The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1896-11-22

become as one of these sacred forms, safe
from the jangling of unstrung nerves, TO
rest forever in this cool and quiet spot.
To be made perfect to lie beside the beau
tifully carven form of this dead woman,
whose flowing white robe and alabaster
face are family illumined as with an inner.
spiritual purity and perfection. But she
has her baby with her. Il am sorry, in
deed" she says-or thinks she says-"to re-
fuse to lie in this refuge, sheltered from
the worlds storms, but you see there is
room but for one, and 1 cannot willingly
die and leave my boy behind. He is young
and needs me to look after him. He would
be lonely without me. And even were you
TO send for him to join me here, l am not
sure that 1 would accept your invitation
for us both at this time He has a right
to live his life. for good or i'll. Nor am /
certain that forgetfulness is the final good
Of life. You have tempted me with the
sight Of those that lie here. Pain is irk-
some, but life is not all suffering, nor are
its compensations altogether aerial. If the
dead forget, the dead are also forgotten.
1 would be remembered little while long,
er Let me go now TO join my friends
and find my boy
Her head is 50 hot, so hotI Fretfully she
wonders who it is pursuing her with these
allurements, but she is glad she has had
no greater difficulty in repellng every offer
She knows she has not been dreaming for
the sleep she has striven so hard for will not
soothe her tired. burning eyes. Listen!
There is the gurgling of cool water, a
bubbling as of many springs. Curiously she
peers over the pillow into the chasm that
has opened across the bed. Reaching over
she tries to wet her finger-tips in the
translucent, greenish waves, but they
elUde her grasp. and she weakly cries with
anger. From high up on the left the waters
come rushing down the incline, to he lost
In misty foaming pool, deep down on
the right. She smells the sea brine and
watches her salty, acrid tears drop into the
far depths, but the waters come no nearer.
Are those naiads, OF mermaids, these
laughing girls that come floating down the
slope amid the dashing flood? How loving
ly the surf curls round them. as they beck
on her to join them. the oDalescent drops
pearling from their finger-tips. Dare she
become one of the rushing number as they
glide fearlessly into the foaming pool? But
why are they lost from sight there? The
joyous train winds down. amending and I'M
countable, but if she floats with the giddy
throng will she not be lost in the depths ?
Gazing into the sea-green water, she sees
IL Is a stately ocean cavern, with vaulted
roof and shelI-strewn floor. There floats
the nautilus. and the delicate sea-anemone
She murmurs, "Humming water must Ger
whelm thy corpse, lying with simple
shells" One sprite is there who eagerly
beckons, but cannot tell whether she
is happy or sad under her mask. Remove
your mask. that L may be better able to
decide If ii be safe to join YOU and even
as she speaks, the phantom has changed
to a creature all in black, a graceful youth.
But there are two. tiny, tell-tale horns on
his forehead and she shudders at the
thought of dance with the foul creature.
mo. no." she cries; II will not die. 1 am
not i'll enough to die. Now do / know who
has been filing me with ignoble desire to
escape from life. Cease your machna-
tons. You cannot cajole me. Unknowngly
1 have struggled against you too long to
yield now. Go seek some more plant vic
tim on whom to vent your malignity. Now
do your spite, and l defy you"
The youth, bowling with the politest wave
of the hand, as If some airy devil, replies:
Madame, don't mention 1t, 1 beg of you.
While desolated that you will not
become one of us. yet no lady has ever
Facilis descensus Averno,' but you have
broken the cabal. and 1 will no longer urge
you. You safe. and 1 go TO stir up my
fires, for 1 have other fuel" Retreatng
backwards into a niche, he bows in the
most gentlemanly manner, pushes open the
black doors, and slips through into the
Iurid glare behind
Quickly the sides of the gaping chasm
draw together and close with a snap. Ex-
hausted and worn with her struggles to
keep the mastery of herself the poor vic
tim smiles feebly and happily certain of
the fact that the enemy has departed, not
to return, but she knows she must get to
sleep If possible. Remembering a box of
morphine pellets, she is astonished that she
had forgotten that she has this helper at
hand.
The fire dies down, the grotesque shadows
dimly waver and are lost in the deep dark.
She sleeps. MAY STUBBS THAYER.
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