testimony of Dr. William Owen, an extremely rational person, that after midnight on thisoccasion he distinctly _saw_ scarlet lights moving about the darkenedroom near Penelope's couch. 

The patient passed the day quietly (after sleeping late) and was advisednot to see her lover, although Dr. Leroy did not insist upon this. Mrs. Wells agreed, however, that any conversation with Christopher might beharmfully agitating, and was content to send him a loving message, together with a sealed communication that was not to be openedunless--unless things went badly. 

"Do you think I am going to pull through tonight, doctor?" she askedtremulously about three in the afternoon. 

"I am sure you will, Mrs. Wells, if you will only trust me and do whatI have told you to do. Your fate is in your own hands--entirely. "

Dr. Leroy spoke confidently, but she shook her head in distress of mind. 

"I wish I could believe what you say. I would give anything to feel surethat my mother is watching over me, trying to come to me; but I can'tbelieve it. If she wants to come, why doesn't she do it? Why didn't shecome to me last night when I needed her so terribly?"

"Seraphine has told you why, she says the conditions are not right. Isthat so surprising? Take a telephone--you can't talk over it unless theconnections are right, can you? Take a telescope or a microscope--youcan see nothing through them unless the instruments are in focus, canyou? Take an automobile--it will not move an inch unless all the partsare properly adjusted, will it? You may have the finest photographiccamera in the world, yet you will get no picture unless you expose thesensitive plate in just the right way--isn't that true? Suppose a savagerefused to believe in photography, or in the telephone, or thetelescope, or in any of our great inventions, unless they would operateaccording to the fancy of his ignorant mind, regardless of scientificlaws? What results would he get? The very same kind that we get in thepsychic world if we refuse to obey psychic laws. "

The fair patient moved wearily on her pillow with signs of increasingdiscouragement. 

"I have not refused to obey psychic laws, I don't know what the lawsare. How can I believe in something that is entirely unknown to me? Ican't do it, I can't do it. "

"But, Mrs. Wells, when so much is at stake, when everything is at stake, can't you take an open-minded attitude toward these mysteries? Why notsubmit to the indicated conditions and see what happens? If there isonly one chance in a hundred that your mother can really come to you andhelp you, why not take that chance? You believe that your mother is anexalted spirit, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. I am sure she is. "

"You don't doubt that she would be glad to help you in your presenttrouble, if she could, do you?"

"No, of course not, but what can I do? I say my prayers, I try to havegood thoughts--what else can I do?"

The spiritual healer answered with sudden impressiveness. 

"Penelope, you must cleanse your soul of evil. There is something youare keeping back--perhaps you do not know what it is yourself. I canonly tell you to think, to look into the past, to search into yoursoul--just as if you were coming before a great, wise, loving Judge whocannot be deceived. He wants you to confess something--I don't know whatit is, you must find that out for yourself--but when you have confessed, I _know_ that help will come to you through your mother. Now close youreyes. Don't speak. Think! Think of your mother. "

He laid his hands gently on her forehead and for some minutes there wassilence. 

"Now I shall leave you alone. In an hour I will send Seraphine to you. "

Then he left her. 

At four o'clock Mrs. Walters came in with an armful of flowers fromChristopher and the two women talked of indifferent things over theirtea. Then they went for a drive in the park and Penelope returnedblooming like a lovely rose; but not one word did she breathe of herdeeper thoughts. Seraphine waited. 

Seven o'clock!

At last the barrier of pride and reserve began to crumble. Penelopeturned to her old friend, trying at first to speak lightly, but hertroubled eyes told the story of tension within. Then came theconfession--in broken words. There were two things on herconscience--one that she had done, but it wasn't exactly her fault, onethat she did not do, but she meant to do it. She supposed that was a sinjust the same. 

Mrs. Walters smiled encouragingly. 

"It can't be so serious a sin, can it? Tell me everything, Pen. "

With flaming cheeks the young widow told how she had meant to adopt achild--in France--that would really have been--her own child. She didnot do this because she met Captain Herrick, but--she would have doneit. The other thing was what happened on the Fall River steamboat--withJulian. On that tragic summer night, she had finally yielded to himand--_she had wanted to yield!_

To which Seraphine made the obvious reply: "Still, my dear, he was yourhusband. "

"But I had sworn that never--never--it was so--ignoble! I despised him. Then I despised myself. "

The medium listened thoughtfully. 

"You trust me, don't you, Pen? You know I want to do what is best foryou?" She passed her arm affectionately around her distressed friend. 

"Oh, yes. You have proved it, dearest. I'll never be able to repay yourlove. "

Mrs. Wells began to cry softly. 

"Please don't. We need all our courage, our intelligence. It doesn'tmatter how wrong you have been in the past, if you are right in thepresent. The trouble with you, dear child, is that you cannot see thetruth, although it is right under your eyes. "

"But I am telling the truth, " Penelope protested tearfully. "I am notkeeping anything back. "

"You don't mean to keep anything back--but--"

The psychic's deep-set, searching eyes seemed to read into the soul ofthe fair sufferer. 

"You showed me parts of your diary once--what you wrote in New Yorkafter your husband died--before you went to France. There were fouryears--you remember?"

"Yes. "

"How would you interpret those four years, Pen? You were not worriedabout money--Julian left you enough to live on. You had no children, noresponsibilities. You were in splendid health and very beautiful. Whatwas in your mind most of the time? How did you get that idea of adoptinga child in France? It must have come gradually. How did it come? _Why_did it come?"

"Because I was--lonely. "

"Is that all? Think!"

There was silence. 

"Why did you dance so much during those four years?"

"I like dancing. It's good exercise. "

"And all those allurements of dress--clinging skirts, low-cut waists, nocorsets--why was that?"

"I hate corsets. I don't need them. I can't breathe in corsets. "

"And those insidious perfumes?"

"I don't see what that has to do with it. "

"Those are little indications. But take the main point, your desire tohave a child--of your own. Do you really love children, Pen? Have youever shown that you do? Did you try to have children when you weremarried?"

"Not _his_ children! God forbid!"

Seraphine hesitated as if dreading to wound her friend. 

"I must go on, dear. We must get to the bottom of this. Suppose you haddone what you intended to do? And had come back to America with anadopted child? And suppose no one had ever known the truth, about it--doyou think you would have been happy?"

Penelope sighed wearily. 

"Is a woman ever happy?"

"Wait! Let us take one point. You have always loved men's society, haven't you? That's natural, they're all crazy about you. Well, do youthink that would have changed just because you had a child? Do you?"

"No--no, I suppose not. "

"You would have been just as beautiful. You would have gone on wearingexpensive clothes, wouldn't you? You would have kept up the old round ofteas and dinners, theatres, dances, late suppers--with a train of mendangling after you--flirting men, married men--men who try to kiss womenin taxicabs--you know what I mean?"

Penelope bit her red lips at this sordid picture. 

"No, " she said, "I don't think I would have done that. I would havechanged, I intended to change. That was why I wanted a child--to give mesomething worthy of my love, something to serve as an outlet for myemotions. "

The medium's eyes were unfathomably sad and yearning. 

"Is that true, Pen? A child calls for ceaseless care--unselfishness. Youknow that? Did you really long for a child in a spirit of unselfishlove? Did you?"

But Penelope was deaf to this touching appeal. 

"Certainly, " she answered sharply. "I wanted a child to satisfy myemotional nature. What else do you think I wanted it for?"

Mrs. Walters' face shone with ineffable tenderness. 

"That is what I want you to find out, my darling. When you have answeredthat question I believe the barrier that keeps your dear mother awaywill be removed. Now I am going to leave you to your own thoughts. Godbless you!"

 * * * * *

At ten o'clock Dr. Leroy directed Mrs. Wells to prepare herself for thenight and told her she was to sleep in a different room, a large chamberthat had been made ready on the floor below. As Penelope entered thisroom a dim light revealed some shadowy pieces of furniture and at theback a recess hung with black curtains. In this was a couch and twochairs and on the wall a familiar old print, "Rock of Ages, " showing awoman clinging to a cross in a tempest. 

"Please lie down, Mrs. Wells, " said Leroy with cheerful friendliness. "You don't mind these electrics?"

He turned on a strong white light that shone down upon the patient andthrew the rest of the room into darkness. Then Penelope, exquisitelylovely in her white robe, stretched herself on the couch, while thedoctor and Seraphine seated themselves beside her. 

"This light will make you sleep better when I turn it off, " explainedthe physician. Then he added: "I will ask Dr. Owen to come in a littlelater. "

Eleven o'clock!

Not yet had the patient spoken and time was passing, the minutes thatremained were numbered. Mrs. Walters essayed by appealing glances toopen the obstinately closed doors of Penelope's spiritual consciousness, but it was in vain. 

Half past eleven!

The spiritual healer rose, his face set with an unalterable purpose. 

"I will turn down the light, Mrs. Wells, " he said quietly. "I want youto compose yourself. Remember that God is watching over you. You areGod's child. He will guard you from all evil. Hold that thought stronglyas you go to sleep. "

Penelope closed her eyes. Her face was deathly pale in the shadows. Theminutes passed. 

"I--I am afraid to go to sleep, " the sufferer murmured, and her handsopened and closed nervously as if they were clutching at something. 

"Think of your mother, dear, " soothed Seraphine. "Her pure spirit isnear you, trying to come nearer. _Oh God, keep Penelope, Thy lovingchild, under the close guardianship of her mother's exalted spirit inthis her hour of peril. _"

Twelve o'clock by the musical, slow-chiming bells!

Then at last Penelope spoke, her face transfigured with spiritual lightand beauty. 

"Doctor, --I--I know I have only a few minutes, " she began haltingly, butalmost immediately became calm, as if some new strength or vision hadbeen accorded her. "I realize that my troubles have come fromselfishness and--sensuality. I have deceived myself. I blamed my husbandfor encouraging these desires in me, but--I knew what kind of a man myhusband was before I married him. There was another man, a much finerman, who asked me to be his wife, but I refused him because--in a wayI--wanted the kind of husband that--my husband was. "

She went on rapidly, speaking in a low tone but distinctly:

"In the years after my husband's death I was--playing with fire. Icraved admiration. I wanted to go as near the danger point--with men--asI dared. I deceived myself when I said I wanted a child--of my own--tosatisfy my emotional nature. What I really wanted was anexcuse--to--give myself--to a man. "

Some power beyond herself upheld the penitent in this hard ordeal. Hereyes remained fixed on the Cross to which she seemed to cling in spiriteven as the woman pictured there clung to the Cross with outstretchedarms. 

There was an impressive silence, then the spiritual teacher, his voicevibrant with tenderness and faith, spoke these words of comfort:

"Penelope, you have cleansed your soul. You can sleep without fear. Whenyour dream begins you will know that the powers of love are guardingyou. You are God's child. No harm can befall you, for you will reach outto the Cross, _you will reach out to the Cross_!"

"Yes, " she murmured faintly. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. She drewa long sigh of relief, then her breathing became regular and her facetook on an expression of lovely serenity. She was sleeping. 

And then the dream!

Penelope was in that tragic stateroom once more. She heard the throb ofengines and sounds on the deck overhead--the echoing beat of footsteps, while the steady swish of the waters came in through the open window. She turned restlessly on her wide brass bed trying to sleep. 

How oppressive was the night! She looked longingly at the stateroomdoor which she had fixed ajar on its hook. If she could only go outwhere the fresh breezes were blowing and spread her blanket on thedeck--what a heavenly relief!

Penelope sat up against her pillows and looked out over the sighingwaters illumined by an August moon. In the distance she watched theflashes of a lighthouse and counted the seconds between them.... 

Suddenly she froze with terror at the sight of a black sleeve, a man'sarm, pushed in cautiously through the door, and a moment later Julianentered. She saw him plainly in the moonlight. He wore a dinner coat. Helooked handsome but dissipated. His face was flushed, his dressdisordered. He came to her bed and caught her in his arms. He kissedher. He drew her to him, close to him. She remembered the perfume of hishair. He said she belonged to him. He was not going to let her go. Promises did not matter--nothing mattered. This was a delicious summernight and--

"_Oh God, let Thy love descend upon Penelope and strengthen her_, "prayed Seraphine, kneeling by the couch. 

The dream moved on relentlessly toward its inevitable catastrophe. Penelope tried to resist the intruder, but she knew it was in vain. Shewept, protested, pleaded, but she knew that presently she would be sweptin a current of fierce desire, she would wish to surrender, she would beincapable of _not_ surrendering. 

"_Oh God, let the spirit of the mother come close to her imperilledchild_, " prayed Seraphine. 

In her dream Penelope was yielding. She had ceased to struggle. She wasclasped in her husband's arms and already was turning willing andresponsive lips to his, when her eyes fell upon the porthole, throughwhich the distant lighthouse was sending her a message--it seemed like amessage of love and encouragement. She saw the mighty shaft toweringserenely above dark rocks and crashing waters, and watched it changewith beautiful gradations of light into a rugged cross to which a womanwas clinging desperately. The waves beat against her, the winds buffetedher, but she cried to God for help and--then, as she slept Peneloperecalled Dr. Leroy's words and, still dreaming, stretched out her handsto the Cross, praying with all her strength that her sins might beforgiven, that her soul might be cleansed, that she might be saved fromevil by the power of God's love. 

Instantly the torture of her dream was relieved. The brutal arms thathad clasped her fell away. The ravisher, cheated of his victim, drewback scowling and slowly faded from her view, while from a distance awhite figure with countenance radiant and majestic approached swiftlyand Penelope knew it was the pure spirit of her mother coming to saveher, and presently on her brow she felt a kiss of rapturous healing. 

"My child!" came the dream words, perfectly distinct, although they wereunspoken. "God will bless you and save you. "

Penelope smiled in her sleep and her soul was filled with inexpressiblepeace. 

"_I saw the mother's exalted spirit hovering over her child_, " Seraphinewrote of this clairvoyant vision. "_I saw the evil entity, leeringhideously, go out of Penelope in a glow of scarlet light. I knew thatthe wicked dream was broken. My darling was saved. _"

An hour passed, during which the two doctors and the medium watchedanxiously by the sleeping patient. 

Finally the young woman stirred naturally and opened her eyes. 

"Oh, Dr. Leroy!" she cried joyfully. "It is true--what you said. Itstopped--the dream stopped. And my mother came to me in my sleep. Shekissed me. She blessed me. Oh!" Penelope glanced eagerly about the room. 

Leroy greeted her with grave kindness. 

"Your troubles are all over, Mrs. Wells. You need never have any more ofthese fears. "

"Is that really true?"

"Yes, I am quite sure of what I say. "

"How wonderful!"

He bowed gravely. 

"God's love is very wonderful. "

Again the radiant eyes seemed to search for some one. Penelope glancedappealingly at Seraphine. 

"I understand, dear, " beamed Mrs. Walters. "He is waiting outside. Hewill be so happy, " and a moment later Christopher entered. 

CHAPTER XIX

PRIDE

(_Fragments from Penelope's Diary_)

_Paris, Three Months Later. _

It is three months since I wrote this diary, three lonely months since Isaid good-bye to Christopher, or rather wrote good-bye, for I shouldnever have had the courage to leave him, if I had tried to give him myreasons--face to face. I have never seen him or heard from him sincethat terrible night at Dr. Leroy's when the evil cloud was lifted frommy soul and I knew and remembered--_everything!_

I have never heard from Seraphine. They do not even know where I am, they must not know--that is part of my plan, but it is frightfully hard. I pray for strength to be reconciled to my life of loneliness and tofind comfort in good works; but the strength has not come to me. Everyday I think of Christopher and the separation from him grows harder andharder. Life is not worth living. 

 * * * * *

I am perfectly sane and normal, just as I was before my hallucinations. No more voices, or fears, or wicked dreams. Sometimes I wish I coulddream of Christopher; but I never do, I never dream of anything. Isuppose I should be grateful for that and glad that my cure is socomplete. Oh, dear!

 * * * * *

I wear myself out at the dispensary for poor French children and try mybest to smile and be cheerful and to interest myself in their pitifulneeds and sorrows; but my heart is not in this work and my smiles areforced. Many nights I cry myself to sleep. 

And yet I did right. I go over it all in my mind and I see that I didright. There was nothing else for me to do. I had to decide for both ofus, and I decided. I thought of those dreadful things that I did, and--meant to do--those things that neither Christopher nor I canpossibly forget ... How could Christopher ever have confidence in me ashis wife? How could we ever be happy together with those memoriesbetween us?

 * * * * *

I try to remember the exact words that I wrote to my lover that morningwhen I went away. I hope I did not make him suffer too much. But ofcourse he suffered--he must have. I told him we could not see each otherany more, or write to each other, or--anything. I knew I would have beentoo weak to resist the call of my love and he would have been too fine, too chivalrous, to let me go. He would have said: "You are cured now, dear" (which I really am) "and there is no reason why we should not bemarried--" which is true, except that he would always have had the fear, deep down in his heart, that I might relapse into what I had been. Howcould a high-minded man like Chris bear the thought that the woman heloved, the woman who was to be the mother of his children, had actedlike a wanton? He could not bear it. It is evident that I did right. 

_And yet--_

 * * * * *

I often wonder what another woman would have done in my place. She lovesa man as I loved Christopher--as I love him still. She is proud, she hasalways been admired, she cannot bear the thought of being pitied. Andsuddenly she learns that she has disgraced herself, she has violated thesacred traditions of modesty that restrain all women. She has acted likean abandoned woman towards the man she worships. God! It is true she hasdone this without knowing it, without being responsible for it, but shehas done it, and that ineffaceable memory will always shame her, if shebecomes his wife. Day after day she will read it in his eyes, in hisreticencies, in his efforts to be cheerful--she will know that heremembers--_what she was!_

NO! She could not bear it, no woman with any pride could bear it. 

Pride!

What is pride? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? Would I be a finerwoman if I could endure this humiliation and gracefully acceptforgiveness? I suppose some women would take it all simply, like agrateful patient cured of an illness. Alas! that is not my nature. 

 * * * * *

How little we know ourselves! We all wear masks of one kind or anotherthat hide our true personalities even from ourselves. How will a womanact in sudden peril? In a moral crisis? In the face of shatteringdisgrace? Let the most beautiful wife and mother realize that somepainful chapter in her life is to be opened to the world--what pricewill she not pay to avert this scandal?

Julian had a friend who on a certain night stood before a locked doorwith an officer of the law. His wife was on the other side of thatdoor--with a companion in dishonor. The husband was armed. He wasabsolutely within his rights. They broke down the door. _And then_--

Not one of those tragic three could have told in advance what wouldhappen when that door crashed in. As a matter of fact the woman alonewas calm--coldly calm. 

"Yes, " she said, "I am guilty. Now shoot! Why don't you shoot? You areafraid to shoot!"

Which was true. 

The husband was afraid; and the lover was more afraid; it was the erringwife who cut the best figure. But who could have foreseen thisdénouement?

 * * * * *

After all I only did those abominable things because I was ill--when Iwas not myself; whereas now I am well, and the evil has passed from me. Besides, I only showed that wicked side of my nature to Christopher, through my love; it is inconceivable that I could ever have acted thatway with another man. Christopher knows that. He knows there is nopossible doubt about that. How much difference does this knowledge maketo him--I wonder. 

 * * * * *

I am going to leave Paris. I am too unhappy here. It seems there is agreat need for nurses at Lourdes--that strange miracle place wherepilgrims go to be healed--and I have volunteered for service. If thesick are really cured by miracles I don't see why they need nurses; butnever mind that. It will give me a change and I may see some unfortunatemen and women who are worse off than I am. Oh, if God would only work amiracle so that I can have Christopher and make him happy! But that cannever be. Why not? Why do I say that after what has happened to me? Wasit not a miracle that saved me from those hideous evils? Then why notother miracles?

 * * * * *

_At Lourdes. Two Weeks Later. _

Speaking of miracles, I am living among them. I am working in the_Bureau de Constatations_ where the _miraculés_--those who are supposedto have been miraculously healed--are questioned and examined bydoctors, Catholics, Protestants, Agnostics, Atheists, who come from allover the world to investigate these cures from the standpoint of areligion or pure science. What sights I have seen! Men and women of allages and walks of life testifying that the waters of the sacred grottohave freed them from this or that malady, from tumors, lameness, deafness, blindness, tuberculosis, nervous trouble and numerous otherafflictions. By thousands and tens of thousands these unfortunates crowdhere from the four corners of the earth, an endless procession ofbelievers, and every year sees scores of the incurable cured, instantlycured--even the sceptical admit this, although they interpret the factsdifferently. Some say it is auto-suggestion, others speak of masshypnotism, others regard it as a scientific phenomenon not yetunderstood like the operation of the X-rays. And many wise men aresatisfied with the simple explanation that it is the work of God, manifested today for those who have faith exactly as in Bible times. 

 * * * * *

I was stabbed with poignant memories this afternoon when a tallblack-bearded peasant told the doctors that his father, who accompaniedhim, and who had been insane, a violent neurasthenic, shut up in anasylum for four years, had been restored by the blessed waters toperfect health and had shown no abnormality of body or mind for eightyears. These statements were verified by scientists and doctors. 

Eight years! If I really believe in the permanent recovery of this poorman, as the doctors do, why am I doubtful about my own permanentrecovery? The answer is that I am not doubtful for myself, but forChristopher. He might reason like this, he might say to himself--he isso loyal that he would die rather than say it to me: "I know Penelopehas been restored to her normal condition of mind, but that normalcondition includes a strong inherited and developed tendencytowards--certain things, "--my cheeks burn with shame as I write this. "How do I know that this tendency in her, even if she remains herself, will not make trouble again--for both of us?"

How could Christopher be sure about this?

_He could not be sure!_

So I did right to leave him. 

CHAPTER XX

THE MIRACLE

(_From Penelope's Diary_)

_Lourdes. A Week Later. _

Today, with a multitude of the afflicted, I bathed in the _piscine_, along trough filled with holy water from the grotto. The water was coldand not very clean (for hours it had received bodies carrying everydisease known to man), but as I lay there, wrapped in a soaking apronand immersed to the head, I felt an indescribable peace possessing mysoul. Was it the two priests who held my hands and encouraged me withkindly eyes? Was it the shouts and rejoicings, the continual prayers ofpilgrims all about me? Or was it a sudden overwhelming sense of my ownunworthiness, of my ingratitude and lack of faith and a rush of newdesire to begin my life all over again, to forget my selfish repining?Whatever it was I know that as I arose from the bath and bowed beforethe statue of the Blessed Virgin, I was caught by a spiritual fervorthat seemed to lift me in breathless ecstasy. 

A young woman who was blind stood beside me, splashing water from a handbasin upon her reddened, sightless eyelids, and praying desperately. Together with her I prayed as I never had prayed, crying the wordsaloud, over and over again, as she did, while tears poured down mycheeks:

"_Oh, Marie, conçue sans péché, priez pour nous qui avons recours àvous!_"

As I came away and started back to the _Bureau_, walking slowly underthe blazing Pyrenees sun, I knew that an extraordinary change had takenplace in me. I was not the same woman any more. I would never again bethe same woman. I was like the child I knew about that had beenmiraculously cured of infantile paralysis; or like the widow I hadspoken to who had been miraculously cured of a fistula in the arm thathad been five times vainly operated upon; or like the old woman I hadseen who had been miraculously cured of an "incurable" tumor that hadcaused her untold suffering for twenty-two years. I was a _miraculée_, like these others, hundreds of others, one more case that would becarefully noted down by skeptical investigators on their neatly ruledsheets, _if only the mysteries of a sick soul could be revealed_!

Suddenly a great burst of singing drew my attention to the open spacebeyond the gleaming white church with its sharp-pointed towers, and Idrew nearer, pushing my way through a dense multitude gathered towitness the procession of pilgrims and the Blessing of the Sick. In allthe world there is no such sight as this, nothing that can stir thehuman soul so deeply. Inside the concourse, fringing the great crowds, lay the afflicted--on litters, on reclining chairs, on blankets spreadover the ground; standing and kneeling, men, women and children from alllands and of all stations, pallid-faced, emaciated, suffering, dying, brought here to supplicate for help when all other help has failed them. 

"_Seigneur, nous vous adorons!_" chanted a priest with golden voice andten thousand tongues responded:

"_Seigneur, nous vous adorons!_"

"_Jesus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitie de nous!_" came the inspired cry. 

"_Jesus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitie de nous!_" crashed the answer. 

"_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_"

"_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_" thundered the multitude, and thecalm hills resounded. 

It was an immense, an indescribable moment, not to be resisted. I feltmyself literally in the presence of God, and choking, almost dying withemotion, I waited for what was to come. 

Suddenly at the far end of the crowd a great shouting started and spreadlike a powder-train, with a violent clapping of hands. 

"A miracle! A miracle!" the cries proclaimed. 

They told me afterwards that five miraculous cures were accomplished atthis moment, but I knew nothing about it. My eyes were closed. I hadfallen to my knees in the dust and was sobbing my heart out, not ingrief but in joy, for _I knew_ that all was well with me now and wouldbe in the days to come. I knew that Christopher would be restored to me, and that I would be allowed to make him happy. There would be no moredoubt or fear in either of us--only love. _I knew this!_

As I knelt there filled with a spirit of infinite faith and serenity, itseemed as if, above the tumult of the crowd, I heard my name spokengently--"Penelope!"

I knew, of course, that it could not be a real voice, for I was astranger here, yet there was nothing disturbing to me in this illusion. It came rather like a comforting benediction, as if some higher part ofme had inwardly expressed approval of my prayerful aspirations, and hadconfirmed my belief that Christopher would be restored to me. 

"Penelope!" the voice spoke again, this time with unmistakabledistinctness, and now I opened my eyes and saw Seraphine standing beforeme. 

"Seraphine! Where did you come from? I thought you were in America--inNew York. "

Smiling tenderly she helped me to my feet and led me away from themultitude. 

"Let us go where we can talk quietly, " she said. 

"We will go to the hospice, where I am staying, " I replied, notmarvelling very much, but more than ever filled with the knowledge thatGod was guiding and protecting me. 

"This has been a wonderful day for me, Seraphine, " I told her when wecame to my room, "the most wonderful day in my whole life. "

"I know, dear, " she answered calmly, as if nothing could surprise hereither. 

Then I explained everything that had happened--why I had left America sosuddenly, why I had felt that I must never see Christopher again. 

"But you don't feel that way any more?" she asked me with a look ofstrange understanding in her deep eyes. 

"No, " said I, "everything is changed now. My fears are gone. I see thatI must count upon Christopher to have the same faith and courage that Ihave in my own heart. Why should I expect to bear the whole burden ofour future? He must bear his part of it. The responsibility goes withthe love, doesn't it? I saw that this afternoon--it came to me like aflash when the procession passed. Isn't it wonderful?

"Dear child, the working of God's love for His children is alwayswonderful. This is a place of miracles"--she paused as if searching intomy soul--"and the greatest miracle is yet to come. "

I felt the color flooding to my cheeks. 

"What do you mean?"

"I must go back a little, Penelope, and tell you something important. You haven't asked about Captain Herrick. "

"Is he--is he well?" I stammered. 

She shook her head ominously. 

"No. He is far from well. You did not realize, dear, what an effect thatletter of yours would have upon him. It was a mortal blow. "

I tried to speak, but I could not; my bosom rose and fell with quicklittle gasping breaths, as if I was suffocating. 

"There was no particular illness, " my friend continued, "just a generalfading away, a slow discouragement. He had no interest in anything, andabout a month ago Doctor Owen told me the poor fellow would not livelong unless we could find you. "

"Oh, if I had only known! If I had dreamed that he would care so--somuch, " I sobbed. "How--how did you find me?"

Seraphine answered with that far-away, mystic look in her eyes: "It wasyour mother, dear--she told me we must go to Lourdes, she said it quitedistinctly, she said we must sail that very week, or it would be toolate--and we did sail. "

I stared at her with widening, frightened eyes. 

"Seraphine! You don't mean that--that Christopher is--here?" I cried. 

The clairvoyant bowed her head slowly. 

"He is here, at the hotel, but he is very ill. He took cold on the shipand--it got worse. He has pneumonia. "

"Oh!" I breathed. I could feel my lips go white. 

"The doctor is with him now, and a trained nurse. I left them to searchfor you. I knew I should find you--somewhere. "

I rose quickly and caught my companion's arm. 

"Come! We must go to him. "

"No! You cannot see him until tomorrow. This is the night of thecrisis. "

"Please!" I begged. 

"No! You must wait here. I will send you word. " Then she left me. 

Hour after hour I waited at the hospice, knowing that Seraphine wouldkeep her promise and send me some message. At about nine o'clock alittle boy came with a note saying that I must come at once. Christopher was worse. 

As we hurried through the square, the whole place was ablaze withlights, the church itself outlined fantastically in electric fires, while great crowds of chanting pilgrims moved in slow procession, eachman or woman carrying a torch or lantern or shaded candle and alllifting their voices in that everlasting cry of faith and worship:

 _Ave, Ave, Ave, Maria! Ave, Ave, Ave, Maria!_

Until the day of my death I shall hear that thunderous chorus soundingin my ears whenever memory turns back my thoughts to this fateful night. 

Seraphine met me at the door of the chamber where Christopher lay, feverish and delirious. A French doctor, with pointed beard, watched bythe patient gravely, while a sad-eyed nurse held his poor feet huddledin her arms in an effort to give them warmth. Already the life forceswere departing from my beloved. 

The doctor motioned me silently to a chair, but I came forward and saton the bed, and bending over my dear one, I called to him fondly:

"Chris! It's Penelope! Oh, my dear, my dear! Don't you know me?" Ipleaded. 

But there was no answer, no recognition. 

An hour passed, two hours and still there was no indication that my dearChristopher realized that I was near him, bending over him, praying forhim. He turned uneasily in his fever and now and then cried out with agreat effort in his delirium; but he never spoke my name or made anyreference to his love for me. It was heartbreaking to be there besidehim and yet to feel myself so far away from him. 

At about eleven the doctor saw that a change was coming and warned methat there would be a lucid interval which would precede the finalcrisis. 

"Within an hour we shall know what to expect, " he said. "Either yourfriend will begin to improve--his heart action will be stronger, hisbreathing easier, or--he will sink into a state of coma and--" thedoctor finished his sentence with an ominous gesture. "You must havecourage, dear lady. The balance of his life may be turned by you--eitherway. It will be a shock for him to see you here, a great shock. I cannottell how that shock may affect him. It may save him, it may destroy him. No man of science in my place would take the responsibility of saying toyou that you must or must not show yourself to this man at this moment. You must take the responsibility for yourself--and for him. "

"I understand, doctor, " I said. "I will take the responsibility. "

Again we waited in anguished silence, and soon the change came just asthe doctor said it would. Christopher's eyes opened naturally and I sawthat the glassy stare had gone out of them. He knew where he was, heknew what he was saying, he would recognize me, if he saw me; but I drewback into the shadows of the room where I could watch him without beingseen. I wanted to think what I must do. 

Christopher beckoned Seraphine and the doctor to come close to him. 

"I want you to write something for me, " he said in weak tones but quitedistinctly to Seraphine. "I may not come out of this. I--I don't carevery much whether I do or not, but--get some paper--please--and apencil. The most important thing is about my money--all that Ihave--everything in the world, understand? I--I leave it all to the onlywoman I have ever loved--or ever could love--Penelope Wells. "

When he had said this he settled back on the pillow and breathed heavilybut with a certain sense of relief, as if his mind was now at rest. Ibit my lip until my teeth cut into it to keep myself from crying out. 

"You are both witnesses to this--to what I have said--you've written itdown?" he looked at Seraphine and the doctor who nodded gravely. 

"You must find Penelope and tell her that--that she made a mistake to goaway. I understand why she did it, but it was a mistake. Tell her I saidthat we all of us have a whole lot to be sorry for and we must not onlyask to be forgiven, but we must be glad to accept the forgiveness ofothers for--for whatever we have done that is wrong, and we must believethat they are sincere in forgiving us. Tell her that I would have beenglad to--to forgive her for--for everything. "

His strength was evidently failing and the doctor told him that he hadbetter not try to talk any more. But Christopher smiled in that quaintbrave way that I knew so well and lifted his thin white hands inprotest. 

"Just one thing more--please. It won't make any particular difference, doc, and I want to say it. I want you to be sure to tell her this--writeit down. Tell her two things. One is that there isn't any argument aboutmy loving her because I am dying for her--now--that's a fact. Thereisn't anything else I want to live for if I can't have Penelope. Theother thing is that--" He paused as a violent spasm of coughing shookhis wasted body, and again the doctor told him to be quiet, but he gaveno heed. 

"The other thing is--be sure to tell her this--that I would sooner havelived with Penelope--I don't care how many devils she was possessedwith--than with all the saints in the calendar. I loved her--" Hestruggled to raise himself and then lifting his voice in a supremeeffort, "I loved her good or bad. I--I couldn't help loving her. There--that's all. Let me sign it. "

This was too much for me. As I saw my dear love tracing his name withpainful strokes, I could control myself no longer and rushed out of thedarkness to him, feeling that I must cry out wildly against his leavingme. I must fight the grim shadows that were enveloping him. I must keephim for myself by the fierce power of my love. 

Just then a great glare from the torches filled the chamber andChristopher's eyes met mine. I stood speechless, choked with emotion, and as I tried to force my will against these obstacles of weakness, thecry of the pilgrims resounded from the streets below, a vastsoul-stirring cry:

"_Hosanna! hosanna au fils de David!_"

At this I fell on my knees by the bedside and buried my face in myhands. I realized suddenly that it was not for me to dispute God's willeven for this life that was so dear to me, even for our great love. Oncemore I must fight my selfish pride and yield everything into God'skeeping for better or for worse. But with all my soul I prayed, notdaring to look up: "Dear God, save him! Give him back to me. "

Then I felt Christopher's hand on my head, resting there lovingly. 

"Penelope!" he said. 

"Chris!"

Down in the street the lines of fire swept past in a molten sea whilethe roar of worshipping voices came up to me:

"_Hosanna! hosanna au fils de David!_"

And still I prayed, with my head buried in my arms: "Save him! Dear God, save him and give him back to me!"

_And God did. _

CHAPTER XXI

THE TRUTH ABOUT WOMEN THAT NOBODY TELLS

(_Extracts from Penelope's Diary_)

_Two Years Later. _

A woman who has been saved, as I have been, from a fate worse than deathmust be grateful, and ready to show her gratitude by helping others, especially other women. I have a message of hope for those who haveheard the Voices, for those who have gone down into the Black Valley, where I was--_they can come back into the sunshine of happiness. Thepowers of Light are stronger than the powers of Darkness, and Loveconquers Fear always in those who cleanse their souls of evil. _

And I have a warning for thousands and tens of thousands of women whohave not yet glimpsed the Gates of Despair, but are drifting towardsthem and will surely pass through them, as I did, unless they understandthe perils that surround and beset their lives. 

With my husband's assistance and approval, I have selected from my diaryparts that bear on the emotional problems of women today. Christophersays I have told the truth about women that nobody tells, and he wantsme to make it known, so that others, being enlightened, may avoid themistakes I made and be spared the consequences of these mistakes. DearChris! His judgment encourages me, and yet--

How fully shall I speak, so that my words may do good, not harm?

I can only have faith in my honesty of purpose, and hold to my beliefthat, in spite of my limitations, I have a message to deliver that willbe helpful. Yes, I must deliver this message. God will not allow sosincere a motive to fail. Perhaps the reason for all my sufferings andmistakes, the reason for my existence was that I should deliver thismessage. 

ARE CERTAIN WOMEN PREDESTINED TO UNHAPPINESS THROUGH THE INFLUENCE OFTHE STARS?

Soon after my deliverance from evil, Seraphine cast my horoscope (Iwonder why she never did this before?), and now much that was previouslyinexplicable in my life is made clear to me. She says that astrology isnot a cheap form of trickery, but a recognized field of knowledge andinvestigation. 

From the earliest times wise men have emphasized the influence of thestars upon human lives--for good or ill. I like to believe this. Itgives one a broader and more charitable view of one's fellow creatures, of their sins and weaknesses, to realize the presence about us of thesevast and mysterious forces. 

My horoscope, with its queer phraseology, reads:

"Your Neptune is in evil aspect to your Venus, which makes you attractmen almost irresistibly. "

This was the case, Seraphine says, with Georges Sand, George Eliot andvarious women in history who were the favorites of kings, although someof them had little beauty. They were dowered, however, with thisterrific magnetism for the opposite sex. 

I remember, even as a school girl, how the boys used to fight over me, while they scarcely noticed prettier and brighter girls. I neverunderstood this, any more than they did, for I was rather indifferent tothem. There was one girl in our set who attracted the boys as much as Idid, but she was also drawn to them. When this girl was about eighteenher father began to receive anonymous notes telling of his daughter'sescapades and warning him to guard her more carefully. Finally therecame an open scandal when the girl ran away with a married man. At thetime I thought myself a better and stronger character than she, since Iresisted temptation, but my horoscope shows that I had "in beneficentaspect" certain planets that were "evilly aspected" for my friend, andthis made her temptations greater than mine. 

Seraphine says that the horoscope, wisely used, is like an automobilelight in the darkness--it reveals dangers in the road that may beavoided. "_The stars incline, but do not compel_, " she always tells herclients and assures them that, by power of the will, we can overcome anyinfluence of the stars, strengthening the good and weakening the evilaspects. That is a blessed thought. 

When I was a trained nurse I received many confidences from women andsome confessions of an intimate nature. At one time I took care of amarried woman in Washington, a neurasthenic case, and this woman told methat she had several times tried to kill herself because of a curse thatseemed to be hanging over her. Twice, following an irresistible impulse, she had left her husband with another man for whom she had no particularaffection. It was a kind of recurrent madness which she did notunderstand except that _she was positive that it had something to dowith the phases of the moon_. During about ten days of the month whenthe moon was "dark, " she was perfectly normal, but when a new moonappeared she was conscious of a vague uneasiness that increased andfinally became acute when the moon was full, this being her time ofperil. 

Venus in conjunction with Mars, Seraphine says, brings love at firstsight, but in evil aspect to Mars it makes one liable to sex-excesses. 

She says that a good Neptune in the 5th house, the house of Romance, orin the 7th house, the house of Marriage, brings an ideal and spiritualattachment; but in evil aspect in either of these houses it brings animmoral relationship or a marriage to one who is morally or physicallydeformed. This was the condition in my own horoscope and certainly poorJulian was deformed morally. 

What a strange and fascinating light all this throws upon humanbehavior! How it clears up mysterious infatuations and explainsincredible follies! Seraphine knows a woman of fifty--she is agrandmother and a most estimable person--who has always had and stillhas this power of attracting men violently to her. On one occasion thiswoman was in a railway station in New York, waiting for her son, when afine looking man approached her and, lifting his hat, asked if she coulddirect him to the train that would soon leave for Chicago. She told himin her well-bred way, and he left her; but a few minutes later hereturned and said with intense feeling that he had never believed inlove at first sight, but now he did. He was compelled to believe in itnow. 

When she drew back he told her that he was a widower, a man of means, living in the West, that he could give her the best references and--thepoint was that his infatuation for her was so great that he begged herto consider whether she would be willing to marry him. He would doeverything in his power to make her happy, but declared that he couldnot and would not try to live without her another day. 

Knowing her horoscope the woman did not get angry at this presumption, but gently declined the offer, and begged the man to leave her. He bowedand withdrew, but came back once again after she had joined her son andexplained to the astonished young man his hopes and aspirations towardthe mother. Whereupon, as the woman still refused, he finally left, toall appearances broken-hearted. 

I have had one experience of this sort myself that shows how even thenoblest man may suddenly suffer an infatuation capable of sweeping himon to disaster. It was at the time of my husband's death--during dayswhen he lay half conscious in the hospital following his automobileaccident. A distinguished clergyman, Dr. B----, who had known Julianslightly, visited him here and in this way made my acquaintance. And hefell violently in love with me. 

For months during my early widowhood he saw me almost every day andwrote me impassioned letters, declaring that I was the only woman in theworld for him, I was his true mate, he could not live without me, he wasready to give up everything for me, to go away with me to some distantcity--any city--and begin life all over again. 

This clergyman was a man of fifty, a brilliant preacher, widely honoredand loved, who had never in his life, he assured me, committed anydeliberately sinful act such as this would be, for he was married to afine woman who had been his faithful companion for many years and hadborne him two children--two boys. All this he was ready to renounce forme--reputation, honor, duty. He said it was fate. His desire for me wastoo strong to be resisted. The sin, the disgrace, the pain that he wouldcause--none of these could keep back this man of God from his evilpurpose. 

ARE WOMEN DISLOYAL TO OTHER WOMEN?

In many pages of my diary (written sincerely at the time) I present theconventional view of sex offences, the comforting view to women. 

_But--_

When I search deep into my soul with an honest desire to find the truth, I am not sure that women are as blameless in the sex struggle with menas I would like to believe. Very often they are less pursued thanpursuing. Every man of the world can recall the cases where women haveplayed the rôle of temptress, using their charms against unwillingvictims, notably husbands of other women. _I am afraid the rule is thatwomen are disloyal to other women where there is any serious emotionalconflict. _

The editor of a popular magazine told me once about a prize contest thatthey had for the best essay on a woman's sex solidarity union--theycalled it the W. S. S. U. The idea was that if women would stand togetheragainst men they could get anything in the world they wanted--equalrights and privileges, equal wages, fair treatment in every departmentof life; and do away with evils of ignorance and poverty, child laborevils, prostitution evils. We could have an ideal world if women, usingtheir sex power, would only stand together against men. 

Hundreds of letters were received from women, who thought this awonderful idea; but they all agreed that it was impossible to carry itout, because women would never be loyal to one another. 

That is true; I know it, and every woman knows it--women are disloyal toother women whenever it becomes a question of men. They might agree on aW. S. S. U. Program, but they would never stick to it, poor things, becauseevery blessed one of them who was at all good looking would be ready togo over to the opposition at the first favorable opportunity. Only thehomely women would be loyal!

ARE WOMEN GREATER HYPOCRITES THAN MEN?

In all my troubles I kept at least to the form of religious belief, although I missed the substance, namely, that any life can be madehappy, even glorious, if it is founded on purity of soul and unselfishlove and service. I was selfish--even in my love; therefore I broughtupon myself the fruits of selfishness which are ill health, inefficiencyand unhappiness. _The beauty of a selfish woman fades quickly. _

Once I wrote this in my diary:

"Alas, how soon love passes! Ten or fifteen years and the best of it isgone. After that the dregs! A woman of thirty! Ugh! I shall be thirtynext year. A woman of forty! No wrinkles at forty, says the beautyadvertisement, but that is a lie. A woman of forty is a pitiful, tragicfigure, especially if she is a little beautiful. No man wants her anymore. "

I was mistaken. The beauty of unselfish love never passes. There aresisters of charity whose faces are exquisitely beautiful at fifty. Seraphine is forty-five and her face shines with heavenly radiance. Herskin is as smooth as a girl's and free from lines because she thinksgood thoughts and does kind acts. The greatest beauty tonic in the worldis the habit of kindness. 

In one place I find this:

"Women are naturally religious, especially women with a strong sexnature; they believe in God, in spiritual mysteries; they are deeplystirred by religious music and by the ritual of worship; they love thearchitectural impressiveness of a church, the stained glass windows farup among majestic arches, the candles, the incense, the far-awaychanting. 

"I was brought up an Episcopalian, but when I am tired or discouraged Ioften go into St. Patrick's Cathedral--it is so beautiful--and say myprayers there. At any hour I find others praying, men and women--theycome in off Fifth Avenue quite naturally and cross themselves and bow tothe Altar and kneel straight up--they don't just lean forward the way wedo. I love to imitate them--cross myself and go down on one knee and dipmy fingers in the font of Holy Water as I come away. _Sometimes I wish Iwas a Catholic and could confess my sins. It might help me. _

"I do not think religion keeps women back very much from doing what theywant to do or have resolved to do in love affairs. It is a comfort, anemotional satisfaction rather than a restraint. They come tripping in ontheir high heels with all their smiles and finery, and they trip outagain, unchanged in their sentimental natures. A woman will go to churchin the afternoon and flirt with another woman's husband in the evening. She will respond devoutly after the Commandments 'Lord have mercy uponus, and incline our hearts to keep this law, ' even though she knows thather heart is inclined to break one of these laws. "

This is true in the main, although I believe now that women, becausethey are highly emotional, are sincere for the moment when they kneeldown to say their prayers and confess their sins, even if they half knowthat they may continue in wrong-doing. I suppose women are less logicalhere than men who will often stay away from church entirely when theyare breaking the moral law and when they know that they intend to go onbreaking it. I am sure it is better, however, for men and women to go tochurch, even at the risk of a little hypocrisy, than not to go at all. 

ARE WOMEN DISINGENUOUS IN SENTIMENTAL AFFAIRS?

I suppose we must admit that there are many women, in all classes ofsociety--not mercenary women--who extend to men a certain measure of sexcomplaisance and feel no deep regret for this behavior, so long asthings go well. 

Once I wrote in my diary:

"Of course women will not admit sex indiscretions--wild horses could notdrag the truth out of them. The attractive ones, those who have hademotional experiences with men, will hide them, following the femininefree masonry of centuries. And unattractive women will call high heavento witness that nothing of that sort has ever happened to them. Theyhave always found men respectful and considerate. "

I asked Julian about this one day when he was in a penitential mood andhe said:

"Of course you are right, the indiscretions of women are numerous, inevitable; but it is the fault of men. The evidence is all about us. Any woman may ascertain this from her husband, her father, hergrandfather, or her great-grandfather, if she can persuade one of thesegentlemen to be honest with her. "

The ghastly truth is--this is the truth that has filled the world withtears--that the average full-blooded male citizen is polygamous in hisinstinct and to some extent in his practice. 

Every reasonably attractive woman who has been called upon to face thefacts of life knows that men are impelled towards women by a force ofdesire that they call over-powering. It is not over-powering, asthousands of clean-minded men have proved, it is no more over-poweringthan the desire to gamble or the desire to take drugs; it can beconquered as these other desires have been conquered; but centuries ofwayward living under relaxed standards (the double standard) have mademen believe that it is over-powering and they act accordingly. And womenyield on one pretense or another, smilingly or tearfully--_how can theyresist the dominant will of half the human race?_

I find this in my diary heavily underscored:

"_How can the same act be a sin for half the race and not a sin for theother half? For centuries men have proclaimed that women must not givethemselves to men, but men may give themselves to women. Is there anygreater absurdity? Wine may mix with water, but water must not mix withwine. _"

If these sex-complaisant women were really filled with remorse, burdenedwith a sense of shame, we should all know it. Their eyes, their voices, their daily lives would reveal it. Could a million women be in physicalpain, say from starvation, without all the world knowing it? Is pain ofthe soul less torturing than pain of the body? The fact is that thesewomen are not in spiritual pain. They regard what they have done (oftenregretfully) as a result of impossible conditions in the world today, aworld controlled by men. 

I can speak about these things with a certain authority, since, foryears, I sympathized with the self-indulgent point of view, in fact Ilived in an artistic and Bohemian _milieu_ where many of my friendsfollowed the line of least resistance. I may even confess that I mighthave gone with the current, had I not seen the harm and unhappiness thatresulted. _It does not pay to be self-indulgent. _

"LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION"

The suspicion that many women are disingenuous in regard to theseirregularities of conduct was forced upon me some years ago in aconversation with Kendall Brown, who, for all his eccentricities, is akeen observer of life. 

I give the conversation at some length just as I wrote it down in mydiary:

"Kendall insists that women like me--he calls me a Class A woman whichmakes me furious for I'm afraid I am one--are never really on the levelin sentimental affairs. If we were on the level, he says, we would notmake such a fuss about the grand conspiracy of men against our virtue. There would be no point to it, for our virtue would never be in anydanger unless we half-wished it to be. He says that the three great sinsmentioned in the Bible and in all religions are killing, stealing andsex offences. Now, the attitude of the human race toward these sins, asestablished by centuries of habit, makes it almost impossible for theaverage citizen, man or woman, to either kill or steal. 'Isn't thattrue?' he asked. 

"I agreed that the thought of stealing is so abhorrent to me that Icould not imagine any temptation strong enough to make me a thief. Imight have some reserves about killing, however, in fact I have once ortwice felt a sympathy for ... Well, no!

"'All right, ' he went on. 'Now, if women were on the level in guardingtheir virtue and always had been, just as they are on the level inregard to stealing, don't you see that it would be utterly impossiblefor any man under any circumstances (barring violence which does nothappen once in ten thousand times) to have his way with a woman? Thishabit of virtue would be so deeply ground into you women, into the verydepth of your being, that nothing could overcome it. But as we lookabout us and observe women in all classes of society, we see that thereis no such condition, no such habit, which proves that women are not andnever have been on the level. What do you say to that, speaking as apretty woman?'

"I did not say anything, I was so indignant--speechless--at hisimpertinence, and while I was searching for some answer to thisoutrageous statement, my poet friend proceeded:

"'You know how strong habits are, Penelope, all habits. Take smoking, ordrinking cocktails, or even coffee. I swore off coffee six weeks ago. During the first week I was nearly crazy for it--had headaches, feltrotten, but I stuck it out. In the second week it was much easier for menot to take coffee. At the end of a month the habit was established andnow I have no more craving for coffee. If I leave it alone for sixmonths the chances are that nothing will ever make me drink coffeeagain, especially if I hypnotize myself with the idea that coffee is badfor my heart action, that I'm a nice little hero to have cut it out andthat now I am going to live to be over ninety. You see?

"'Now then, the drift of all this is that the habit of virtue in womenif it really was an on-the-level habit that they believed in with alltheir souls and would fight for with all their strength, would beutterly and absolutely unbreakable--no man could overcome it. The onlyreason why men in all times and in all lands have overcome women'svirtue is because women themselves have never attached the importance toit that they pretend to attach. That isn't a very gallant speech, but itis true. '"

As I said, I became angry at Kendall's accusations and refused tocontinue the discussion, but if I were to answer the poet now, after mywider experience of life, especially after my sufferings, I should feelobliged to acknowledge that he struck a hard blow at femininecomplacency. The trouble with women is that there is an increasingtendency among them, especially among those who live in cities full ofpleasures and excitements, to compromise with evil, to go as near thedanger line as possible, so long as they do not cross it. And thiscowardly, dallying virtue is almost no virtue at all. There was a timewhen women prayed sincerely: "Lead us not into temptation"; now it seemsas if they pray to be led into temptation, with just this reservation:_that they may come out of it unscathed. Demi-vierges!_

I have watched many attractive women treading the primrose path and Ihave seen that it always leads them to unhappiness. Not that they aredisgraced or openly degraded--life goes on with many of them very muchas before, but gradually their faces change, their souls change. Theycould have done so much better; they could have been useful, respectedand self-respecting figures in the world _through loving service_. Afterall, life is very short and the only things that really matter are thethings that happen in our own souls. _No one can fail in life who doesnot fail inside, and no one can succeed in life who only succeedsoutside. _ I learned that from Dr. Leroy. 

IS PLATONIC FRIENDSHIP POSSIBLE TO AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN?

In telling the truth about my life and my innermost feelings I mustquote passages from my diary that were written in a light and oftenflippant spirit, that being my mood at the time; but the lesson is therejust the same and in many instances tears follow close behind thelaughter. Furthermore, I thank God that my regeneration has not takenaway my sense of humor. One of the great troubles with neurasthenicwomen is that they do not laugh enough. 

I wrote the following about a year after my husband's death:

"We women are irrational creatures. Our emotions control us, and theseemotions change from day to day, from hour to hour. We never know how wewill act under any given circumstances--that may depend upon some man. "

The truth is that the attraction which draws a man and a woman togetherin what they call platonic friendship always has something of thephysical in it--on one side or the other. Or on both sides. Women willnot admit this, but it is true. They talk about the intellectual bondthat joins them to a man--what a precious interchange of thoughts! Orthe spiritual bond--such a soulful and inspiring companionship--nothingelse, my dear! I used to talk that way myself about Jimsy Brooks beforemy husband died. He was my unchangeable rock of defense whenever thesubject of platonic friendship came up. Other men might fail and falter, make fools of themselves, seek opportunities for--nonsense, but Jimsywas Old Reliability. I could tell him everything, even my troubles withJulian, I could trust him entirely. Alas!

One day I received this warning from Seraphine: "My beloved Penelope, you are riding for a fall! I have had you in mind constantly since youtold me of your new friendship with Mr. R----. I know you intend to betruly platonic and I can see you smiling as you recall your many years'friendship with Jim Brooks to prove that such a thing is possible. But, my dear, take warning in time. While it has apparently worked out inthat case, I am certain it is only the thought of losing 'even that thathe has' which has prevented Jimsy from telling you of his love long ago. Your new playmate may cause you many heartaches before the game isplayed out. Think it over. "

Dear old Seraphine! How well she knows the human soul! A month later Iwrote this in my diary:

"Seraphine was right. My bubble has vanished into thin air. Jimsy Brookshas declared his love for me and a wonderful thing has gone out of mylife forever. I had always felt so perfectly safe with Jimsy. When Ithink of the all-day picnics that we two used to go on together and theoutrageous things I have done, I blush all over. 

"I remember our trip to Bear Mountain and the sparkling stream thatbeckoned me into its depths. I wanted to wade in it, to sit on one ofthe smooth round stones in the middle and in general to behave like achild. All of which I did, for there was only Jimsy to see and he didn'tmatter in the least. He never so much as glanced at my bare feet andlegs when I splashed through the ripples with my dress pinned up!

"I remember how I kissed his hand where a fish barb had torn it.... 'Kiss it, make it well, ' and all the while I must have been hurting himcruelly. God knows I did not mean to, I would not have hurt him for theworld. 

"This sort of thing is all very well from a woman's angle, but is itwell for a man? Jimsy says no, and when I remember the expression in hiseyes, I am afraid I must agree with him. I had thought of him more as Iwould think of a girl chum, only infinitely more desirable, for he hadthe power of really _doing_ things for me--he was a cross between a niceold friendly dog that would fetch and carry at my bidding and a powerfulprotector who could (and did) stand between me and unpleasanthappenings. 

"Jimsy has gone out of my life and left a terrible loneliness. He saysthat some day, when he has learned resignation, he will come back andwe can take up the threads of our friendship just where we have laidthem down ... But that can never be, you cannot build up a newfriendship on the ashes of an old one. Poor Jim Brooks! I shall neverforget what a wonderful thing he was in my life. And now that I havelearned my lesson, my new platonic friend Mr. R---- can take hisprofessed platonic friendship elsewhere. I am through, henceforth allmen are acquaintances ... Or lovers!"

 * * * * *

As I look back on my life and try to draw wisdom from my mistakes, I seesome things clearly and one is that it is impossible for a woman like meto enjoy the close friendship of an attractive man without danger. Nomatter how honorable he is or how sincere the woman is, there will bedanger. The only case where there is no danger is where there is nophysical attraction. I might have been safe enough with some anemicsaint, but not with one who had pulsing red blood in hisveins--certainly not!

 * * * * *

Here is a characteristic episode written before I married Julian, duringthose months of hard struggle in New York:

"Last night Kendall Brown talked to me like an angel. 

"'I'll give you a case in point, Pen, ' he was saying. 'A beautiful womanlike you, an exquisite, lithe creature is sitting on a sofa under a softlight, leaning against pillows--just as you are now; and a man like me, a poor adoring devil, a regular worm, is sitting at the other end of thesofa looking at this woman, drinking in her loveliness, thrilling to themysterious lights in her eyes, the caressing tenderness of her voice andall the rest of it. This man wants to reach out and take this woman inhis arms--draw her to him--press his lips to hers. But he doesn't do it, because--well, she wouldn't stand for it. Besides, it isn't right. Perhaps she is a married woman. Perhaps he is married. 

"'Now what I want to know is why this chap can't behave himself andregard his fair friend as he would an exquisite rose in agarden--somebody else's garden. Why can't he say to himself: "This womanis one of God's loveliest creatures, but she does not belong to me. Ican look at her, I can rejoice in her beauty, but I mustn't touch her ortry to harm her. " Why can't he say that to himself? Isn't it a wickedthing for a man to crush and bruise and destroy a lovely flower, toscatter its color and perfume just for a wayward impulse?'

"I shall never forget the earnestness, the tenderness in the eyes andvoice of this harum scarum poet whose record in women conquests makes arich chapter in the annals of Greenwich Village. At this moment he wasquite sincere, or thought he was. There were tears in his eyes. 

"And what did I do? I rose from my pillows and said, with a little laughand toss of my head: 'Very pretty, Kendall, you ought to make a poem ofit. ' Then I went over to the victrola and set it going in a fox-trot, one of my favorites. I was restless and began to move about slowly tothe music while Kendall watched me with a different light growing in hiseyes. I wore a clinging white house garment--I suppose I was at my best. 

"'Let's dance it, Pen, just gently so as not to disturb the folksdownstairs, ' he said. So we danced the fox-trot and my hair brushedagainst his cheek--he really dances very well for a poet. 

"After he had gone I sat thinking of this for a long time, puzzled aboutmyself and about Kendall. This afternoon I saw him again as I waspassing through the Brevoort Café. He came up to me, smiling, and drewme aside. 

"'Don't you see what a little faker you are, Pen?' he laughed. 'It'sjust as I said, you are none of you on the level, you pretty women. Whydid you set that victrola going last night and tempt me to--to--yes youdid, you know darn well you did. Why did you let your cheek brushagainst mine? Come, be honest, if you can. You're laughing, you adorablelittle devil--you expected me to kiss you. '

"'Impertinent!' I said. 'You do yourself too much honor, sir. '

"'I say you expected me to kiss you. '

"'No. '

"'Liar!' He wrinkled up his nose amusingly. 

"I suppose I was a liar. I did expect Kendall Brown to--well--not tokiss me necessarily, but to make it perfectly clear that he wanted to. It was a ridiculous and unnecessary bit of posing on his part to act asif he did not want to. The French have a saying that a pretty womanalways expects a suitor to know just _when_ to be lacking in respect. "

HOW SHALL A WOMAN SATISFY HER HEART'S LONELINESS?

I quote from my diary without comment another significant conversationthat took place during the early months of my widowhood. How I resented, at this time, any suggestion that I was inclined to venture too near thesentimental danger line!

And yet.... 

"Tonight I had a long talk with Kendall Brown on the same oldsubject--_what is a woman to do who longs for the companionship of aman, but does not find it?_

"Kendall always says disconcerting things, he is brutally frank; but Ilike to argue with him because I find him stimulating, and he does knowa lot about life. 

"'The trouble with women like you, Pen, ' he said, 'is that you are nothonest with yourselves. You pretend one thing and end by doing somethingquite different; then you say that you never intended to do this thing. Why can't you be consistent?'

"'Like men?'

"'Well, at least men know what they are going after, and when they havedone a certain thing, they don't waste time regretting it or insistingthat they meant to do something else. '

"'You think women are hypocrites?'

"'Yes. '

"'If women are hypocrites, if women are afraid to tell the truth aboutsentimental things, it is because you men have made them so, ' I repliedwith feeling. 

"Kendall answered good-naturedly that he held no brief for his own sex, he acknowledged that men treat women abominably--lie to them, abandonthem, and so on; but he kept to his point that women create many oftheir troubles by drifting back and forth aimlessly on the changing tideof their emotions instead of establishing some definite goal for theirlives. 

"'Women yield to every sentimental impulse--that is why they weep soeasily. Watch them at a murder trial--they weep for the victim, thenthey weep for the murderer. Half their tears are useless. If women wouldput into constructive thinking some of the vital power they waste inweeping and talking they could revolutionize the world. '

"'Could they reform the men?' I retorted, but when he tried to answer Istopped him. What was the use? I knew what he would say about this, andI really wanted to get his ideas on the other point. 

"'Come back to the question, ' I said. 'Take the case of a well-bredwoman surrounded by stifling, conventional influences of family andfriends, who sees lonely years slipping by while nothing comes thatsatisfies her womanhood. She may have money enough, comforts, evenluxuries, but she longs for the companionship of a man. What is she todo?'

"He answered with his usual positiveness:

"'She must take the initiative. She must go after what she supremelywants, just as a man would, using her power--I assume that she isreasonably attractive. She must break through restraints, and driveahead towards the particular kind of emotional happiness that suits her. That is what God created her for, to achieve by her own efforts thisemotional happiness. If she wants it enough she can get it. We can allof us do anything, have anything on condition that we want it enough topay the price for it. The price is usually the elimination of otherthings that interfere. '

"'Suppose a woman wants a husband? Suppose she is forty--and not rich?Do you mean to say she can get a husband?'

"Here my poet, blazing with conviction, leaned towards me, pointing anemphatic forefinger. 

"'I tell you, Penelope Wells, it is possible for any reasonablyattractive woman _up to forty-five_ to get a reasonably satisfactoryhusband if she will work to get him as a man works to make money. Shecan't sit on a chair and twirl her thumbs and wait for a husband to dropinto her lap out of the skies like a ripe plum. She must bend destiny toher purposes. She must make sacrifices, create opportunities, moveabout, use the intelligence that God has given her. The world is full ofmen who are half ready to marry--_she must turn the balance!_

"'Listen! If I were a lonely woman yearning for matrimony I would pickout one of these eligible males and make him my own. I would make himfeel that the thing he wanted above all other things was to have me forhis wife. How would I do this? I would study his desires, his needs, hisweaknesses; I would make myself so necessary to him--as necessary as amother is to a child--that he couldn't get along without me. I tell youit can be done, Pen, by the resistless power of the human will. Thetrouble with most of us is that we don't want things hard enough. _If awoman wants a husband hard enough she will get him--nothing can preventit!_'

"I smiled at these fantastic views, although I admit, that we womenought to be more masters of our fates than we are. In my own case Isuppose it would have been better if I had left Julian of my ownvolition, because it was right to leave him, instead of waiting for anautomobile accident to separate us. 

"'Please be sensible, Kendall, ' I protested. 'Give me thoughts thatapply to the world as it is, not extravagant fancies. You know perfectlywell that there are thousands, tens of thousands, of fairly attractivewomen in all classes of society, especially in the wage earning class, who have no chance to marry the kind of man they wish to marry. Besides, there are a million more women than men in American. They can't all gethusbands, can they? There aren't enough men to go around. And there areother thousands of wretched women tied to husbands who will not consentto a divorce. What are all these unhappy women to do?'

"'Can't they get along without men?' he laughed. 

"'Can men get along without women?' I answered, rather annoyed. Kendallsaw that I was serious and changed his tone. 

"'Let me get this straight, Pen. If a woman longs for the companionshipof a man--you mean the intimate companionship? You are not talking aboutplatonic friendship?'

"'No, I mean the intimate companionship. '

"'And she cannot marry? Then what is she to do? Is that what you mean?'

"'Yes. '

"'Ah! Now we come to the heart of the discussion. You want to know ifthere are cases where self-respecting women enter into irregular loveaffairs and never regret it? Is it possible for a woman to break themoral law without suffering disastrous consequences? Are there caseswhere a girl or a woman yields to the desperate cry of her soul for amate without degradation and without loss of her self-respect? Can suchthings be? Do you want my honest opinion?' The poet's eyes challengedme. 

"'Yes, that is exactly what I want, I want the truth. '

"Whereupon Kendall Brown assured me that he has known a number of ratherfine women, self-supporting and self-respecting, the kind of women whosay their prayers at night and try to be kind, who, nevertheless, havehad _liaisons_ that have not resulted in shame and sorrow or in anymoral or material disaster. 

"'Are you sure of this? How can you be sure?'

"'Because I have talked frankly with these women. Sometimes I was in aposition where I could, and, anyhow, women tell me things. They know itis my business to study life, to glimpse the heights and depths of humannature. I would be a poor poet if I couldn't do that. '

"'And these women told you that they have never felt regrets?'

"'Practically that--yes; several of them said that they would do thesame thing over again if they had to relive their lives. They have beenhappier, more efficient in their work, they have had better health, calmer nerves, a more serene attitude towards life because of these loveaffairs. '

"'I don't believe it, ' I declared. 'These women lied to you. They keptsomething back. The thing is wrong, abominable, and nothing can make itright or decent. I would rather die of loneliness. '

"I shall never forget Kendall's superior smile as he answered me:

"'Oh, the inconsistency of a woman! She will not marry, she will nothave an _affaire_, yet she longs for the intimate companionship of aman. She wants to go swimming, but insists upon keeping away from thewater. '

"I bit my lip in vexation of spirit. 

"'Dear friend, don't be annoyed with me, ' my poet continued with a quickchange to gentleness. 'I didn't make the world or put these troublesomedesires and inconsistencies into the hearts of women. Listen! I'll giveyou my best wisdom now: If a woman cannot marry and will not have alover, then she must stop all stimulation of her emotions, she must putmen out of her thoughts, out of her life and concentrate on somethingworth while that will not harm her. Let her take up the purelyintellectual life, some cultural effort--history, art, municipal reform, anything, and absorb herself in it. Or let her follow the old path thathas led thousands of women to peace of mind--let her seek the comfortsof religion. ' Then smiling, he added: 'You might become a missionary, Pen, in China or Armenia. I'll bet you'd be flirting with some mandarinor pasha before you got through. '

"Again I bit my lip, for I knew very well that the religious life wouldnever satisfy me. If I entered a convent I should probably run away fromit in despair. What a horrible situation to want to do right and long todo wrong at the same time!

"Kendall Brown must have read my thoughts. 

"'There is one thing you self-pitying ladies must learn, ' he went on, 'that is to play the game of life according to the rules. You can't haveyour cake and eat it. You can't amuse yourselves with fire withoutgetting burned. '

"I was silent. 

"'You must stop flirting with temptation--that's what you all do, youpretty women, fascinating women. You can't deny it. '

"'I do deny it, ' I said weakly. 

"'Oh come now! How about dancing--when a woman has a sinuous, clingingbody and wears no corsets and--you know what I mean. Isn't thattemptation?'

"'It's horrid of you, Kendall Brown, to suggest such things. Only aperson with evil thoughts--'

"His eyes twinkled at me good-humoredly but I refused to be conciliated. 

"'And how about the ancient and honorable practice of kissing?' hepersisted. 'Of course it is not done any more, I realize that. No prettywoman in these austere days ever thinks of allowing a man to kissher--except her husband, but--seriously, isn't kissing a temptation?Isn't it, Pen?'

"By this time my nerves were decidedly ruffled. 

"'You are too foolish!' I stormed. 'I wish you would go home. I am tiredof your ex-cathedra statements and your self-sufficiency. '

"'No, ' he flung back, studying me with his keen gray eyes, 'you aretired of the truth. '"

CONCERNING THE DOUBLE STANDARD

With great diffidence I venture to say a word about the most perplexingand embarrassing question in the world:

_Shall men be allowed to do certain things without any particularpunishment or social condemnation, while women are punished mercilesslyfor doing these same things--things that men compel them to do?_

The double standard!

Shall women try to change this standard, and, if so, in whichdirection--up or down?

Is it desirable that the weaker sex be given more liberty in emotionalmatters, or that the stronger sex be given less liberty?

I know that some distinguished women, great artists, stage favorites andothers have succeeded brilliantly in spite of sex irregularities; butthis proves nothing. These women succeeded because they had genius ortalent, not because they were immoral, just as certain men of geniushave succeeded in spite of an addiction to various evil practices. Theywould probably have achieved more splendid careers had they been able toconquer these weaknesses. Besides, we are considering what is best forthe majority of men and women, not for an exceptional few. 

I have a friend, a public school teacher in Chicago, --Miss Jessie G----, who holds advanced views on these matters and admits that she herselfhas been a sex transgressor. She has never been sordid or mercenary, she has always believed that she was actuated by sincere affection, butthe fact remains that she has had several affairs with men. She hasbroken the moral law. And while she professes not to regret this andinsists that she would repeat these affairs if she had to live her lifeover again, yet, I have felt in talking with her that this cannotpossibly be true. 

Miss G---- has fine instincts, is fond of music, is proud of herprofession and shrinks from the thought that she might be considered_déclassée_; at the same time she _knows_ that on more than one occasionshe has been treated coldly by men and women familiar with the facts ofher life. For example, at summer hotels, in spite of her good looks andapparent respectability, she has been denied introductions to charmingwomen who would disapprove of her behavior. 

_That hurts!_

Even the bravest of our advanced women thinkers know in their heartsthat they writhe under the pity or scorn of their sister women. 

It is certain that a decent woman who enters into irregular relationswith a man whom she loves must endure great distress of mind; herrelations with this man are at best unsatisfactory. She accepts thedisadvantages of wifehood and foregoes the advantages. She can see heradored one only with difficulty at uncertain times and places. She livesin constant fear of discovery. She is doomed to torturing lonelinessfor, in the nature of things, she cannot have her lover with herwhenever she longs to have him, there must be days and weeks of theinevitable separation. Nor dare she write to him freely, lest theletters fall into wrong hands. In no way may she reveal her love, theproudest treasure in her life, but must hide it like a thing of shame. 

"My poor child, " I would say to such a woman, if I might, "remember thatthe hard test comes when things go wrong, when money fails, when beautyfades. Suppose your beloved falls ill. You cannot go to him, speak tohim, minister to him on his bed of pain, though your heart is breaking. Even if he is dying, you can only wait ... Wait in anguish of soul forsome cold or covert message. You have no rights at his side that thefamily respect--_his_ family. Who are you? Are you his wife? No! Thenyou are nothing, less than nothing; you are the temptress, _themistress_! You love him? Bah! Can such a woman love?"

Miss G---- once acknowledged to me that while she has enjoyed thecompanionship of superior men whom she would never have known but forher moral laxity, yet she has paid a heavy price here, since she nolonger values the acquaintance of men in her own sphere of life. Fromtwo such men (excellent, average men) she has received offers ofmarriage that she refused because their society no longer satisfied herafter that of others more brilliant and highly placed; but she mighteasily have been happy with one of these two, had not her ideals beenraised to a level beyond her legitimate attainment. 

I might present other difficulties that must be faced by a woman whosays she is tired of the old standards of virtue and will live her lifeas a man lives his, but I need not detail these difficulties. In herdeepest soul every woman knows that the thought of a wayward existenceis abhorrent to her better nature. She hates the double standard, sheknows it has worked only evil in the world--it is a debasement of allthat is noblest, a betrayal of all that is most beautiful. _The doublestandard has done more harm to the human race than all the wars ofhistory. _

Women know this, but they are afraid to speak out, they are afraid tofight for their ideals, and passing years find men clinging to hideoussex privileges--one law of morality for men and another law for women. 

I believe that American women could change all this, they could abolishthe wicked double standard, as they have abolished saloons and houses ofdegradation, if they would face the facts of life instead of ignoringthem. It is merely a matter of courage and organization. Suppose ahundred women in a single city should pledge themselves to bar fromtheir homes and acquaintance notorious sex offenders--men offenders? Andto question clean-minded men of their acquaintance, influential men, about these things and to get honest answers? And to have these answersopenly discussed--perhaps in the churches? Why not? What are churchesfor except to fight evil?

What would the average man say to a woman whom he respected and trustedif she asked him to tell her, on his honor as a good citizen, whether hebelieves that the double standard is helpful or harmful to the women ofAmerica? Helpful or harmful to the children of America? To the manhoodof America? Whether he is glad or sorry to think of the effects that hisdouble-standard pleasures have had upon American women? Whether he wouldwish his sons to follow in his double-standard footsteps? Whether hewould be willing to give up his double-standard privileges, if by sodoing, he could save ten American women like his mother or his daughterfrom destruction? Would he be willing to do that? _Will he give hispledge to do that?_

Think how such a leaven of decency and clean manhood might spreadthroughout the land! It might start a single-standard revival that wouldsweep the world. _By the power of courage and faith and the love ofGod!_

SHALL A WIFE FORGIVE HER HUSBAND FOR UNFAITHFULNESS?

I have thought deeply about this, remembering what I suffered withJulian. It is terribly hard to tell the truth; a woman is filled withshame for herself and for her whole sex when she tries to tell the truthabout the unfaithfulness of husbands. 

_How long shall a wife forgive? How much shall she deliberately ignore?_

Many women say: "I would never forgive my husband if he deceived me. "Others say: "I would never forgive my husband if I _knew_ that he haddeceived me. " And still others say: "If my husband must deceive me, Ihope he will never let me know it. "

The tragic truth is (as all women vaguely suspect) that thousands ofdevoted husbands, hundreds of thousands of average husbands have at onetime or another fallen from grace. Julian used to say that if all themen in America who have broken the seventh commandment were sent away todo penance on lonely mountain tops, we should run short of mountains. 

He told me also that a man can love his wife so sincerely that he wouldgladly die for her, yet, in a moment of temptation, he may be untrue toher. Julian was an impossible person, but other clean-minded men, including my dear Christopher, have told me the same thing. 

The truth is that most men have never learned to resist sex temptation;they grow up with the knowledge that they need not resist temptation, which is the fault of society, as now organized, the fault of wrongteaching, of insincere preaching, of nation-wide hypocrisy. 

I have come to see that women, so long as they have not set themselvesas a body against this evil system (which they might evidently change ifthey would act together) have no right to complain of its inevitableconsequences. Men will abandon sex excesses, as they have abandoneddrinking excesses, gradually, through education, through reasonableappeal, through the resistless force of public opinion intelligentlyaroused and directed by devoted women. And in no other way!

Meantime, it is the duty of individual wives to be merciful, as far asthey can, towards erring husbands. The cure lies often in more lovefrom the wife rather than in less love. 

To any tortured wife who knows or half knows certain things about herhusband, I say this--"Dear friend, as long as you love him, forgive him. As long as he loves you, forgive him. Be patient--enduring. Make thehard fight against sensuality with your husband, but don't let him knowyou are making it. Make this fight exactly as you would a similar fightagainst alcohol or drugs. "

A woman must be on her guard, however, lest she hide under a cloak offorgiveness, some base motive in her own heart. Alas! I know, betterthan anyone, how easily we women can deceive ourselves. 

There is an ignoble forgiveness that is based on love of materialadvantages--love of money. There are women who tolerate faithlesshusbands because they are too cowardly or indolent to fight the battleof life alone. What would they do if they left their sheltered homes?Who would provide comforts and luxuries? How would they dressthemselves? How would they live? Shall it be by working? But they hateto work. They have never learned to work. It was partly as a defenseagainst this woman helplessness that I took up trained nursing whileJulian was still alive. 

A still more degrading forgiveness is based on sensuality. There arewomen married to brutes of husbands who will endure every humiliation, surrendering all their fine ideals and high purposes rather than leavethese coarse mates. 

I first realized this just before I went abroad to nurse the soldiers. Ihad gone to the Adirondacks that summer for a rest, and one day on amotor trip I stopped for luncheon at a farm house, and there Irecognized an old friend from my home town, Laura K----, who was to havehad a brilliant musical career. It was she who had encouraged me todevelop my voice; but I never could have been the great artist thatLaura might have been. A famous impresario had judged her voice to be sofine--it was a glorious contralto--that he had offered to advance moneyfor her musical studies abroad. He assured Laura that in three years shewould be a blazing star on the grand opera stage. 

That was the last I had heard of my old friend, and here suddenly Ifound her, married to a hulking mountaineer, half trapper, half guide. Here was my wonderful, burning-eyed Laura, who might have had the worldat her feet, a farm drudge taking in summer boarders! How was thispossible?

I spent the afternoon seeking an answer to this riddle. We walked outinto the forest and talked for hours, but whenever I pressed for anexplanation, she halted in confusion. Her mother was old and illand--she did not wish to leave her. But, I pointed out, she had neverspoken of this before, she had always cared supremely about her voice, about her great musical triumph that was to be. Was not that true? Yes, of course, but--the mountain air was so good for her mother. And shemade other trivial excuses. 

Finally, I got the truth as we were strolling home in the twilight andmet her husband slouching along with a gun over his shoulder. As Icaught his sullen, tawny glance and sensed his superb, muscular figure, I suddenly understood. He nodded curtly and passed on--this cave man!

"_That_ was the reason, Laura, wasn't it?" I whispered. 

She looked at me in silence, biting her lips, and blushed furiously. 

"Yes, " she confessed, "that was the reason. "

IS IT A WOMAN'S DUTY TO TELL HER HUSBAND OF PAST TRANSGRESSIONS?

I am not sure what I really believe about this in my deepest soul. Thousands of women who long to do right will agree with me that it is aterribly difficult question to answer. 

If this were an ideal world where men and women had been purified andspiritualized to a Christ-like loftiness of soul, one would say yes; butit is not. A loving wife does not wish her husband to confess to her hispast transgressions, she takes him as he is and is happy to start a newlife with him, turning over a clean page. She only asks that he be loyaland faithful in the future. And if she is ready to give him similarloyalty and faithfulness, if she has sincerely repented of any sinfulact, is not that sufficient? Why must she risk the destruction of theirhappiness by a revelation that will do no good to anyone? Why must shegive her husband needless pain?

_And yet--_

While the vast majority of women will agree that such feminine reticenceabout past wrong-doing is justifiable, the truth, as I have come to seeit, is that, in so agreeing, women must subscribe to a creed ofdeliberate deception. A man marries a woman whom he believes to bevirtuous, a woman whom he might refuse to marry if he knew that she werenot virtuous. And this woman does nothing to disabuse him of his error. Is that right? She allows her husband to keep a certain good opinion ofher that is not justified. No matter how excellent her motive may be, the fact remains that this marriage rests upon an insecure foundation, upon an implied falsehood. Thousands of plays and stories have beenconstructed on this theme, and they usually end unhappily. 

Suppose a man who had been in prison should marry a woman who wasignorant of this cloud on his life, trusting to chance that his criminalrecord would never be discovered? The two cases are somewhat parallel. What would the woman say if she learned later that she had unwittinglymarried an ex-convict? Would she not prefer that he had told her thetruth before he married her?

On the other hand it may be argued that a woman's sin, being presumablythe fault of some man, may be properly expiated, in part at least, bysome other man. But that does not dispose of the difficulty that _awoman who conceals past indiscretions from her husband is condemned tolive a lie_. 

One deception almost invariably leads to another deception until awhole chain or net of equivocations, ruses, trickeries, is establishedwith the hideous possibility of some shocking divorce scandal, possiblyyears later when innocent children may be the sufferers. 

Even if such disaster is averted and the truth is never revealed, evenif all goes well apparently through happy married years, yet the poisonof deceit may work a spiritual disaster in this woman--such a disasteras overwhelmed me--or it may bring about a lowering of moral standardsin a woman, a stifling of religious life, that will have sinister andfar-reaching consequences. 

_The greatest need in the world today is the need of spirituality amongwomen, for they are the teachers of the young. _

As illustrating the frightful harm that may result from such a lack ofspirituality in a woman, I quote from my diary the case of a greatEnglish lady whom I met while I was nursing in the battle region back ofVerdun. She had come from London to be near her son, a magnificentsoldier, the handsomest Englishman I have ever seen, who had beenwounded in the Mesopotamian campaign and was now here for hisconvalescence. 

"Lady Maude H---- G---- is a fascinating woman, " I wrote. "She must havebeen a great beauty in her day, and she seems to be a figure in therich, smart London set. She speaks quite casually of being invited tothis or that palace for a chat and a cup of tea with one of theprincesses or even with the Queen. During hours that she spent at thehospital she talked to me frankly and charmingly about many thingsconnected with her boy and his future. She is worried lest somedesigning woman get him in her power, and one day she told me that shehas arranged matters for Leonard so that he will be spared certainperils of this kind that might surround him in London. This excellentand brilliant mother has solved her son's problem--the sex problem--inthe following extraordinary way, which proves, so she seems to think, her love and wisdom. She has arranged matters--goodness knows how--sothat Leonard will be on excellent terms with two beautiful young matronsin her set and in this way he will not be vamped off by any unscrupulouschorus girl. These two beauties are to serve for the delectation of thisyoung warrior until he can make a suitable marriage. What a commentaryupon the morals and standards of high society!"

How can one explain such incredible baseness?

This woman is not an ignoble person. On the contrary she is kind andgenerous, full of the best intentions. She has simply reached a point inher selfish round of vanity and pleasure-seeking where she can no longerdistinguish between right and wrong. Her soul is withered, starved, because it has been deprived of God's love and God's truth; yet thedeterioration came gradually, no doubt, beginning with petty lies andcompromises and evasions of responsibility. If _she_ had any pasttransgression on her conscience it is certain she never told her husbandabout it. 

It is a rule among women (with few exceptions) that idleness anduselessness make for selfishness and sensuality. Also for irreligion. These ultra _mondaines_ think of God in an amiable, well-bred way--theyapprove of God, and they say their prayers in an amiable, well-bred way;but none of this avails to regenerate their lives or to combat thesensuality of their self-indulgent men. Nor does it save these womenthemselves from submitting to a social regime that is largely based onindulgence of the senses and the appetites. _Il y en a, de ces femmes dumonde, qui se conduisent d'une façon pire que les filles de joie. _

 * * * * *

As for myself I told my husband everything. I kept back nothing of mywaywardness and sinfulness, my evil thoughts and desires. I admit thatmost men would not forgive a wife or a young bride who confessed to somesex transgression committed before her marriage. I also admit that thechances are against a husband's discovering such a transgression, if thewife keeps silent. It is apparently to the wife's advantage to keepsilent; it apparently pays, in this case, to live a lie; but if deepervalues are considered, if the sacredness of a woman's soul is taken intoaccount, then a woman will see that she must confess, regardless ofconsequences. Alas, this is a very hard thing for the ordinary woman todo--the ordinary woman who is neither a saint on a stained glass windownor the heroine of a novel. But if she has the moral courage to confessher sin (knowing that life is given us for something else than temporaryadvantage), then, having cleansed her soul, she will be singularlyblessed with peace of mind, and will be given strength to bear whatevercomes, even loneliness. Besides, there are men who know how to forgive. God knows most of them have need enough to be forgiven themselves. 

EPILOGUE

A WOMAN'S LITANY

(_Written by Penelope Wells_)

I dedicate to other women who may have done wrong, as I did, or who maybe sorely tempted as I was, these thoughts that have comforted me--theyhave been like a consecration of my life. I have had them printed onvellum in a little red book no larger than a visiting card and so thinthat I can slip it inside my glove. This is my talisman. I read thesethoughts whenever I am wavering or discouraged, wherever I may be, incrowds or solitude, walking in the street, sitting in a car, and theyalways give me new heart and courage. 

I

When I am weak or embittered, indolent, envious, I know that I can findstrength through the performance of some loving act, however small. Ican brighten the dullest sky with the sunshine of a little love. I knowthat sin and evil come chiefly from selfishness and sensuality. I canconquer selfishness by love. I can conquer sensuality by love. I canovercome all evil, all fear, all vanity, by love. There is no death, but the death of love. From which, _Dear Lord, deliver me. _

II

I know that pride is the worship of self: but humility is the worship ofGod. Pride leads to discontent, but humility in loving service (nomatter how obscure) gives peace of mind. From all forms of pride, _Dear Lord, deliver me. _

III

I know that only harm can come to me from dwelling upon past mistakes, follies, sins. I cannot change these so I put them out of my thoughtsand concentrate on the present, which is mine to do with as I please. From all vain regrets, _Dear Lord, deliver me. _

IV

I know that right living comes only from right thinking. To do rightunder stress of law or custom while desiring to do wrong is to make amockery of virtue. I must sincerely desire to do right. The forces oflife-control must act from within me, not from without. From allhypocrisy and false pretense, _Dear Lord, deliver me. _

V

I know that a woman cannot be virtuous if she longs for sensuality, ordallies with it, or dwells upon it in her thoughts, even though sherefrain from any sinful act. Nor can a married woman be a truly virtuouswife if she yields to perverse revellings of the imagination whichdefile body and soul--_even with her husband_! From all defilements oflove, _Dear Lord, deliver me. _

THE END