Part 10

But at the gate once more she held him close And quenched her heart again upon his lips. "My Sweetheart, why this terror? I propose But to be gone one hour! Evening slips Away, this errand must be done." "Max! Max! First goes my father, if I lose you now!" She grasped him as in panic lest she drown. Softly he laughed, "One hour through the town By moonlight! That's no place for foul attacks. Dearest, be comforted, and clear that troubled brow.

One hour, Dear, and then, no more alone. We front another day as man and wife. I shall be back almost before I'm gone, And midnight shall anoint and crown our life." Then through the gate he passed. Along the street She watched his buttons gleaming in the moon. He stopped to wave and turned the garden wall. Straight she sank down upon a mossy seat. Her senses, mist-encircled by a swoon, Swayed to unconsciousness beneath its wreathing pall.

Briskly Max walked beside the still canal. His step was firm with purpose. Not a jot He feared this meeting, nor the rancorous gall Grootver would spit on him who marred his plot. He dreaded no man, since he could protect Christine. His wife! He stopped and laughed aloud. His starved life had not fitted him for joy. It strained him to the utmost to reject Even this hour with her. His heart beat loud. "Damn Grootver, who can force my time to this employ!"

He laughed again. What boyish uncontrol To be so racked. Then felt his ticking watch. In half an hour Grootver would know the whole. And he would be returned, lifting the latch Of his own gate, eager to take Christine And crush her to his lips. How bear delay? He broke into a run. In front, a line Of candle-light banded the cobbled street. Hilverdink's tavern! Not for many a day Had he been there to take his old, accustomed seat.

"Why, Max! Stop, Max!" And out they came pell-mell, His old companions. "Max, where have you been? Not drink with us? Indeed you serve us well! How many months is it since we have seen You here? Jan, Jan, you slow, old doddering goat! Here's Mynheer Breuck come back again at last, Stir your old bones to welcome him. Fie, Max. Business! And after hours! Fill your throat; Here's beer or brandy. Now, boys, hold him fast. Put down your cane, dear man. What really vicious whacks!"

They forced him to a seat, and held him there, Despite his anger, while the hideous joke Was tossed from hand to hand. Franz poured with care A brimming glass of whiskey. "Here, we've broke Into a virgin barrel for you, drink! Tut! Tut! Just hear him! Married! Who, and when? Married, and out on business. Clever Spark! Which lie's the likeliest? Come, Max, do think." Swollen with fury, struggling with these men, Max cursed hilarity which must needs have a mark.

Forcing himself to steadiness, he tried To quell the uproar, told them what he dared Of his own life and circumstance. Implied Most urgent matters, time could ill be spared. In jesting mood his comrades heard his tale, And scoffed at it. He felt his anger more Goaded and bursting;--"Cowards! Is no one loth To mock at duty--" Here they called for ale, And forced a pipe upon him. With an oath He shivered it to fragments on the earthen floor.

Sobered a little by his violence, And by the host who begged them to be still, Nor injure his good name, "Max, no offence," They blurted, "you may leave now if you will." "One moment, Max," said Franz. "We've gone too far. I ask your pardon for our foolish joke. It started in a wager ere you came. The talk somehow had fall'n on drugs, a jar I brought from China, herbs the natives smoke, Was with me, and I thought merely to play a game.

Its properties are to induce a sleep Fraught with adventure, and the flight of time Is inconceivable in swiftness. Deep Sunken in slumber, imageries sublime Flatter the senses, or some fearful dream Holds them enmeshed. Years pass which on the clock Are but so many seconds. We agreed That the next man who came should prove the scheme; And you were he. Jan handed you the crock. Two whiffs! And then the pipe was broke, and you were freed."

"It is a lie, a damned, infernal lie!" Max Breuck was maddened now. "Another jest Of your befuddled wits. I know not why I am to be your butt. At my request You'll choose among you one who'll answer for Your most unseasonable mirth. Good-night And good-by,--gentlemen. You'll hear from me." But Franz had caught him at the very door, "It is no lie, Max Breuck, and for your plight I am to blame. Come back, and we'll talk quietly.

You have no business, that is why we laughed, Since you had none a few minutes ago. As to your wedding, naturally we chaffed, Knowing the length of time it takes to do A simple thing like that in this slow world. Indeed, Max, 'twas a dream. Forgive me then. I'll burn the drug if you prefer." But Breuck Muttered and stared,--"A lie." And then he hurled, Distraught, this word at Franz: "Prove it. And when It's proven, I'll believe. That thing shall be your work.

I'll give you just one week to make your case. On August thirty-first, eighteen-fourteen, I shall require your proof." With wondering face Franz cried, "A week to August, and fourteen The year! You're mad, 'tis April now. April, and eighteen-twelve." Max staggered, caught A chair,--"April two years ago! Indeed, Or you, or I, are mad. I know not how Either could blunder so." Hilverdink brought "The Amsterdam Gazette", and Max was forced to read.

"Eighteen hundred and twelve," in largest print; And next to it, "April the twenty-first." The letters smeared and jumbled, but by dint Of straining every nerve to meet the worst, He read it, and into his pounding brain Tumbled a horror. Like a roaring sea Foreboding shipwreck, came the message plain: "This is two years ago! What of Christine?" He fled the cellar, in his agony Running to outstrip Fate, and save his holy shrine.

The darkened buildings echoed to his feet Clap-clapping on the pavement as he ran. Across moon-misted squares clamoured his fleet And terror-winged steps. His heart began To labour at the speed. And still no sign, No flutter of a leaf against the sky. And this should be the garden wall, and round The corner, the old gate. No even line Was this! No wall! And then a fearful cry Shattered the stillness. Two stiff houses filled the ground.

Shoulder to shoulder, like dragoons in line, They stood, and Max knew them to be the ones To right and left of Kurler's garden. Spine Rigid next frozen spine. No mellow tones Of ancient gilded iron, undulate, Expanding in wide circles and broad curves, The twisted iron of the garden gate, Was there. The houses touched and left no space Between. With glassy eyes and shaking nerves Max gazed. Then mad with fear, fled still, and left that place.

Stumbling and panting, on he ran, and on. His slobbering lips could only cry, "Christine! My Dearest Love! My Wife! Where are you gone? What future is our past? What saturnine, Sardonic devil's jest has bid us live Two years together in a puff of smoke? It was no dream, I swear it! In some star, Or still imprisoned in Time's egg, you give Me love. I feel it. Dearest Dear, this stroke Shall never part us, I will reach to where you are."

His burning eyeballs stared into the dark. The moon had long been set. And still he cried: "Christine! My Love! Christine!" A sudden spark Pricked through the gloom, and shortly Max espied With his uncertain vision, so within Distracted he could scarcely trust its truth, A latticed window where a crimson gleam Spangled the blackness, and hung from a pin, An iron crane, were three gilt balls. His youth Had taught their meaning, now they closed upon his dream.

Softly he knocked against the casement, wide It flew, and a cracked voice his business there Demanded. The door opened, and inside Max stepped. He saw a candle held in air Above the head of a gray-bearded Jew. "Simeon Isaacs, Mynheer, can I serve You?" "Yes, I think you can. Do you keep arms? I want a pistol." Quick the old man grew Livid. "Mynheer, a pistol! Let me swerve You from your purpose. Life brings often false alarms--"

"Peace, good old Isaacs, why should you suppose My purpose deadly. In good truth I've been Blest above others. You have many rows Of pistols it would seem. Here, this shagreen Case holds one that I fancy. Silvered mounts Are to my taste. These letters `C. D. L.' Its former owner? Dead, you say. Poor Ghost! 'Twill serve my turn though--" Hastily he counts The florins down upon the table. "Well, Good-night, and wish me luck for your to-morrow's toast."

Into the night again he hurried, now Pale and in haste; and far beyond the town He set his goal. And then he wondered how Poor C. D. L. had come to die. "It's grown Handy in killing, maybe, this I've bought, And will work punctually." His sorrow fell Upon his senses, shutting out all else. Again he wept, and called, and blindly fought The heavy miles away. "Christine. I'm well. I'm coming. My Own Wife!" He lurched with failing pulse.

Along the dyke the keen air blew in gusts, And grasses bent and wailed before the wind. The Zuider Zee, which croons all night and thrusts Long stealthy fingers up some way to find And crumble down the stones, moaned baffled. Here The wide-armed windmills looked like gallows-trees. No lights were burning in the distant thorps. Max laid aside his coat. His mind, half-clear, Babbled "Christine!" A shot split through the breeze. The cold stars winked and glittered at his chilling corpse.

Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris

Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way out beyond the sky. I am so little, it may be A task for you to harken me.

O Lady Mary, I have bought A candle, as the good priest taught. I only had one penny, so Old Goody Jenkins let it go. It is a little bent, you see. But Oh, be merciful to me!

I have not anything to give, Yet I so long for him to live. A year ago he sailed away And not a word unto today. I've strained my eyes from the sea-wall But never does he come at all.

Other ships have entered port Their voyages finished, long or short, And other sailors have received Their welcomes, while I sat and grieved. My heart is bursting for his hail, O Virgin, let me spy his sail.

Hull down on the edge of a sun-soaked sea Sparkle the bellying sails for me. Taut to the push of a rousing wind Shaking the sea till it foams behind, The tightened rigging is shrill with the song: "We are back again who were gone so long."

One afternoon I bumped my head. I sat on a post and wished I were dead Like father and mother, for no one cared Whither I went or how I fared. A man's voice said, "My little lad, Here's a bit of a toy to make you glad."