Benediction
The Baltimore Station was hot and crowded, so Lois was forced tostand by the telegraph desk for interminable, sticky secondswhile a clerk with big front teeth counted and recounted a largelady's day message, to determine whether it contained theinnocuous forty-nine words or the fatal fifty-one.Lois, waiting, decided she wasn't quite sure of the address, soshe took the letter out of her bag and ran over it again."Darling," IT BEGAN--"I understand and I'm happier than life evermeant me to be. If I could give you the things you've alwaysbeen in tune with--but I can't Lois; we can't marry and we can'tlose each other and let all this glorious love end in nothing."Until your letter came, dear, I'd been sitting here in the halfdark and thinking where I could go and ever forget you; abroad,perhaps, to drift through Italy or Spain and dream away the painof having lost you where the crumbling ruins of older, mellowercivilizations would mirror only the desolation of my heart--andthen your letter came."Sweetest, bravest girl, if you'll wire me I'll meet you inWilmington--till then I'll be here just waiting and hoping forevery long dream of you to come true."Howard."She had read the letter so many times that she knew it word byword, yet it still startled her. In it she found many faintreflections of the man who wrote it--the mingled sweetness andsadness in his dark eyes, the furtive, restless excitement shefelt sometimes when he talked to her, his dreamy sensuousnessthat lulled her mind to sleep. Lois was nineteen and veryromantic and curious and courageous.The large lady and the clerk having compromised on fifty words,Lois took a blank and wrote her telegram. And there were noovertones to the finality of her decision.It's just destiny--she thought--it's just the way things workout in this damn world. If cowardice is all that's been holdingme back there won't be any more holding back. So we'll just letthings take their course and never be sorry.The clerk scanned her telegram:"Arrived Baltimore today spend day with my brother meet meWilmington three P.M. WednesdayLove"Lois.""Fifty-four cents," said the clerk admiringly.And never be sorry--thought Lois--and never be sorry---
IITrees filtering light onto dapple grass. Trees like tall, languidladies with feather fans coquetting airily with the ugly roof ofthe monastery. Trees like butlers, bending courteously overplacid walks and paths. Trees, trees over the hills on eitherside and scattering out in clumps and lines and woods all througheastern Maryland, delicate lace on the hems of many yellowfields, dark opaque backgrounds for flowered bushes or wildclimbing garden.Some of the trees were very gay and young, but the monasterytrees were older than the monastery which, by true monasticstandards, wasn't very old at all. And, as a matter of fact, itwasn't technically called a monastery, but only a seminary;nevertheless it shall be a monastery here despite its Victorianarchitecture or its Edward VII additions, or even its WoodrowWilsonian, patented, last-a-century roofing.Out behind was the farm where half a dozen lay brothers weresweating lustily as they moved with deadly efficiency around thevegetable-gardens. To the left, behind a row of elms, was aninformal baseball diamond where three novices were being battedout by a fourth, amid great chasings and puffings and blowings.And in front as a great mellow bell boomed the half-hour a swarmof black, human leaves were blown over the checker-board of pathsunder the courteous trees.Some of these black leaves were very old with cheeks furrowedlike the first ripples of a splashed pool. Then there was ascattering of middle-aged leaves whose forms when viewed inprofile in their revealing gowns were beginning to be faintlyunsymmetrical. These carried thick volumes of Thomas Aquinas andHenry James and Cardinal Mercier and Immanuel Kant and manybulging note-books filled with lecture data.But most numerous were the young leaves; blond boys of nineteenwith very stern, conscientious expressions; men in the latetwenties with a keen self-assurance from having taught out in theworld for five years--several hundreds of them, from city andtown and country in Maryland and Pennsylvania and Virginia andWest Virginia and Delaware.There were many Americans and some Irish and some tough Irish anda few French, and several Italians and Poles, and they walkedinformally arm in arm with each other in twos and threes or inlong rows, almost universally distinguished by the straight mouthand the considerable chin--for this was the Society of Jesus,founded in Spain five hundred years before by a tough-mindedsoldier who trained men to hold a breach or a salon, preach asermon or write a treaty, and do it and not argue . . .Lois got out of a bus into the sunshine down by the outer gate.She was nineteen with yellow hair and eyes that people weretactful enough not to call green. When men of talent saw her in astreet-car they often furtively produced little stub-pencils andbacks of envelopes and tried to sum up that profile or the thingthat the eyebrows did to her eyes. Later they looked at theirresults and usually tore them up with wondering sighs.Though Lois was very jauntily attired in an expensivelyappropriate travelling affair, she did not linger to pat out thedust which covered her clothes, but started up the central walkwith curious glances at either side. Her face was very eager andexpectant, yet she hadn't at all that glorified expression thatgirls wear when they arrive for a Senior Prom at Princeton or NewHaven; still, as there were no senior proms here, perhaps itdidn't matter.She was wondering what he would look like, whether she'd possiblyknow him from his picture. In the picture, which hung over hermother's bureau at home, he seemed very young and hollow-cheekedand rather pitiful, with only a well-developed mouth and allill-fitting probationer's gown to show that he had already made amomentous decision about his life. Of course he had been onlynineteen then and now he was thirty-six--didn't look like that atall; in recent snap-shots he was much broader and his hair hadgrown a little thin--but the impression of her brother she hadalways retained was that of the big picture. And so she hadalways been a little sorry for him. What a life for a man!Seventeen years of preparation and he wasn't even a priestyet--wouldn't be for another year.Lois had an idea that this was all going to be rather solemn ifshe let it be. But she was going to give her very best imitationof undiluted sunshine, the imitation she could give even when herhead was splitting or when her mother had a nervous breakdown orwhen she was particularly romantic and curious and courageous.This brother of hers undoubtedly needed cheering up, and he wasgoing to be cheered up, whether he liked it or not.As she drew near the great, homely front door she saw a man breaksuddenly away from a group and, pulling up the skirts of hisgown, run toward her. He was smiling, she noticed, and he lookedvery big and--and reliable. She stopped and waited, knew that herheart was beating unusually fast."Lois!" he cried, and in a second she was in his arms. She wassuddenly trembling."Lois!" he cried again, "why, this is wonderful! I can't tellyou, Lois, how MUCH I've looked forward to this. Why, Lois,you're beautiful!"Lois gasped.His voice, though restrained, was vibrant with energy and thatodd sort of enveloping personality she had thought that she onlyof the family possessed."I'm mighty glad, too--Kieth."She flushed, but not unhappily, at this first use of his name."Lois--Lois--Lois," he repeated in wonder. "Child, we'll go inhere a minute, because I want you to meet the rector, and thenwe'll walk around. I have a thousand things to talk to youabout."His voice became graver. "How's mother?"She looked at him for a moment and then said something that shehad not intended to say at all, the very sort of thing she hadresolved to avoid."Oh, Kieth--she's--she's getting worse all the time, every way."He nodded slowly as if he understood."Nervous, well--you can tell me about that later. Now---"She was in a small study with a large desk, saying something to alittle, jovial, white-haired priest who retained her hand forsome seconds."So this is Lois!"He said it as if he had heard of her for years.He entreated her to sit down.Two other priests arrived enthusiastically and shook hands withher and addressed her as "Kieth's little sister," which she foundshe didn't mind a bit.How assured they seemed; she had expected a certain shyness,reserve at least. There were several jokes unintelligible to her,which seemed to delight every one, and the little Father Rectorreferred to the trio of them as "dim old monks," which sheappreciated, because of course they weren't monks at all. She hada lightning impression that they were especially fond ofKieth--the Father Rector had called him "Kieth" and one of theothers had kept a hand on his shoulder all through theconversation. Then she was shaking hands again and promising tocome back a little later for some ice-cream, and smiling andsmiling and being rather absurdly happy . . . she told herselfthat it was because Kieth was so delighted in showing her off.Then she and Kieth were strolling along a path, arm in arm, andhe was informing her what an absolute jewel the Father Rectorwas."Lois," he broken off suddenly, "I want to tell you before we goany farther how much it means to me to have you come up here. Ithink it was--mighty sweet of you. I know what a gay time you'vebeen having."Lois gasped. She was not prepared for this. At first when she hadconceived the plan of taking the hot journey down to Baltimorestaying the night with a friend and then coming out to see herbrother, she had felt rather consciously virtuous, hoped hewouldn't be priggish or resentful about her not having comebefore--but walking here with him under the trees seemed such alittle thing, and surprisingly a happy thing."Why, Kieth," she said quickly, "you know I couldn't have waiteda day longer. I saw you when I was five, but of course I didn'tremember, and how could I have gone on without practically everhaving seen my only brother?""It was mighty sweet of you, Lois," he repeated.Lois blushed--he DID have personality."I want you to tell me all about yourself," he said after apause. "Of course I have a general idea what you and mother didin Europe those fourteen years, and then we were all so worried,Lois, when you had pneumonia and couldn't come down withmother--let's see that was two years ago--and then, well, I'veseen your name in the papers, but it's all been sounsatisfactory. I haven't known you, Lois."She found herself analyzing his personality as she analyzed thepersonality of every man she met. She wondered if the effectof--of intimacy that he gave was bred by his constant repetitionof her name. He said it as if he loved the word, as if it had aninherent meaning to him."Then you were at school," he continued."Yes, at Farmington. Mother wanted me to go to a convent--but Ididn't want to."She cast a side glance at him to see if he would resent this.But he only nodded slowly."Had enough convents abroad, eh?""Yes--and Kieth, convents are different there anyway. Here evenin the nicest ones there are so many COMMON girls."He nodded again."Yes," he agreed, "I suppose there are, and I know how you feelabout it. It grated on me here, at first, Lois, though I wouldn'tsay that to any one but you; we're rather sensitive, you and I,to things like this.""You mean the men here?""Yes, some of them of course were fine, the sort of men I'dalways been thrown with, but there were others; a man namedRegan, for instance--I hated the fellow, and now he's about thebest friend I have. A wonderful character, Lois; you'll meet himlater. Sort of man you'd like to have with you in a fight."Lois was thinking that Kieth was the sort of man she'd like tohave with HER in a fight."How did you--how did you first happen to do it?" she asked,rather shyly, "to come here, I mean. Of course mother told me thestory about the Pullman car.""Oh, that---" He looked rather annoyed."Tell me that. I'd like to hear you tell it.""Oh, it's nothing except what you probably know. It was eveningand I'd been riding all day and thinking about--about a hundredthings, Lois, and then suddenly I had a sense that some one wassitting across from me, felt that he'd been there for some time,and had a vague idea that he was another traveller. All at oncehe leaned over toward me and I heard a voice say: 'I want you tobe a priest, that's what I want.' Well I jumped up and cried out,'Oh, my God, not that!'--made an idiot of myself before abouttwenty people; you see there wasn't any one sitting there at all.A week after that I went to the Jesuit College in Philadelphiaand crawled up the last flight of stairs to the rector's officeon my hands and knees."There was another silence and Lois saw that her brother's eyeswore a far-away look, that he was staring unseeingly out over thesunny fields. She was stirred by the modulations of his voiceand the sudden silence that seemed to flow about him when hefinished speaking.She noticed now that his eyes were of the same fibre as hers,with the green left out, and that his mouth was much gentler,really, than in the picture --or was it that the face had grownup to it lately? He was getting a little bald just on top of hishead. She wondered if that was from wearing a hat so much. Itseemed awful for a man to grow bald and no one to care about it."Were you--pious when you were young, Kieth?" she asked. "Youknow what I mean. Were you religious? If you don't mind thesepersonal questions.""Yes," he said with his eyes still far away--and she felt thathis intense abstraction was as much a part of his personality ashis attention. "Yes, I suppose I was, when I was--sober."Lois thrilled slightly."Did you drink?"He nodded."I was on the way to making a bad hash of things." He smiled and,turning his gray eyes on her, changed the subject."Child, tell me about mother. I know it's been awfully hard foryou there, lately. I know you've had to sacrifice a lot and putup with a great deal and I want you to know how fine of you Ithink it is. I feel, Lois, that you're sort of taking the placeof both of us there."Lois thought quickly how little she had sacrificed; how latelyshe had constantly avoided her nervous, half-invalid mother."Youth shouldn't be sacrificed to age, Kieth," she said steadily."I know," he sighed, "and you oughtn't to have the weight onyour shoulders, child. I wish I were there to help you."She saw how quickly he had turned her remark and instantly sheknew what this quality was that he gave off. He was SWEET. Herthoughts went of on a side-track and then she broke the silencewith an odd remark."Sweetness is hard," she said suddenly."What?""Nothing," she denied in confusion. "I didn't mean to speakaloud. I was thinking of something --of a conversation with a mannamed Freddy Kebble.""Maury Kebble's brother?""Yes," she said rather surprised to think of him having knownMaury Kebble. Still there was nothing strange about it. "Well, heand I were talking about sweetness a few weeks ago. Oh, I don'tknow--I said that a man named Howard--that a man I knew wassweet, and he didn't agree with me, and we began talking aboutwhat sweetness in a man was: He kept telling me I meant a sort ofsoppy softness, but I knew I didn't--yet I didn't know exactlyhow to put it. I see now. I meant just the opposite. I supposereal sweetness is a sort of hardness--and strength."Kieth nodded."I see what you mean. I've known old priests who had it.""I'm talking about young men," she said rather defiantly.They had reached the now deserted baseball diamond and, pointingher to a wooden bench, he sprawled full length on the grass."Are these YOUNG men happy here, Kieth?""Don't they look happy, Lois?""I suppose so, but those YOUNG ones, those two we justpassed--have they--are they---?"Are they signed up?" he laughed. "No, but they will be nextmonth.""Permanently?""Yes--unless they break down mentally or physically. Of course ina discipline like ours a lot drop out.""But those BOYS. Are they giving up fine chances outside--likeyou did?"He nodded."Some of them.""But Kieth, they don't know what they're doing. They haven't hadany experience of what they're missing.""No, I suppose not.""It doesn't seem fair. Life has just sort of scared them atfirst. Do they all come in so YOUNG?""No, some of them have knocked around, led pretty wildlives--Regan, for instance.""I should think that sort would be better," she saidmeditatively, "men that had SEEN life.""No," said Kieth earnestly, "I'm not sure that knocking aboutgives a man the sort of experience he can communicate to others.Some of the broadest men I've known have been absolutely rigidabout themselves. And reformed libertines are a notoriouslyintolerant class. Don't you thank so, Lois?"She nodded, still meditative, and he continued:"It seems to me that when one weak reason goes to another, itisn't help they want; it's a sort of companionship in guilt,Lois. After you were born, when mother began to get nervous sheused to go and weep with a certain Mrs. Comstock. Lord, it usedto make me shiver. She said it comforted her, poor old mother.No, I don't think that to help others you've got to show yourselfat all. Real help comes from a stronger person whom you respect.And their sympathy is all the bigger because it's impersonal.""But people want human sympathy," objected Lois. "They want tofeel the other person's been tempted.""Lois, in their hearts they want to feel that the other person'sbeen weak. That's what they mean by human."Here in this old monkery, Lois," he continued with a smile, "theytry to get all that self-pity and pride in our own wills out ofus right at the first. They put us to scrubbing floors--and otherthings. It's like that idea of saving your life by losing it.You see we sort of feel that the less human a man is, in yoursense of human, the better servant he can be to humanity. Wecarry it out to the end, too. When one of us dies his familycan't even have him then. He's buried here under plain woodencross with a thousand others."His tone changed suddenly and he looked at her with a greatbrightness in his gray eyes."But way back in a man's heart there are some things he can't getrid of--an one of them is that I'm awfully in love with mylittle sister."With a sudden impulse she knelt beside him in the grass and,Leaning over, kissed his forehead."You're hard, Kieth," she said, "and I love you for it--andyou're sweet."
IIIBack in the reception-room Lois met a half-dozen more of Kieth'sparticular friends; there was a young man named Jarvis, ratherpale and delicate-looking, who, she knew, must be a grandson ofold Mrs. Jarvis at home, and she mentally compared this asceticwith a brace of his riotous uncles.And there was Regan with a scarred face and piercing intent eyesthat followed her about the room and often rested on Kieth withsomething very like worship. She knew then what Kieth had meantabout "a good man to have with you in a fight."He's the missionary type--she thought vaguely--China or something."I want Kieth's sister to show us what the shimmy is," demandedone young man with a broad grin.Lois laughed."I'm afraid the Father Rector would send me shimmying out thegate. Besides, I'm not an expert.""I'm sure it wouldn't be best for Jimmy's soul anyway," saidKieth solemnly. "He's inclined to brood about things likeshimmys. They were just starting to do the--maxixe, wasn't it,Jimmy?--when he became a monk, and it haunted him his whole firstyear. You'd see him when he was peeling potatoes, putting hisarm around the bucket and making irreligious motions with hisfeet."There was a general laugh in which Lois joined."An old lady who comes here to Mass sent Kieth this ice-cream,"whispered Jarvis under cover of the laugh, "because she'd heardyou were coming. It's pretty good, isn't it?"There were tears trembling in Lois' eyes.
IVThen half an hour later over in the chapel things suddenly wentall wrong. It was several years since Lois had been atBenediction and at first she was thrilled by the gleamingmonstrance with its central spot of white, the air rich and heavywith incense, and the sun shining through the stained-glasswindow of St. Francis Xavier overhead and falling in warm redtracery on the cassock of the man in front of her, but at thefirst notes of the "O SALUTARIS HOSTIA" a heavy weight seemed todescend upon her soul. Kieth was on her right and young Jarvis onher left, and she stole uneasy glance at both of them.What's the matter with me? she thought impatiently.She looked again. Was there a certain coldness in both theirprofiles, that she had not noticed before--a pallor about themouth and a curious set expression in their eyes? She shiveredslightly: they were like dead men.She felt her soul recede suddenly from Kieth's. This was herbrother--this, this unnatural person. She caught herself in theact of a little laugh."What is the matter with me?"She passed her hand over her eyes and the weight increased. Theincense sickened her and a stray, ragged note from one of thetenors in the choir grated on her ear like the shriek of aslate-pencil. She fidgeted, and raising her hand to her hairtouched her forehead, found moisture on it."It's hot in here, hot as the deuce."Again she repressed a faint laugh and, then in an instant theweight on her heart suddenly diffused into cold fear. . . . Itwas that candle on the altar. It was all wrong--wrong. Why didn'tsomebody see it? There was something IN it. There was somethingcoming out of it, taking form and shape above it.She tried to fight down her rising panic, told herself it was thewick. If the wick wasn't straight, candles did something--butthey didn't do this! With incalculable rapidity a force wasgathering within her, a tremendous, assimilative force, drawingfrom every sense, every corner of her brain, and as it surged upinside her she felt an enormous terrified repulsion. She drew herarms in close to her side away from Kieth and Jarvis.Something in that candle . . . she was leaning forward--inanother moment she felt she would go forward toward it--didn'tany one see it? . . . anyone?"Ugh!"She felt a space beside her and something told her that Jarvishad gasped and sat down very suddenly . . . then she was kneelingand as the flaming monstrance slowly left the altar in the handsof the priest, she heard a great rushing noise in her ears--thecrash of the bells was like hammer-blows . . . and then in amoment that seemed eternal a great torrent rolled over herheart--there was a shouting there and a lashing as of waves . . .. . . She was calling, felt herself calling for Kieth, her lipsmouthing the words that would not come:"Kieth! Oh, my God! KIETH!"Suddenly she became aware of a new presence, something external,in front of her, consummated and expressed in warm red tracery.Then she knew. It was the window of St. Francis Xavier. Her mindgripped at it, clung to it finally, and she felt herself callingagain endlessly, impotently--Kieth--Kieth!Then out of a great stillness came a voice:"BLESSED BE GOD."With a gradual rumble sounded the response rolling heavilythrough the chapel:"Blessed be God."The words sang instantly in her heart; the incense lay mysticallyand sweetly peaceful upon the air, and THE CANDLE ON THE ALTARWENT OUT."Blessed be His Holy Name.""Blessed be His Holy Name."Everything blurred into a swinging mist. With a sound half-gasp,half-cry she rocked on her feet and reeled backward into Kieth'ssuddenly outstretched arms.
V"Lie still, child."She closed her eyes again. She was on the grass outside, pillowedon Kieth's arm, and Regan was dabbing her head with a cold towel."I'm all right," she said quietly."I know, but just lie still a minute longer. It was too hot inthere. Jarvis felt it, too."She laughed as Regan again touched her gingerly with the towel."I'm all right," she repeated.But though a warm peace was falling her mind and heart she feltoddly broken and chastened, as if some one had held her strippedsoul up and laughed.
VIHalf an hour later she walked leaning on Kieth's arm down thelong central path toward the gate."It's been such a short afternoon," he sighed, "and I'm so sorryyou were sick, Lois.""Kieth, I'm feeling fine now, really; I wish you wouldn't worry.""Poor old child. I didn't realize that Benediction'd be a longservice for you after your hot trip out here and all."She laughed cheerfully."I guess the truth is I'm not much used to Benediction. Mass isthe limit of my religious exertions."She paused and then continued quickly:"I don't want to shock you, Kieth, but I can't tell you how--howINCONVENIENT being a Catholic is. It really doesn't seem to applyany more. As far as morals go, some of the wildest boys I knoware Catholics. And the brightest boys--I mean the ones who thinkand read a lot, don't seem to believe in much of anything anymore.""Tell me about it. The bus won't be here for another half-hour."They sat down on a bench by the path."For instance, Gerald Carter, he's published a novel. Heabsolutely roars when people mention immortality. And thenHowa--well, another man I've known well, lately, who was Phi BetaKappa at Harvard says that no intelligent person can believe inSupernatural Christianity. He says Christ was a great socialist,though. Am I shocking you?"She broke off suddenly.Kieth smiled."You can't shock a monk. He's a professional shock-absorber.""Well," she continued, "that's about all. It seems so--so NARROW.Church schools, for instance. There's more freedom about thingsthat Catholic people can't see--like birth control."Kieth winced, almost imperceptibly, but Lois saw it."Oh," she said quickly, "everybody talks about everything now.""It's probably better that way.""Oh, yes, much better. Well, that's all, Kieth. I just wanted totell you why I'm a little--luke-warm, at present.""I'm not shocked, Lois. I understand better than you think. Weall go through those times. But I know it'll come out all right,child. There's that gift of faith that we have, you and I,that'll carry us past the bad spots."He rose as he spoke and they started again down the path."I want you to pray for me sometimes, Lois. I think your prayerswould be about what I need. Because we've come very close inthese few hours, I think."Her eyes were suddenly shining."Oh we have, we have!" she cried. "I feel closer to you now thanto any one in the world."He stopped suddenly and indicated the side of the path."We might--just a minute---"It was a pieta, a life-size statue of the Blessed Virgin setwithin a semicircle of rocks.Feeling a little self-conscious she dropped on her knees besidehim and made an unsuccessful attempt at prayer.She was only half through when he rose. He took her arm again."I wanted to thank Her for letting as have this day together," hesaid simply.Lois felt a sudden lump in her throat and she wanted to saysomething that would tell him how much it had meant to her, too.But she found no words."I'll always remember this," he continued, his voice trembling alittle---"this summer day with you. It's been just what Iexpected. You're just what I expected, Lois.""I'm awfully glad, Keith.""You see, when you were little they kept sending me snap-shots ofyou, first as a baby and then as a child in socks playing on thebeach with a pail and shovel, and then suddenly as a wistfullittle girl with wondering, pure eyes--and I used to build dreamsabout you. A man has to have something living to cling to. Ithink, Lois, it was your little white soul I tried to keep nearme--even when life was at its loudest and every intellectual ideaof God seemed the sheerest mockery, and desire and love and amillion things came up to me and said: 'Look here at me! See, I'mLife. You're turning your back on it!' All the way through thatshadow, Lois, I could always see your baby soul flitting on aheadof me, very frail and clear and wonderful."Lois was crying softly. They had reached the gate and she restedher elbow on it and dabbed furiously at her eyes."And then later, child, when you were sick I knelt all one nightand asked God to spare you for me--for I knew then that I wantedmore; He had taught me to want more. I wanted to know you movedand breathed in the same world with me. I saw you growing up,that white innocence of yours changing to a flame and burning togive light to other weaker souls. And then I wanted some day totake your children on my knee and hear them call the crabbed oldmonk Uncle Kieth."He seemed to be laughing now as he talked."Oh, Lois, Lois, I was asking God for more then. I wanted theletters you'd write me and the place I'd have at your table. Iwanted an awful lot, Lois, dear.""You've got me, Kieth," she sobbed "you know it, say you know it.Oh, I'm acting like a baby but I didn't think you'd be this way,and I--oh, Kieth--Kieth---"He took her hand and patted it softly."Here's the bus. You'll come again won't you?"She put her hands on his cheeks, add drawing his head down,pressed her tear-wet face against his."Oh, Kieth, brother, some day I'll tell you something."He helped her in, saw her take down her handkerchief and smilebravely at him, as the driver kicked his whip and the bus rolledoff. Then a thick cloud of dust rose around it and she was gone.For a few minutes he stood there on the road his hand on thegate-post, his lips half parted in a smile."Lois," he said aloud in a sort of wonder, "Lois, Lois."Later, some probationers passing noticed him kneeling before thepieta, and coming back after a time found him still there. And hewas there until twilight came down and the courteous trees grewgarrulous overhead and the crickets took up their burden of songin the dusky grass.
VIIThe first clerk in the telegraph booth in the Baltimore Stationwhistled through his buck teeth at the second clerk:"S'matter?""See that girl--no, the pretty one with the big black dots on herveil. Too late--she's gone. You missed somep'n.""What about her?""Nothing. 'Cept she's damn good-looking. Came in here yesterdayand sent a wire to some guy to meet her somewhere. Then a minuteago she came in with a telegram all written out and was standin'there goin' to give it to me when she changed her mind or somep'nand all of a sudden tore it up.""Hm."The first clerk came around tile counter and picking up the twopieces of paper from the floor put them together idly. The secondclerk read them over his shoulder and subconsciously counted thewords as he read. There were just thirteen."This is in the way of a permanent goodbye. I should suggestItaly."Lois.""Tore it up, eh?" said the second clerk.
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