Everyman's Land

of mistake. The photograp

reaved of a loved one, for in a way-a schoolgirl way, perhaps-I had loved my prince of the arbour. And always since our day together,

ly I woke up. Things were as bad as ever again, and even worse, because of their contrast with the past I'd conjured up. Grief for the death of Jimmy Becket

excuse for what I did, dear Padre. I'm onl

to me as he promised, that the awful idea developed in my head. The thought wasn't born full-

t their son, and they could have comforted me. Perhaps they would have adopted us as their children. We need ne

suddenly leaped to an enormous height, as if

to marry their only son? The paper said he left no fiancée or wife in America. You can easily make them

like the Tongues of Fire in the Upper Room. My whole bo

reminded me that I mustn't wake Brian, but I co

ings they'd love to hear-and some would be true things. You were in the hospital close to St. Raphael for months, while Jimmy Beckett was in the training camp. Who's to say you didn't meet? If you'd been engaged to him sin

el plan it was, I should have given it up. But it seemed a burning

noiselessly over the paper. Now and then I glanced over my shoulder at Brian, and he was still fast asleep, looking more like an angel than a man. You know my nickname for him was always "Saint" because of his beautiful pure f

dful kind of ease, not hesitati

n. I met him nearly four years ago, when my brother and I were travelling in France and Belgium. Our meeting was the romance of my life. I hardly dare to think he told you about it. But a few months ago I took up nursing at the H?pital des épidemies, near St. Rap

ialist Dr. Cuyler, but he tells me an operation would be useless. They say that one sorrow blunts another. I do not find it so. My heart is almost breaking.

deepest

O'Ma

, so I was able to leave him and run do

n me. They turn me into a "don't care" sort of person without conscience and without fear. No wonder some nations give soldiers a dash of et

y dash my sinful hopes by saying, "Pas de réponse, Mademoiselle"; or would he bring me a letter from Father and Mother Beckett

gs happened. It was rather as if I were in a theatre, watching an act of a play

e, which-ordinarily-would have stirred me to the heart. But they made no impression on my brain. I forgot the words as they left my lips. Dimly I wondered if the

over ways and means, and how we were to arrange our future. I shirked the discussion. Things would adjust t

sprang up. Suddenly the ether-like carelessness was gone. My life-my very soul-was at

to the Ritz. But I had no time to wonder why not, when he announce

now in Paris? Who had learned that we were at this hotel? Had the monsieur and the dame given thei

e eyes immense, with the pupils dilating over the blue, as an inky pool might drown a border of violets and blot out their colour. Even my lips were white. I was glad I had on a black d

ve gone fast without falling. I opened the door of the stuffy