Evening star., 1921-07-03

that trotted beside me for a while: /
don't know how long. And by and by
you were behind me. and that fright
ened me more than anything else had.
You were Blomberg coming to get
me; you were DIR. Westcountry COM
ing to do something to me: you were
Norway coming to cover me; you
were Oh. you must think me
silly: hysterical thing. Mendal."
Getting to his feet. Mendal thrust
his hands deep in his pockets and
then took them out again. his beard
still shaking with the savage mega
tive. The woman went on talking.
as if to herself now. arms outspread
and eyes on the ceiling, her voice
scarcely audible above the wind:
NDERHAPS died that night, really.
and this is another life. It's
been so sweet here: it seems as long
back-that other little life. so crowd
ed, SO empty, SO happy. SO sad! There
were triumphant moments in it. Men,
day: try to get hold of them now.
and they slip away, one by one, as
one stays. very small. SO small that
had forgotten it till I lay here in the
quiet sky. Just a man in the dark;
boy, really-a feverish boy crying for
me to stop. It's like a fairy tale,
where the thing that seemed so lit
tie eats UP all the things that seem
"'Fieur d'Amour' they called me-
Flower of Love that means. Mendals
Whatever would the Sunday papers
have done without Mary Farnoe?
What reams on reams they filled with
hni Ea
Farnoe. whom / never knew. They
wanted me complex, and l couldn't be
anything but simple; they made me a
butterfly. and l was rock Tor faith
! forgive them. I can begin to qn. qt,.
so easy to forgiven heaven. ! can
even forgive the men who never loved
me. l can even smile at them now.
They all thought they loved me. poor
things! Youth was what Tom LORD
for the crowds: Won Huhr because
was so essentially American; belham
because l was so essentially un- Amer
lean. Terry Kew loved himself. ~.
away. mist, nothing. How / sn9oId ,oid
me I was to look back out OF the ~
ture and remember tnat boy as the
only lover of Mary Farnoe. les queer
isn't it. Mendal?"
what?
'To call him that. When he never
spoke a word of love to me. / never
saw him except once. and that In the
dark; I don't so much as know MS
name. But why do you listen to my
maunderings. Mendal? Haven't l
asked enough Of you: first and last?
you won't hear. It's too phantas-
NAL. It's just that he seems to f1t in
here with the wind and ocean ana
marshes and sea birds. He was an
inferno, think. (oh. just then l was
He must have been an interne; he
wore white. remember, and looked
like a ghost standing at the foot Of
my bed in the dark. I knew he had
no business there: but. oddly enough,
had q queer flair about me. perhaps
had a sort of one about him. too. 1t
may have been Just his attitude. At
any rate my first impulse was to say
aloud: You poor boy"
hadn't known Twas awake. don't be-
lieve there was ever such queer
conversation as that.
"'Why do you do it" he asked. out
Of nothing
"'Do what?'
"He wouldn't listen to my ques-
tions. but shook them off with a fe-
vered impatiepce, his words seemed
to get in the way of his thoughts.
"I wish you'd stop! 1 wish to God
you'd stop!'
"'Stop what"
""They're eating you up-burning
you up! Can't YOU see they're eating
you up as fast as they canT'
"'Who are"
"T wish, for dear Christs sake
you'd run away from them he cried
| in a passionate whisper.
"I aat nm in he'd and stared at him
You can't imagine. Mendal. how
weird it was. l wasn't frightened in
the least. I forgot who I was and
who he was.
"Come around here beside the bed.
I said to him. He came. sank down
on hts knees. and buried his face in
hts hands, and when laid q hand on
his hair he was shivering all over.
had a sense Of being thousaId years
older than. he