MrS. HARDENS 
 m >T 
 
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 3 1822 01116 3169 
 
 JAMES
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
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 flp 77 
 
 PS 3515 A9317 M5 
 
 3 1822 01116 3169 
 
 PS 
 3515 
 
 MS
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL
 
 He dragged the heavy hangings to the floor, disclosing Palmer. 
 FRONTISPIECE. See page 100.
 
 MRS. MARDEN S 
 ORDEAL 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES HAY, JR. 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE BY 
 ARMAND BOTH 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 1918
 
 Copyright, 1918, 
 BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 Published, April, 1918.
 
 To B.
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A CCORDING to ordinary standards, I 
 -^*- should consider Charlie Corcoran s 
 tragedy greater than mine particularly as I 
 am almost as big a figure in his as in my own. 
 But I can not. There are times when the 
 ordinary standards are worth no more than the 
 words in which they are framed. They neither 
 define justice nor afford consolation. And 
 now I can not be bound by the mockery of trite 
 conventions and accepted rules. I must do, 
 not what people would have me do, but what I 
 want to do. 
 
 When all is said and done, do we not, under 
 the hot urge of the things that make life worth 
 while, do always what we want to do? 
 
 I am utterly unable to make myself say that 
 I am as sorry for Charlie as I am for myself. 
 It does not matter to me at all, in the last 
 analysis, that his, like mine, is a love tragedy. 
 I am a woman and what woman can be so
 
 2 MBS. MABDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 grieved by the ruin of another s love life as by 
 the desolation of her own? My heart eries 
 out for comforting, my soul is so burdened 
 that I must have help. That is why Charlie s 
 grief is, to me, like a thing distant and 
 shadowy. 
 
 If I can help him, that is well and good. 
 But the thing I desire desire with a very 
 anguish of longing is my own peace of mind. 
 
 That is why I have made today a promise 
 which, when I consider it, frightens me. I 
 have agreed to bare my soul to the scrutiny of 
 another, and that other is a man. There is to 
 be neither mental reservation nor deception 
 nor half-truth in what I am to say to him. 
 When I have told him of my actions, I shall 
 have merely begun my confidences to him, for, 
 after the actions, will come the description of 
 my motives. And, when one tells the naked 
 truth about why one does things, one unveils 
 those desires and incentives and longings 
 which are the very structure of one s soul. 
 
 Would any other woman have the courage 
 to do this? My determination to undertake it 
 is the result of a long agony. Only agony 
 can drive one to such exposure of one s real 
 self. 
 
 It seems to matter very little that Doctor
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 3 
 
 Doyle, the man to whom I am going in my 
 unspeakable need, is an old friend of mine, 
 was a friend of my father and mother. In a 
 way, this fact alone increases the difficulty. 
 But " D R " I call him D R because, as a 
 little girl, I never could understand the " Dr." 
 in front of his name and invariably spelled it 
 out- is a very wonderful person in the world 
 of mental problems and psychology, and I 
 know that he, more than anybody else, is able 
 to bring me some measure of peace and com 
 fort. Indeed, nobody else could. 
 
 " Tell me, D R," I asked him just a few 
 hours ago, " can you do you think you can 
 help me? " 
 
 " I know it," he answered. 
 
 And for the moment I almost believed him. 
 D R is so persuasive. He is tall, with great 
 broad shoulders and a deep chest I don t 
 think any little man ever seems exactly authori 
 tative to a woman and his round head seems 
 huge. But his eyes are tender as any woman s, 
 a clear gray which, when he is greatly moved, 
 turns almost purple in certain lights, and his 
 mobile lips curve in a smile that makes you 
 forget altogether the grimness of his rather 
 heavy jaw. Even without these, he would be 
 consoling and winning, for his voice, although
 
 4 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 it is a deep bass, has the sonorous sound of the 
 notes of a cathedral organ. Finally, he is 
 forty-eight years old, and I am only twenty- 
 five. If he were my own age, I know I could 
 not talk to him as I shall have to do. 
 
 " First," he explained to me, down in the 
 library just now, " you will tell me all the 
 things that have been worrying you. After 
 that, we will try to see what other things, 
 things you don t recall at once, have worried 
 you. Then, we shall see how you can re 
 arrange your way of living, how we can make 
 it a better way of living." 
 
 " A better way of living? " I asked, puzzled. 
 
 Why, yes," he said gently. " You see, 
 you haven t been living as you should have. 
 As a result of what you have thought and said 
 and done, here you are confronted by a double 
 tragedy or what seems a double tragedy." 
 
 " Surely," I said, " to have my love for my 
 husband die and to know that my husband s 
 love is dead, and to see what Charlie Cor 
 coran has come to surely, that is a double 
 tragedy ! " 
 
 He did not answer that, but looked at me 
 in the queerest, and yet the most reassuring, 
 way. 
 
 " Ruth," he told me, " this will take a lot
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 5 
 
 of patience on your part, and a lot of work 
 and enormous courage. Can you go through 
 with it? " 
 
 " I must have advice and consolation," I 
 said, " or I shall go mad. Yes, I can do it." 
 
 * You will have to tell me all things," he 
 elaborated. This is to be an analysis of your 
 soul, of the depths of your soul. You will 
 have to tell me what you believe about re 
 ligion, the most intimate things about your 
 life with your husband, the big things and the 
 little things, sex things and all. You may 
 keep nothing back from me. In this way only 
 can we analyze your soul and see in what way 
 it has gone wrong so that, in the end, we 
 may put it on the right track and bring you 
 peace, happiness. You see, you suffer, not 
 because you are sick, but because you are 
 unhappy." 
 
 I was anxious to convince him that I would 
 stop at nothing he asked of me. 
 
 Then, he told me that we would start to 
 work tomorrow, that the first thing he wanted 
 me to do was to tell him the story of every 
 thing leading up to last night, and that we 
 would discuss it afterwards. I can see that 
 he thinks George and I really love each other. 
 But he will realize his mistake after he has
 
 6 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 heard my story. My husband and I are lost 
 to each other forever. 
 
 If that were not true, I would not be miser 
 able now more than miserable, for, in addi 
 tion to my grief, I feel that I am going insane. 
 I can not think properly. The most awful 
 ideas come into my mind. I can no longer 
 control my thoughts. Night and day it is as 
 if I were being ridden by devils. Real love 
 between a man and a woman can not cause 
 that. It is because my love is a terrible 
 tragedy that I feel as I do. 
 
 D R told me I might spend all this 
 afternoon and this evening writing out a 
 description of the details of what happened 
 last evening. He said it would freshen my 
 memory and would enable me to tell him the 
 story more clearly. That is what I shall do 
 write it all out, up to the time my mind became 
 a blank. He has already told me what hap 
 pened after that, what occurred between then 
 and this morning, when I awoke and found 
 him bending over me in the library. 
 
 It is an awful sensation, this knowledge 
 that for ten or eleven hours I was saying 
 things and doing things without knowing that 
 I even was alive. It is such a terror to me 
 that, if I did not have this writing to occupy
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 7 
 
 me, I should go raving mad. Perhaps, that 
 is why he told me I might make this diary. 
 
 At any rate, I go back now to the beginning 
 of my tragedy and Charlie Corcoran s. I 
 shall set down everything that began three 
 days ago and resulted in the awful thing of 
 last night in my own house. 
 
 It is strange that I have spoken of my 
 tragedy and Charlie s and not of Marjorie 
 Nesbit s. This may be the result of what she 
 has made me suffer. How she has made me 
 suffer, I can not describe the days of weeping, 
 the nights thronged by nameless terrors. Peo 
 ple \vould call me nervous. That is what they 
 say of all women whose hearts are broken, 
 whose lives have come to be nothing but a 
 wringing of hands and a shedding of tears. 
 " Nerves! " and they shrug and pass on! 
 But I know the truth. I have borne more 
 than any woman can bear, and the result is 
 that my reason is tottering, or practically 
 destroyed. 
 
 I am, to all intents and purposes, a mad 
 woman. And my one hope is D R. 
 
 I say he is my " hope." And yet, he is not 
 even that to me. I do not hope. Rather, I 
 sit here and say to myself that there is no hope, 
 and I ask myself, how can D R expect to give
 
 8 MES. MARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 me back my happiness, my beautiful happi 
 ness? Without hoping, I am letting him try 
 his best, and, in the meantime, I am convinced 
 that nothing, nobody, can ever unravel the 
 tangle of my life or ever give me again the 
 sweet, clean thoughts that once were mine.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 EORGE HARDEN is my husband, and 
 for the last year the one consuming de 
 sire of my soul has been to love him but I 
 can not. Three days ago, when I went down 
 to breakfast, that thought was in my mind: 
 that I wanted to love him, and could not. 
 
 He had reached the dining room ahead of 
 me and was standing with his back to the open 
 fire, waiting for me. I did not offer to let him 
 kiss me. I knew he expected it, but I could 
 not force myself to endure the farce of it. 
 When I went to my chair at the table, he made 
 no comment, but took his own place, a light 
 little ironic smile on his face. I noticed how 
 good-looking he was with the rays of the morn 
 ing sun on his forehead and dark brown hair, 
 
 I began to pour the coffee. 
 
 " What s the matter? " he asked. 
 
 That question made me angry. I could not 
 answer it with the cool statement that the love 
 between us was over. He would have laughed 
 and refused to discuss it. Besides, he would 
 not have understood.
 
 10 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " There s nothing the matter, George," I 
 said evenly. 
 
 " I m sorry," he retorted, in the tone he 
 would have used to complain that the coffee 
 was cold. 
 
 "Sorry?" 
 
 * Yes. If there were something the matter, 
 we might be able to to make things go 
 better." 
 
 I did not reply to that. 
 
 After a pause, he inquired, " Seen Marjorie 
 lately?" 
 
 My heart bounded at that question. She 
 was the woman about whom the misun 
 derstanding between us centered. I was 
 amazed that he volunteered any reference to 
 her. 
 
 " No," I said, buttering a muffin with 
 elaborate care. 
 
 " I saw her last night," he went on. 
 
 I made no comment on that. 
 
 " She told me," he said, and I knew he was 
 looking directly at me, " she hadn t received 
 her invitation to your dance." 
 
 I met his gaze squarely. 
 
 " Hasn t she? " I returned coolly. 
 
 I told her," he continued, " that it must 
 have been lost in the mails."
 
 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 11 
 
 Of course, he knew no such thing had hap 
 pened. He knew I had deliberately left her 
 off the list. Nevertheless, I said: 
 
 " It must have. I ll send her another by 
 messenger this morning with a note of 
 explanation." 
 
 I said that because, all of a sudden, I made 
 up my mind that my pride was superior to my 
 distaste for Marjorie. I would not let my 
 husband see that I disliked the girl because of 
 him. And yet, this was ridiculous because he 
 knew exactly how I felt toward her. 
 
 He looked at me with his broad smile. 
 
 ; Why don t you go to see her? " he sug 
 gested. 
 
 That was to hurt me ! 
 
 " I shall," I said calmly. 
 
 He stared for the fraction of a second. 
 
 " Good for you! " he said, as he would have 
 congratulated a friend for putting a horse over 
 a stiff jump. 
 
 He was convinced, apparently, that he had 
 never been in fault so far as Marjorie was 
 concerned. That is his way all the time. He 
 does things with a laugh and an air of aban 
 don. Nothing is wrong because there is 
 nothing wrong in his motives! He goes 
 through life on the assumption that " every-
 
 12 MES. MAEDBN S OEDEAL 
 
 thing is all right," and, if it isn t, it will be 
 soon! 
 
 Everybody likes him. People say to me 
 every day, " Mrs. Harden, what a charming 
 husband you have!" His popularity is re 
 stricted to no particular class, and men as well 
 as women like him. He is a man who uses 
 up away from home so much of his likable 
 qualities, so much of his pleasantness, so much 
 of his affection, that he seems to have remain 
 ing very little demonstrativeness for his wife. 
 At home he drifts along, giving little, accept 
 ing everything. 
 
 I do not think I am doing him an injustice. 
 I was desperately in love with him when I 
 married him over four years ago. He was an 
 ideal lover. Do ideal lovers, I wonder, ever 
 become dependable husbands? Does the verve, 
 the dash, the exquisite spirit, which makes the 
 man a fascinating wooer, compel him after 
 marriage to seek much of his happiness abroad? 
 Trying to solve my pitiful problem, I have 
 wondered about this until my head swam. 
 
 His attitude toward Marjorie at breakfast 
 that morning was typical of his daily behavior 
 with me. He knew the town had been gossip 
 ing about him and her. He knew I was aware 
 of her efforts to attract him to her side, to
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 13 
 
 flatter her vanity if for nothing else. Above 
 all, he could not have forgotten my grief and 
 humiliation six months before, when he and 
 Marjorie had spent an entire summer night on 
 the roadside four miles out of town. 
 
 At the time Marjorie had sighed, with 
 laughter back of the sigh, " My dear, it was 
 awful simply awful! What won t people 
 say? " 
 
 And George, regarding the affair as an in 
 cident to be forgotten, had strolled in to break 
 fast, announced where he had been and said: 
 
 " Don t look so tragic, Ruth. What was 
 it, after all? You didn t feel like going out to 
 the Winslows dinner dance, and I did. I 
 offered to drive Marjorie home in my machine. 
 It was frightfully late. All of us had had too 
 much champagne I confess it. But you 
 know the Winslows. It was to be expected. 
 
 Then, when we were half-way home, some 
 thing went wrong with the steering gear. I 
 got out and pottered with it in the light of my 
 electric torch. But I couldn t fix the thing. 
 I got tired. You know yourself what cham 
 pagne does to me makes me sleepy as an owl. 
 I climbed back on the front seat to rest, and 
 the first thing I knew there we were in the 
 cold gray dawn after having had a nice little
 
 14 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 nap, the two of us. Then we scrambled out 
 of the car and walked to the trolley line. 
 That s all there is to it." 
 
 He was honest in what he said. He saw 
 nothing to worry about in the whole affair. 
 That was the George of it. 
 
 I do not mean to create the impression that 
 he and I always disagreed about things. For 
 three years I managed finally to see things as 
 he did. But, after that, the effort became too 
 great. I realized that it was an effort, and, 
 when one has to make an effort all the time in 
 order to be in accord with one s husband, one 
 draws close to disaster. 
 
 For instance, a year ago I saw George kiss 
 a woman Mrs. Tarone. I never said any 
 thing to him about that. If I were to confront 
 him with it now, he would laugh easily and 
 advise me to quit making mountains out of 
 molehills. That is my great difficulty. Noth 
 ing really touches him. Nothing seems to him 
 to matter so very much. He regards my dis 
 tress because of such incidents as "emotional 
 ism." I do not believe he has ever made a 
 serious effort to understand me, to find out 
 whether I am a toy or a woman. 
 
 For three years, then, I had been like so 
 many other wives. I had forced myself to
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 15 
 
 believe what I wanted to believe. I had told 
 myself that appearances had deceived me and 
 that, in spite of everything to the contrary, my 
 husband really loved me. I had done that 
 until I saw that kiss. After that, I had known 
 the truth and kept it to myself. Instead of 
 a confidence that had been more or less serene, 
 I was possessed by a tortured pride. So far 
 as all matters touching the real soul of me 
 were concerned, I led a life apart. He could 
 not have come close to my inner self if he had 
 tried, for his inner self was so different. 
 
 After breakfast, I was as good as my word. 
 I went to see Marjorie. On my way to her 
 home, as I walked up Sixteenth Street, I 
 heard newsboys crying extras about the first 
 American casualties in France. The news did 
 not touch me. I was too appalled by the 
 knowledge of my own suffering to be in 
 terested in the sufferings of others. I did not 
 even buy a paper. 
 
 As I went, I thought about Marjorie. It 
 was not so much that I disliked her. She was 
 merely a pawn in George s careless life, I re 
 flected. If it had not been Marjorie, it would 
 have been somebody else. The only thing I 
 resented and I did not resent that very 
 much was the fact that she played with
 
 16 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 George, although she and I had been friends 
 since girlhood, had shared the same room at 
 boarding school, and, although she was a year 
 older than I, had come out together. Until 
 my mother s death, the two families had lived 
 next door to each other. 
 
 Moreover, I was pleased with the fact that 
 I was going so easily to invite her to my dance. 
 George had not expected it. Thank heaven 
 I had self-respect enough to disregard his 
 flirtation with her ! 
 
 After all, Marjorie would never lose her 
 head. She was of the calculating kind. She 
 would not precipitate matters before I could 
 arrange for my separation from George. In 
 a sense, I felt grateful for that! Conse 
 quently, it was with a feeling of tolerance, 
 rather than anger, toward her that I entered 
 her house. 
 
 And I marveled at my calmness in the 
 matter!
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SHE was not downstairs. As I was about 
 to go up to her little den on the second 
 floor, I heard voices, hers and a man s, in the 
 direction of the basement kitchen. 
 
 "What s Miss Marjorie doing?" I asked 
 Maria, the maid who had admitted me. 
 
 Deed, mum," answered Maria, " I m not 
 certain. There s a poor man, looks like a 
 tramp, in the kitchen." 
 
 Distinctly surprised, I started to the base 
 ment. Marjorie Nesbit was not a person to 
 busy herself ordinarily with tramps. I knew 
 that. She was a woman who instinctively 
 despised the unfortunate. She had long since 
 educated herself into the conviction that the 
 grand emotions, the things of high import to 
 the soul of a woman, must come clad in the 
 habiliments of appropriate splendor, must be 
 accompanied by pomp and the symbols of 
 power. To her nothing had ever appealed as 
 of particular interest unless its dramatic 
 scheme had been unrolled amid inspiring stage 
 settings. The clash of music, the loveliness of
 
 18 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 lights and the seductiveness of fragrance and 
 flowers had always been essential factors in 
 any event that had exercised a weighty, or 
 even a light, influence upon her life. 
 
 Poverty, crippled bodies, misfortune, tears 
 these were ugly phases of existence which she 
 had studiously avoided. She had never been 
 able to see that they benefited anybody. They 
 belonged among the shadows, not in the bright 
 sunlight of life, and, when they had come too 
 near her, she had averted her eyes and closed 
 her ears. During all her twenty-six years 
 for her childhood had been a sure precursor of 
 her womanhood she had despised inadequate 
 circumstances, insufficient people. 
 
 No wonder that what I saw held me breath 
 less in the doorway. Marjorie stood and 
 faced, across the kitchen table, a man who 
 spoke to her in a voice of peculiar resonance. 
 He was miserably dressed, his tattered clothes 
 hanging upon him like bags. His black hair 
 looked matted, and upon his face was a 
 three days growth of heavy beard. His 
 features were drawn, almost haggard. At 
 first glance, he showed the signs of intense suf 
 fering, a suffering that must have been more 
 mental than physical ; and yet his manner was 
 strangely imperious. I can not explain it,
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 19 
 
 but there was about him the atmosphere of 
 compelling force. 
 
 Marjorie, however, caught my attention 
 more than he. There was upon her face a look 
 such as I had never thought her capable of dis 
 playing, a look of complete absorption. But 
 there was more than that in it. While they 
 stood there, oblivious to everything but each 
 other, I instinctively tried to define her ex 
 pression. Then I saw! It was such a look 
 as a woman should give to but one man. 
 I was thunderstruck by it, by the intimate 
 quality of it, the lack of anything like reserve 
 or caution. It was a physical thing, some 
 thing that looked out at him and reached to 
 ward him. It had in it perfect understanding 
 and unspeakable desire. 
 
 And he, with his black, unnaturally brilliant 
 eyes, entertained her glance appreciatively, 
 without surprise. It was as if he had expected 
 it and knew that she would give it to him. It 
 seemed to me that here were two persons who 
 had known each other throughout their lives, 
 two persons who had met upon a common 
 ground and had joined hands, saying, " Let us 
 go together we know ! we are companions." 
 
 Why ask me what I am going to do? " he 
 was saying. " How can I tell? How can
 
 20 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 you tell what you will do this afternoon or 
 tomorrow or next year? You can not. I can 
 not. People say they will do this or that. 
 The idiots ! They will do what they are made 
 to do, made by their past. All my past is on 
 my back. It is a tremendous weight, like an 
 avalanche, that continually thrusts me onward 
 and downward to what? Every thought I 
 have had, every act I have committed, every 
 word I have spoken, they all have been added 
 to this thing which, like a slowly moving and 
 irresistible mass, pushes me hither and thither. 
 You understand, I m sure. The fraud I 
 may have committed ten years ago would it 
 not urge me on to other frauds? The pain in 
 the eyes of the bird whose nest I wantonly 
 robbed when I was a boy did it not predict 
 further cruelty on my part? The tears of a 
 woman I wronged fifteen years ago do they 
 not make it easier for me to mistreat some 
 other woman now? We say we are free. 
 Bah! When one has done many things and 
 thought many things, one is no longer free. 
 One will go on doing and thinking things of 
 the same kind." 
 
 He reached down to the floor and picked up 
 a battered derby hat. Still, Marjorie s eyes 
 followed him hungrily.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 21 
 
 You understand, I know," he said in his 
 resonant, low voice. You are one who would 
 understand. There are in you the great fires 
 of life. You are afraid of them, but some day 
 you will yield to their charm, will let them 
 carry you away. And you will not be able to 
 help it. You have felt the lure of their beauty 
 too long." 
 
 For a brief moment their glances held, inter 
 locked as if by physical means, his burning and 
 assured, hers warm and eager. After that, a 
 slow sigh came through her half-parted lips, 
 and her bosom rose and fell once as if a mighty 
 storm threatened her. 
 
 Then she caught sight of me. At first, she 
 did not speak. When she called my name, I 
 got somehow the impression that she came back 
 to reality, as if her spirit had been far away 
 for a while. 
 
 " He has been telling me," she said, without 
 any trace of embarrassment, " why he will 
 always be a tramp." 
 
 He still had his eyes upon her, drinking up 
 the heady wine of her beauty. It seemed to 
 me that he took in and appraised every part of 
 her loveliness the masses of her red-bronze 
 hair piled high upon her head, the fire of her 
 tawny eyes, the richness of her full, red mouth,
 
 22 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 and the ample, almost matronly, lines of her 
 throat and neck. I had always thought of her 
 as statuesque, but there was none of that qual 
 ity in her then rather, a soft voluptuous 
 ness. 
 
 The man did not even glance at me as he 
 moved slowly toward the door. 
 
 He bowed to Marjorie, and, although I saw 
 how gaunt and spare he was, I was struck by 
 the native grace in his movement. 
 
 You have been very kind," he said simply, 
 indicating with a casual gesture of his right 
 hand the remains of the food on the kitchen 
 table. 
 
 Marjorie, in her turn oblivious of me, fol 
 lowed him to the door, and spoke. 
 
 Tomorrow " and " come " were the only 
 two words I heard her utter, but I knew that 
 she asked him, a note of command in her voice, 
 to return the following morning. And he, 
 still assured and confident, bowed again and 
 smiled. Somehow, the smile made me shudder 
 a little. 
 
 Marjorie turned to me in the most natural 
 way in the world. 
 
 " Let s go upstairs," she said in her fresh, 
 musical voice, and followed me out of the 
 kitchen.
 
 MES. MARDEN S OEDEAL 23 
 
 As we sat down in the parlor, I asked her, 
 " Where s your mother? " 
 
 I think the question came from my very dis 
 tinct feeling that Marjorie needed protection, 
 that she was in imminent danger. 
 
 " Downtown," she answered, and sat for a 
 moment looking thoughtfully out the window. 
 " That man, that tramp," she said, " is the most 
 interesting man I ever encountered." 
 
 " He seems so," I agreed in a colorless tone. 
 
 " He knows life." 
 
 " Does he? " 
 
 After that, she left the subject, and I in 
 vited her to my dance, telling quite an elaborate 
 and plausible little lie to explain why she had 
 not received the invitation by mail. She said 
 she would come. 
 
 Going down Sixteenth Street, I walked like 
 one bewildered. I was not surprised that 
 Marjorie talked familiarly to the tramp if she 
 wished. She always did what she felt like 
 doing. With her, I reflected, it was merely a 
 yielding to her own desires, never a considera 
 tion of other people or what other people 
 might say. But the thing that astounded me 
 was what I had seen in her face. Why, it had 
 been indecent, something I thought foreign to 
 her thoughts and feelings, awful!
 
 24 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 I remembered her having repeated to me 
 once what one of her rejected suitors had said 
 to her: 
 
 You tell me, and you have told others, 
 you can t love. That isn t true. The trouble 
 about you is that you re afraid to love. You re 
 afraid of yourself, afraid to let yourself go." 
 
 Had that man been right in his estimate of 
 her? 
 
 Ever since her debut, her life had been a 
 continuous performance of attracting men, 
 the most eligible men in the city, and then dis 
 missing them. She always had had plenty of 
 admirers in her train, for her beauty had been 
 fortified by her wit and by that commanding 
 air of aloofness which is so often such an effect 
 ive spur to the ardor of men. But nobody 
 had ever credited her with warmth of feeling, 
 with " intenseness." She had always done ex 
 actly as she pleased, but her preferences had 
 never led her into conflict with convention 
 ality. 
 
 But on this morning, just a few minutes ago, 
 I had seen an entirely new Marjorie. It was 
 as if a foreign spirit had rushed into the body 
 of Marjorie and taken violent possession of 
 her, molding her figure to lines that had in 
 them a certain sinuous softness, fashioning her
 
 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 26 
 
 lips to a telltale and fuller design, lighting her 
 eyes with an evil torch. 
 
 What manner of woman was she? I asked 
 myself. Had her life been one long wary 
 battle to conceal from everybody her real self? 
 Had her strongest emotions been held in leash 
 because she was ashamed of them, or afraid of 
 them? Was her soul a painted soul, a fugitive 
 creature imprisoned behind the bars of her 
 silent lips and baffling eyes? 
 
 I could not help asking myself those ques 
 tions. Had I not seen that look on her face? 
 Had I not been convinced that she was like a 
 person who plays with danger gladly? I had 
 even been reminded, involuntarily, of the 
 beauty of those flowers which thrive best in 
 dank, filthy soil. Had those imprisoned fires 
 of hers helped to mold her in such unusual and 
 striking beauty? 
 
 Then, I thought of George, and stopped 
 thinking of him. No matter what had hap 
 pened, I would not admit that my husband 
 had ever seen in her the strange woman whom 
 I had surprised there in the kitchen. 
 
 Suddenly I was aware that somebody was 
 calling to me. I looked around, and there 
 at the curb, in his big gray roadster, was 
 Charlie Corcoran. He sprang from the car
 
 26 MBS. MAEDEN S OKDEAL 
 
 and came toward me. It struck me that he 
 seemed unusually elated. His step had a new 
 buoyancy. And this was saying a great deal, 
 for Charlie was always in good spirits. 
 
 As he stood before me, tall and almost too 
 slender, the slight stoop in his shoulders empha 
 sizing his graceful carriage of himself, the 
 midday sun shining full on his handsome face 
 and fair hair, I could not help envying him a 
 little he seemed so altogether blessed, so 
 utterly a stranger to the ugly and distressing 
 things of life. 
 
 " Come with me! " he commanded in mock 
 authority, and led me to the machine. 
 
 Charlie has a quick, dashing air. His whole 
 soul goes into anything he does anything 
 from a ride in an automobile to a love affair. 
 I like him, always have liked him, very much. 
 We have been chums for years. 
 
 I made him drive me home, and he followed 
 me into the house.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 I LED him into the library the library is 
 the " homiest " room in the house and he 
 started in on one of his joyous tirades. 
 Charlie s talking is always more or less of a 
 cascade of words, even though somebody has 
 said that his thin, expressive face is half of 
 his vocabulary. 
 
 " Ruth," he began, flinging himself on the 
 big leather couch in front of me, " I ve come to 
 praise you and to worship you. Please realize 
 that at this moment I am burning incense in 
 your temple. A string of choir boys a mile 
 long is singing a triumphant anthem composed 
 by myself in your honor, and the high priest of 
 gratitude is exhorting a million devotees to 
 live up to your example which is mercy and 
 loving kindness." 
 
 Somehow, his exuberance of spirits did not 
 call forth any response from me. I was afraid 
 he would see how weary I felt. I forced 
 myself to ask him, " What is it all about, 
 Charlie? " 
 
 " Ethel Gilmore," he replied. " I prostrate
 
 28 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 myself before you, I lift my voice in thanks 
 giving, because you prevented me from marry 
 ing her." 
 
 " Oh, she? " My voice was contemptuous. 
 
 " It delights me to report," he swept on, 
 with a sigh of mock relief, " that I saw her in 
 a cafe last night and came away unscathed. 
 When my eyes rested upon her, my blood pres 
 sure was not increased, and my heart failed to 
 beat a fraction of a second faster. Not a tear 
 moistened my smoothly shaven cheeks. Ruth, 
 I m cured! " 
 
 " How on earth you ever imagined yourself 
 in love with her, I can t understand," I said 
 impatiently. " A woman divorced by her hus 
 band, a woman talked about by the whole of 
 Washington, a woman who was not received by 
 most of us oh, Charlie, why did you? " 
 
 " That s just the point. I didn t. But, if 
 you hadn t brought me to my senses, this same 
 fair Ethel would now be Mrs. Corcoran. 
 That s why the choir boys sing in your temple 
 and the incense goes up in suffocating clouds." 
 
 He slapped his knee with his right hand and 
 laughed. Ye gods ! Do you remember how 
 my heart bled when you explained to me the 
 folly of my loving her? I, a man twenty-nine 
 years old, with a heart that bled ! "
 
 MES. MARDEN S ORDEAL 29 
 
 " But why all this jubilation now, after so 
 long a time? " 
 
 I was wishing he would leave. 
 
 " A new divinity ! " he explained. " Hon 
 estly, Ruth, this time it is for life." 
 
 I was genuinely surprised, particularly when 
 I saw how serious his eyes were. 
 
 " Who is she? " 
 
 " Marjorie Nesbit," he said, much as he 
 might have pronounced the name of Christ it 
 was so reverent. 
 
 Instinctively, I turned my face from him. 
 For one bewildered moment two things were 
 battling grotesquely in my consciousness, the 
 reverence in his voice and my memory of what 
 I had seen in Marjorie s face that morning. I 
 wanted to scream aloud, to shake him, to tell 
 him what a fool he was. 
 
 What I did do was to turn toward him and 
 say, " I didn t know that was serious." 
 
 He was so taken up with his own thoughts 
 that he did not notice the coldness in my voice. 
 
 " It s a secret so far," he confided with a 
 solemnity that actually hurt me, " but I can 
 tell you. She promised last night to marry 
 me." 
 
 " She s accepted you! " 
 
 " Why, yes," he said, a little taken aback by
 
 30 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 my astonished manner, and added, " Yes, she 
 has." 
 
 I felt my lower lip quiver, and I knew there 
 were tears in my eyes, but I couldn t help it. 
 
 " Oh! " I said tremulously. " Oh, Charlie, 
 I hope you ll be wonderfully wonderfully 
 happy." 
 
 He looked at me searchingly. 
 
 "I don t understand," he puzzled. " What 
 do you mean, Ruth? Don t you like her? " 
 
 His voice was something new, more aloof 
 and formal than it had ever been in talking 
 to me. 
 
 I burst into tears. 
 
 " Forgive me, Charlie," I said between my 
 ridiculous sobs. " I know you ll be happy, 
 and and I m a disagreeable person. I sup 
 pose I m so so fond of the men I do like that, 
 even in my friendship and in my desire to see 
 them happy, I hate to see them swept away 
 from me by by marriage." 
 
 " I see," he agreed, but he did not see at all. 
 
 He got to his feet while I dabbed away the 
 tears. 
 
 You re so fine," I said, " I know you ll be 
 happy, and you ll make her happy. I know 
 it. I know it!" 
 
 He took my hand.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 31 
 
 " That s good of you, Ruth," he said with a 
 return to some of his old enthusiasm, but I 
 could tell that he was worried, unable to under 
 stand my behavior. 
 
 " I guess I m due at the club," he added, and 
 started toward the door. 
 
 There he hesitated and finally came back to 
 where I sat. All at once I was aware of his 
 embarrassment. He wanted to say some 
 thing and did not know how to frame it in 
 words. I waited for him to speak. 
 
 " Ruth, what s up? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " What s troubling you? " 
 
 " Nothing," I told him without looking up 
 at him. 
 
 " Nothing? " he insisted. 
 
 " Not a thing on earth." 
 
 " But you aren t well I mean happy, are 
 you? " 
 
 " Yes quite." 
 
 " I didn t think so." He clung to his wish 
 to help me and blurted out the words. You 
 see, Ruth, there are just two kinds of married 
 women, after all: those who love their hus 
 bands and don t care anything about the 
 society of other men, and those who don t love 
 their husbands and make up for it by the ex-
 
 32 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 citement of having a good many men as their 
 friends." 
 
 I looked up at him and made my eyes very 
 wide with surprise. 
 
 " What do you mean, Charlie? " 
 
 "Oh, hang it all!" he said desperately. 
 Why won t you let me help you? You know 
 what I mean. You are so kind to Dick Jer- 
 dyce and Tom Fordney and me that I thought 
 you were trying to make friendship for us take 
 the place of the greater happiness at home. 
 That s what I mean." 
 
 The solemnity of his tone, the real sorrow 
 in his voice, amazed me. I had never seen 
 Charlie in such a mood. To me he had always 
 seemed the spirit of levity, ignoring anything 
 deep or important in life. That was why I 
 liked him. 
 
 I made no comment on what he had said. 
 
 " I thought there might be something about 
 George that worried you," he forced himself 
 to finish. " And I know I could help. 
 George is so thoroughly all right, don t you 
 know." 
 
 I looked up at him through misty eyes. 
 
 " Thanks, Charlie," I said, " but you re mis 
 taken. I m thoroughly happy." 
 
 He looked relieved.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 33 
 
 " When I m so happy myself, so lucky," he 
 explained clumsily, " I hate to think of any 
 body else, especially you, as being miserable. 
 You you ll forgive my butting in, won t 
 you? " 
 
 When he had gone, I shed bitter tears. 
 
 But I was not weeping for Charlie, either 
 when I thought of his high spirits because of 
 his love or when there flashed into my mind 
 again the picture of that strange, repugnant 
 Marjorie I had seen facing and desiring yes, 
 desiring the " gentleman tramp." That 
 light had been in her eyes a bare twelve hours 
 after she had promised to become Charlie s 
 wife. And he worshipped her! 
 
 The idea was terrible. I realized that in a 
 sort of cold, academic way. But the thing 
 that really hurt me was that George should 
 ever have liked a woman who could deceive as 
 basely as Marjorie had done. I was borne 
 down, overwhelmed, by the weight of my own 
 mortification and distress.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WHILE the tears still stood in my eyes, 
 Jeffries announced Doctor Doyle. 
 
 " Show him in here," I directed. 
 
 For the first time in my life, I did not want 
 to see DR. I was in one of my " shut-in " 
 moods. I did not want to see anybody on 
 earth. What was the use? I asked myself 
 desperately. 
 
 And yet, I ought to have been greatly 
 pleased by his call in the middle of the day. 
 D R is always so busy. People come to him 
 from all parts of the country for the relief 
 nobody else has been able to give them men 
 who are no longer able to work ; women whose 
 nights have become stalking places for horrors 
 while their days are monotonous records of 
 pain; people who have found no respite in 
 bromides or morphine; poor, worthless wrecks 
 of once happy beings who have lost their happi 
 ness forever. He is my ideal of the Great 
 Physician, the Great Healer.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 36 
 
 And he is famous famous in Europe as he 
 is here. D R is so much of an all-round man. 
 His eminence is not confined to his profession. 
 As an after-dinner speaker, he is forever in 
 demand. His love and knowledge of music 
 are proverbial, and he knows all there is to 
 know, I think, about art and literature, history 
 and mythology, science and current events. 
 He is, indeed, a great, a very great man. 
 
 Any other woman would have been flattered 
 by a visit from one so famous. What woman 
 does not like the companionship of the famous ? 
 And there was I, feeling nothing but resent 
 ment and irritation because he had closed his 
 office earlier than his custom and sought me 
 out! 
 
 A Japanese bowl full of cigarettes stood on 
 the table at my elbow. I took one and lit it 
 with the alcohol lighter. When D R came in, 
 there was a little cloud of smoke between him 
 and me. When I spoke to him, I had upon 
 me the mantle of forced vivacity. I did not 
 propose to let him see that I was unhappy, or 
 even worried. 
 
 " Didn t expect me this time of day, did 
 you? " he asked, with his slow, youthful smile. 
 
 " No," I answered; " such a busy, important 
 man as you, D R."
 
 36 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 He took one of the cigarettes and slowly lit 
 it without answering me. Then he sat down 
 on the big couch where Charlie had been. 
 Something in his wonderful eyes brought a 
 little catch up in my throat. 
 
 " Ruth," he said, his voice a little low, 
 " won t you let me help you? " 
 
 " Do you think I need it? " I returned, in 
 voluntarily and immediately defiant. 
 
 I had put another haze of smoke between 
 us. I wished that he had not come. 
 
 * Why," I asked, my words coming fast, 
 " should I need the help of a man who treats 
 crazy people and analyzes criminals for the 
 chief of police? Do you think I do? " 
 
 " I know that you are greatly troubled," he 
 said, very tenderly. 
 
 "Not troubled annoyed disgusted!" I 
 burst forth, emphasizing the last two adjec 
 tives with wide sweeps of my hands. 
 
 Leaning back on the couch, he did not an 
 swer me immediately. In some way, he made 
 the silence a definition of his sympathy. 
 
 " What is it? " he asked at last. 
 
 " Oh, it isn t much a man," I returned 
 flippantly. 
 
 " But it is much," he said earnestly. " It s 
 a great deal. It is so much that you are not
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 37 
 
 yourself at all. I have watched you for 
 months." 
 
 I made a gesture of impatience. I realized 
 that my feelings were running away with me. 
 
 " It was because of my love for you," he 
 reminded me. You say the unkindest things 
 in the most cruel manner. You form antipa 
 thies and take dislikes for no reason on earth. 
 You alternate between a gloom which has no 
 real foundation and a continual chase after a 
 happiness which you never find." 
 
 While he walked to the table and lit another 
 cigarette, I said nothing, but I know my lip 
 was curled to contempt. For the moment, I 
 was like a person with a front of brass. 
 
 * You ve forgotten what happiness is," he 
 continued, and there was no reproach in his 
 voice. You are shutting yourself off from 
 all who love you. You are trying to depend 
 on nobody but yourself. You are striving to 
 build happiness out of sneers and cigarettes 
 and it won t work. Really, it won t. Ruth, 
 you have become in the last year selfish tre 
 mendously. You think of nobody but your 
 self. Won t you tell me why? " 
 
 At that, I sprang to my feet and put my 
 hands on his shoulders. 
 
 " I don t think I m selfish at all, D R! " I
 
 38 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 cried, trying to shake him as an emphasis of 
 my words. " I know I m not. But I have a 
 great deal to stand more than I can bear." 
 
 My voice broke. 
 
 " So many women think the same thing," he 
 reminded me. 
 
 " Oh, D R," I concluded, " sometimes I 
 think I can stand no more ! " 
 
 " What is it? " 
 
 I went back to my chair. When I spoke 
 again, it was with an air of desperation. 
 
 " It s Marjorie Nesbit, and - 
 
 I checked myself, started to speak again, 
 and was silent, tapping the carpet with the toe 
 of my shoe. 
 
 " Marjorie and George, of course," he said 
 without surprise. 
 
 I leaned toward him suddenly, my excite 
 ment grown big. He resumed his place on 
 the couch. 
 
 " So you have seen it! " I said tensely. 
 
 " No," he answered me in his gentle, even 
 tone; " I ve seen only what has been in your 
 thoughts." 
 
 ;< It s not in my thoughts at all," I said, my 
 words jumbled together in nervous haste. 
 " It s in reality. It s in my life. It s in my 
 own house. Just imagine it! This peculiar
 
 MES. MARDEN S OEDEAL 39 
 
 woman who is sought by men like Charlie Cor 
 coran! I don t mean anything against 
 Charlie, but you know he doesn t amount to 
 much now, does he? " 
 
 D R had stopped smiling. He looked at 
 me as if he attempted to solve a scientific prob 
 lem, neither commending nor pitying me. 
 
 " Oh," he said easily, " he s a very good sort 
 of fellow. You kept him from marrying an 
 undesirable woman, didn t you? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," I agreed carelessly. " In spite 
 of his wildness and drinking, he s a good sort 
 and then, he belongs to our set." Agitation 
 overtook me again. "But for George to be 
 mad about her ! Other people see it. I know 
 they do, and his lunacy makes a fool out of 
 me! And I am tied hand and foot. If I 
 threw her out of my house some time, if I in 
 sulted her, it would be merely a confession of 
 weakness. My pride couldn t stand it." 
 
 For the first time D R spoke firmly. 
 
 This is the wildest nonsense, Ruth. 
 George loves you." 
 
 " If he does," I complained bitterly, " it is 
 a love past my understanding." 
 
 He leaned over and took my hands in his. 
 
 That is the hard part of love," he said, as 
 if he instructed a child. " So much of it is
 
 40 ME8. MAEDEN S OKDEAL 
 
 not understood. It is hard, but love is like 
 that, often very often." 
 
 Momentarily my mood softened. 
 
 " I wonder, D R," I said a little wistfully, 
 " whether you could help me." 
 
 " Helping people is my profession," he 
 assured me. 
 
 He regarded me affectionately and added, 
 " What started the trouble, Ruth? " 
 
 In spite of myself, I felt all hard and bitter 
 once more. 
 
 " It s nothing particularly new," I said with 
 a laugh that was almost all a sneer. " It hasn t 
 the virtue of novelty, D R. It s only that I 
 don t oh, well, my husband and I don t suit." 
 
 He was silent, and I added flippantly, " My 
 story is every woman s. I think I might write 
 a play, a new Every woman." 
 
 I could see that he realized he had made no 
 impression upon me, had failed to get through 
 the wall of bitterness I had built up around 
 myself. But all he said was, 
 
 " Some day, Ruth, you ll come to me for 
 help and find it." 
 
 I laughed incredulously and asked him if he 
 was coming to my dance. D R s presence in 
 any woman s house is a society event. 
 
 " Don t say you re not coming," I com-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 41 
 
 manded. The orchestra has been engaged 
 just to please your discriminating ear." 
 
 " Of course, I ll come if you want me," he 
 said, preparing to go. 
 
 " You will be," I told him, " my greatest 
 attraction." 
 
 Looking back upon that talk now, I can see 
 that he really knew how I suffered, really had 
 a general idea of why I suffered. He said I 
 was wrong in depending upon myself. But 
 upon whom else was I to depend then? Upon 
 whom else may I depend now? My husband 
 has failed me. Am I not utterly alone in all 
 the world? 
 
 I know now that I have been for a very long 
 time exactly like hundreds of other women I 
 have seen and known. They look worn out, 
 dissatisfied, miserable. To them, life has be 
 come barren, a tragedy. The flowers are all 
 swept away, and there is left in their places 
 only sham, make-believe, the paper blossoms 
 that are without beauty and perfume. 
 My face is companion to the faces of those 
 women it has the irritable look, the strained 
 expression, the weary eyes, the perceptible 
 tightness about the corners of the mouth, all 
 the badges of bitterness. 
 
 And certainly my life is like theirs. There
 
 42 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 are times when I despise the thought of 
 associating with anybody, when I shrink from 
 the sound of others voices, when I feel a hot 
 scorn for everybody. These periods are fol 
 lowed by feverish days and nights when I try 
 to pack the hours with every possible kind of 
 amusement and distraction. Instead of giv 
 ing myself up +o morbid thoughts and intro 
 spection, I throw myself into motoring, bridge, 
 golf, the theater, dancing but the enjoyment 
 is ashes in my mouth, my laughter is always 
 forced. I am trying to forget the misery 
 caused by the knowledge of my husband s cold 
 ness, his lack of love. I often wonder if the 
 world ever senses even a little bit of what we 
 neglected wives suffer. 
 
 Here we are, an endless parade of good- 
 looking women, luxuriously housed, exquisitely 
 gowned, elegantly groomed, sleek, be jeweled. 
 That is what the world sees and envies. But 
 there is the other, the real, side of the picture 
 here we are, mourning in secret, weeping in 
 the dark, starving for love, hungering for 
 affection, reaching out futile hands for the 
 dreams we shall never, never realize, hiding 
 our broken hearts under silks and pendants 
 hiding them from the world, but never from 
 ourselves.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 43 
 
 There must be, I think, a special hell for the 
 men who give young wives all that money can 
 buy and nothing at all that conies from love, 
 appreciation, soft little caresses, approving 
 glances, whispered endearments. The soul of 
 a woman demands far more luxury than does 
 her body. And, if that soul luxury is not 
 given by her husband, she looks for it other 
 where, seeks to compel it from the world, some 
 times by rash and audacious methods, some 
 times by pitiful little subterfuges and substitu 
 tions. 
 
 How full the world is of women trying to 
 build up pathetic little palaces of happiness! 
 And how pitifully they fail when the cor 
 ner stone has been destroyed at home for 
 ever! 
 
 I know, because I am one of them and I 
 have failed. There is left me only this despair, 
 and with the despair come thoughts that lift 
 me from my chair and drive me from room to 
 room and send me sometimes cowering against 
 the wall. I have thoughts which I am afraid 
 to admit even to myself. 
 
 And I have only this last resort, the promise 
 of D R that he can teach me how to regain my 
 happiness. Do you wonder that I doubt? 
 To me, happiness seems to have fled beyond
 
 44 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 the edge of the horizon. How can D R, with 
 all his skill, build up the trail that will take me 
 to it again?
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE evening for my dance came, and 
 George and I standing side by side, 
 with that impalpable but impenetrable wall of 
 coldness between us welcomed our guests. I 
 remember that, above everything else, my pur 
 pose was to demonstrate, for all the world to 
 see, my complete unconsciousness of there be 
 ing anything between Marjorie and my hus 
 band. I had thought it all out. If D R had 
 detected my suffering because of Marjorie, 
 and if Charlie Corcoran had sensed it in his 
 kindly, blundering fashion, might it not be 
 possible that others had suspected it? To dis 
 arm those suspicions was my plan, then, last 
 night. 
 
 I would be more than friendly to Marjorie. 
 I would even show her unusual attentions. 
 And, as for my own attitude, I would be in 
 a gale of good spirits. I was tensed very high, 
 dangerously high. I felt as if every nerve and 
 ligament in my body had been strung taut. 
 But I was sure of myself, certain that I should
 
 46 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 triumph and silence any talk that might have 
 started. 
 
 Marjorie and I had met the afternoon be 
 fore in a shop downtown, and the meeting had 
 been natural, unconstrained, without any em 
 barrassment whatever. While we talked I 
 asked her laughingly whether she had seen the 
 " interesting tramp " again. At that, she 
 hesitated for a moment, but said finally, " Yes, 
 I ve seen him again. He s quite remarkable." 
 
 She was among the first arrivals last night. 
 I had never seen her so lovely. In pale blue 
 satin, with little pink roses set singly in her 
 corsage and a cluster of pink roses at her belt, 
 she was beautifully unaware of the effect she 
 had worked for hours to produce. Under the 
 soft lights of the chandeliers, her hair looked 
 more than ever like burnished copper. Her 
 tawny eyes were brilliant. I thought I de 
 tected in them a new expression, one quite new 
 to her, a look of nervousness, almost indecision. 
 For the first time in all my life, I thought she 
 labored under a strain. But she was as 
 statuesque, as " superior," as ever. 
 
 Soon after she appeared, I heard old 
 Mrs. Susie Mason, who always says exactly 
 what she thinks, confide to somebody behind 
 me:
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 47 
 
 " Look at that Nesbit girl. What a tre 
 mendous possibility for evil the creature is! " 
 
 And, in spite of the thoroughness with which 
 I had myself in hand, I felt for a moment ill 
 at ease. 
 
 Half an hour later in the front drawing- 
 room, my attention wandered from the little 
 group of women with whom I had been talk 
 ing, and I became conscious of George and 
 Marjorie close by. She was looking at him 
 with provocative eyes somebody has called 
 her eyes " unsatisfactory because, knowing 
 what they can reveal, she has taught them to 
 hide everything." I could not see his face. 
 
 " If you insist," I heard her say in a high, 
 clear voice; and she handed him her card. 
 
 He said something that made her laugh. 
 
 " Ananias, I believe," she rebuked him, " was 
 not a dancing man." 
 
 Just then he turned and caught my glance. 
 My eyes, I am sure, were bleak with accusa 
 tion. I could not help it. 
 
 It was after eleven when, in looking for 
 D R, I made my way into the library and 
 found him there with Charlie Corcoran. The 
 two men stood at the table in the middle of 
 the room, newly lighted cigarettes in their 
 hands.
 
 48 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 "You re playing me false, D R!" I re 
 proached. You re here as my star attrac 
 tion, my great exhibit, and you run away from 
 my guests! " 
 
 " Probably," suggested the irrepressible 
 Charlie, with a bow that would have done 
 honor to royalty, " for the pleasure of being 
 thus pursued." 
 
 I picked up a cigarette, and Charlie held 
 the lighter for me. I felt a momentary 
 gratification that my hand did not tremble as 
 I handled the cigarette. I was awfully nerv 
 ous. 
 
 " A problem for you in psychology," I 
 flashed irritably to D R. "Is it Society that 
 makes people foolish, or is it merely foolish 
 people who make Society? " 
 
 Charlie answered. 
 
 To be a foolish person in a perfectly 
 graceful manner," he said, " is the only real 
 demand Society makes of anybody." 
 
 Then you ve met the demand. You re 
 perfectly foolish over Marjorie Nesbit! " 
 
 I had not meant to say that or anything like 
 it, and yet nothing could have kept the words 
 from my lips. D R s brows went up a trifle, 
 and Charlie flushed. 
 
 " But I don t blame you, Charlie," I added
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 49 
 
 in a swirl of words. " She s brilliant. She s 
 lovely. She s alluring. I believe she " 
 
 Both of them were looking toward the door 
 leading from the ballroom. I glanced around 
 and saw Marjorie. 
 
 " You re just in time," I said gaily, putting 
 my arm round her waist as she joined us. 
 " Charlie has been sighing for you." 
 
 She did not look at Charlie, and instantane 
 ously I got the impression that she was sorry 
 to find him there. 
 
 I turned swiftly to D R. 
 
 You two are the twin stars," I commented, 
 " Marjorie for loveliness, you for brains." 
 
 Marjorie laughed indolently. 
 
 What a neat way of calling me idiot," she 
 drawled lazily. 
 
 "You goose! " I denied. " Your hats alone 
 would disprove that. Once a season a genius 
 comes among us. It is always the woman who 
 knows how to select her own hats. And the 
 one you wore yesterday was the height of all 
 your achievements." 
 
 " I would award that praise to her hair," 
 interjected Charlie, to whom she had not yet 
 cast even a glance. 
 
 " Oh, no," I corrected. " Women choose 
 the hats, God chose the hair."
 
 60 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 The music for the next dance began. 
 
 " This is mine, I believe," Charlie spoke 
 across the group to Marjorie and came around 
 to her side. 
 
 She hesitated a moment and then turned 
 with him toward the ballroom. 
 
 What an excellent memory you have!" 
 Irony was in her voice. " I came in here to 
 rest because I had forgotten the dance was 
 taken." 
 
 " Charlie," I called after him, " don t forget 
 Mary Calhoun." 
 
 Mary is a hopeless debutante with a fixed 
 habit of never having partners. 
 
 As they disappeared, I seated myself on the 
 table, swinging my feet, like a child. 
 
 " D R, I detest her thoroughly," I said 
 almost breathlessly. 
 
 " So I saw," he answered, leaning against 
 the back of the morris chair and looking at me 
 intently. 
 
 " So you saw? " I was surprised. 
 
 " Yes so I saw." 
 
 " How? " 
 
 " Effusiveness such as you showed her is al 
 ways used to cover up dislike. Besides, you 
 went out of your way to call her a fool." 
 
 My irritation grew.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 61 
 
 I slid from the table and stood rapping it 
 with my left hand. 
 
 " Why do I entertain women? " I exclaimed. 
 " Why do I annoy myself with them at all? 
 They are the bane of my existence." 
 
 " How? " he asked quietly. 
 
 "Take Mary Calhoun utterly stupid!" 
 I burst forth in a storm of unbridled con 
 demnation. " Her feet are her only accom 
 plishment. Why, D R, if that girl develops 
 a chilblain, her mother is more concerned than 
 if she had a clot on the brain. On the other 
 hand, there s Marjorie Nesbit immensely 
 clever. The ones with minds have no morals, 
 and the ones with morals have nothing." 
 
 My manner defied him to rebuke me. 
 
 " I wonder, Ruth," he said gently, " if you 
 realize how different you are from the happy, 
 kindly, beautiful woman you were a little more 
 than a year ago." 
 
 " Do you think I am? " I asked, and immedi 
 ately forced myself back into the flippant 
 mood. 
 
 " Oh, D R," I said, imitating the manner 
 of a stump orator, " you re so wise you frighten 
 me. You, with your psychology, know every 
 thing why the moon is called * she and all 
 the woman-myths about her; the terrific sig-
 
 52 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 nificance of the fact that men erect on their 
 temples of worship long steeples that reach to 
 ward the sky; and why brides wear orange 
 blossoms in their hair. You know the work 
 of Gerard Dow and Velasquez. Kant, 
 Swedenborg, Freud and all the rest of them 
 are at your finger tips. You know why 
 Shakespeare wrote Hamlet, and you can tell 
 what effect Byron s club-foot had on his verse. 
 Oh, what a wise man you are! You have 
 analyzed in your own mind the souls of our 
 statesmen. You can trace the causes of 
 crime. You know every thing !" 
 
 I waved my hands above my head and 
 laughed. He did not answer me. 
 
 As suddenly as it had come, frivolity left 
 me. I was about to apologize when Mary 
 Calhoun s sharp voice reached me. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Marden," she said from the 
 double door at the back of the room, " Mr. 
 Corcoran told me you wanted to see me." 
 
 " Did he? " I returned with thinly veiled 
 sarcasm. " That was so nice of him ! " 
 
 I turned to D R as Mary came forward. 
 
 " And now, D R, do go and let my guests 
 see you. Talk for five minutes to that dear 
 old Mrs. Phillips. You ll find her interesting. 
 Her hair is a survival of the Indian custom
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 53 
 
 of scalping others for one s own beautifica- 
 tion." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to meet such a war 
 rior," he laughed, obeying my direction. 
 
 I turned to the Calhoun girl. 
 
 " It s so nice of you, Mary, to desert all 
 those young men and come in to see me." 
 
 My show of affection was overdone. I took 
 scarcely any care to conceal my boredom. I 
 was tired. 
 
 " I came in, Mrs. Marden," she said, balling 
 her handkerchief in her hands, " really because 
 I had heard something I thought you ought to 
 know." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 " Yes about Marjorie Nesbit." 
 
 " Indeed! " The sarcasm was broad. 
 
 " Of course," she explained, shifting her 
 weight from one foot to the other, " I know 
 it isn t true, because Marjorie never was in 
 love with anybody in her life. That s why it 
 sounded so absurd to me. That s why I 
 thought I d tell you. It was something I 
 heard about her and well, you know it al 
 ways has seemed to me that married women 
 would like to hear what s being said about their 
 husbands and and other women. So few of 
 them really do hear it, you know,"
 
 54 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 Trying to maintain the appearance of self- 
 control, I held my hands behind me, clutching 
 my fan with all my strength. 
 
 "Yes?" I said slowly. "That s exceed 
 ingly interesting." 
 
 This was something about Marjorie and 
 Mr. Harden." 
 
 I did not answer that, and Mary, mistaking 
 my silence for interest, continued: 
 
 " It was something Mrs. Mason said. She 
 was talking about Marjorie and Mr. Marden 
 just now, and she said she said you were 
 either the most stupid or the most stupendous 
 character in the world. She said " 
 
 The girl checked herself, her mouth half 
 open, as she saw for the first time the anger in 
 my face. I lifted both my hands as if to strike 
 her. Why I didn t, I don t know. 
 
 " How dare you say such a thing to me? " 
 I demanded, my voice coming shrill through 
 the contracted muscles of my throat. " How 
 dare you ! " I made a wild gesture toward the 
 door. " Out of here! Go out, I tell you! " 
 I stamped both feet, one after the other. 
 " Leave me before I lose the last bit of my 
 self-control." 
 
 Absolutely terrified, she sank to the edge of 
 the chair behind her ancl tried to speak. She
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 55 
 
 swallowed the lump in her throat twice before 
 she succeeded in regaining her voice. 
 
 " I I don t know," she stammered. " I m 
 
 so sorry. I " 
 
 You idiot! " I told her, as I hurried toward 
 the door to the ballroom. You perfect little 
 idiot! Never enter my house again. You 
 are as insolent as you are stupid! " 
 
 I left her, that ridiculous look of fright still 
 on her face.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 BACK in the ballroom, Dick Jerdyce swept 
 me into a one-step. 
 
 " Don t talk to me, Dick," I said. " I ve 
 chattered so much my head s going around like 
 a pinwheel." 
 
 I was scarcely conscious of dancing. The 
 one idea that kept crowding through my mind 
 was that I must keep myself in hand, that 
 under no circumstances must I let myself go, 
 that I must carry through my plan of showing 
 that Marjorie did not annoy me. It was all 
 the more necessary now, I thought bitterly. 
 Everybody knew about her and George even 
 that silly little child who had brought the story 
 to me! 
 
 Suddenly I felt the need of being alone, of 
 having a few minutes in which to regain self- 
 control. My breath was coming and going so 
 fast that it was like gasps. I wanted air. 
 
 I left Dick and, making my escape from 
 everybody, went down the hall leading to the 
 back veranda. Looking on this veranda is one
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 57 
 
 of the library windows. And, further on, are 
 steps leading down into the gardens behind the 
 house, and a door that is an exit from the con 
 servatory. 
 
 When I got to the library window, I heard 
 Marjorie s voice. Although it was late 
 October and the night was chilly, the window 
 was open, and through the light curtains that 
 rippled a little in the breeze I saw Marjorie 
 and Charlie. Without hesitation, without cal 
 culation, but in obedience to a blind instinct, I 
 went to the window and listened to what they 
 were saying. I had never done such a thing in 
 all my life. If I had stopped to think, I would 
 not have done it then. But there was no power 
 of thought left in me. I was all feeling. I 
 was like a stricken thing that darts hither and 
 thither in the hope of relief or comfort or help 
 of some sort. I did not even know why I 
 listened. I remember that my handkerchief 
 was pressed tight against my lips as if I feared 
 I would scream. And I was trembling like a 
 leaf in the wind. 
 
 Charlie was standing at the reading table, 
 the soft light flooding his handsome face and 
 showing the expression of anxiety that was on 
 it. Marjorie sat in the morris chair across the 
 table from him. I could see her face also. It
 
 58 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 wore that look of aloofness and near-boredom 
 I knew so well. 
 
 " Of course, we ended all that last night," 
 she was saying. 
 
 Her attitude suggested extreme languor. 
 
 " A thing like that is not easily ended," he 
 contradicted tensely. 
 
 She looked at him and, in doing it, exasper 
 ated him. 
 
 " I don t think," she said with a little laugh, 
 " I ever have found it difficult." 
 
 " But some day you may find it difficult," 
 he answered, and all at once Charlie, who had 
 been the spendthrift of his time, the waster of 
 his own energy, took on somehow the dignity 
 of determined manhood. 
 
 Marjorie fanned herself slowly, and, looking 
 up to him again, laughed softly. 
 
 Why weep for the future? " she derided 
 him. 
 
 He clenched his hands at his sides. 
 
 "Marjorie, why do you laugh?" he de 
 manded. 
 
 Because," she replied tranquilly, " at last 
 you have succeeded in doing what few others 
 have done. You amuse me." 
 
 :< I saw you laugh like that at George 
 Mar den just now, when you were dancing
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 59 
 
 with him," he said hotly. " I suppose he 
 amuses you? " 
 
 " No," she admitted. " He puzzles me 
 greatly. And I ve made quite a study of 
 him." 
 
 I shrank as if I had been struck. I had the 
 peculiar sensation of feeling far-off and being 
 physically smaller. 
 
 Charlie put his hands, palms down, on the 
 table and leaned toward Marjorie so that the 
 reading lamp threw into still bolder relief his 
 indignant face. 
 
 " How wonderfully, how marvelously, you 
 have deceived me! " he said. 
 
 " How beautifully you flatter me," she 
 laughed again. 
 
 " Marjorie," he told her, his arms trembling, 
 " I couldn t believe you when you told me last 
 night you did not love me. But I believe you 
 now. You have never loved any man. And 
 there s not the remotest possibility of your ever 
 loving me." 
 
 The music for the next dance began. It 
 was a light, rollicking tune intended to picture 
 gayety and love. Marjorie started to rise. 
 
 " One moment," he commanded. " All 
 that s true, isn t it that you will never love 
 me?"
 
 60 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Quite," she answered resignedly, sinking 
 back into the chair. 
 
 " What a stupendous comedy you have 
 played!" he denounced her. 
 
 He stood erect, bitterness linking his words 
 together, and occasionally he struck the table 
 with his clenched hand. 
 
 " What lovely lies ! You have lied to me 
 with your words lied to me with your eyes 
 lied to me with your smiles. You have in your 
 voice fifty tones that are nothing but fifty dif 
 ferent kinds of lies ! And it means that you re 
 the greatest coward that ever stepped the 
 earth. You torture the hearts of the people 
 who have no redress, no possible means of 
 revenge. They have no revenge because you 
 have no heart! " 
 
 She put up her hand, frowning her irritation, 
 but he swept on: 
 
 " Why, you re not a real woman at all not 
 a woman to be wooed with love or won by 
 adoration! You re the other sort of woman. 
 You re an alien to all the beauties that are not 
 above the skin. You are one who ought to be 
 taken by force and bruised and crushed and 
 hurt. You ought to have passion forced upon 
 you. Then you d come to know the sort of 
 beggarly, trembling love that is the child of
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 61 
 
 physical fear. If any man ever treats you so, 
 he ll break you and make you crawl at his feet 
 and thank him for the way in which he has 
 degraded you." 
 
 He stopped and regarded her, his chest 
 heaving, his right hand at his collar as if he 
 sought to give room to his rapid breath. 
 
 "Charlie!" 
 
 She spoke his name sharply and looked at 
 him with intense interest. 
 
 He was surprised by her tone, which had in 
 it a color he had never known. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 I could see that he was wondering what that 
 new note in her voice meant. To me, even in 
 my storming rage, it recalled for a moment the 
 way she had spoken to the tramp at the door 
 of her mother s kitchen. 
 
 She was leaning far back in the chair now, 
 all the lines of her figure relaxing. 
 
 " Come here, " she said. 
 
 He could not believe that he really heard 
 the thing in her voice. He walked slowly 
 round the table and stood in front of her. 
 
 " Round here," she directed softly, indicat 
 ing the place at her left; "here on this 
 side." 
 
 When he had obeyed her, she let her head
 
 62 MBS. MAEDEK S OEDEAL 
 
 rest on the back of the chair, her face turned 
 upward to him, her eyelids lowered. Her lips 
 were half -parted. And her arms were limp 
 on the arms of the chair. Her fan dropped 
 from her right hand to the floor. He did not 
 pick it up. He was fighting for clear con 
 sciousness, was trying to say to himself that 
 there could be no possibility of her telling him 
 that she loved him. 
 
 She looked up at him at last, a slow, new 
 smile on her lips. Her breast rose and fell 
 rapidly. She was all abandon. The eyes she 
 had schooled to conceal her thoughts revealed 
 them. 
 
 Held by her gaze, he bent over her, resting 
 both his hands on the left arm of her chair. 
 They looked at each other a long time. The 
 questions he asked and the answers she gave 
 were without words. 
 
 The spell broke. He started erect and flung 
 out both his arms, making the gesture eloquent 
 of despair. His clenched hands came together 
 as if he sought to choke to death an enemy. 
 He turned from her and walked with slow, 
 groping steps to the bookcase near the con 
 servatory door. His arms fell rigid at his 
 sides. He went like a man mortally stricken. 
 He stood with his back to her a moment
 
 MBS. MAKDEN S OBDEAL 63 
 
 while she watched him, the new smile still 
 on her lips, the strange look still in her 
 eyes. 
 
 Again he put out his hands in that gesture 
 of choking some one. His long, nervous 
 fingers writhed. It was gruesome to see. It 
 was as if for the moment he had in his surging 
 thoughts the picture of her white throat under 
 his spasmodic grasp. I shall never forget the 
 realism of it never ! 
 
 At last he faced her and passed both his 
 trembling hands across his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Marjorie! " he groaned in tremendous 
 sorrow. 
 
 Well?" Her voice was a base tempta 
 tion. 
 
 He took one step toward her and stood, 
 half-dazed. 
 
 " Do you know do you know what I saw 
 in your eyes? " 
 
 " A confession of myself," she laughed 
 softly, confidingly. 
 
 He sprang forward and towered above her. 
 
 Then, by heaven, it s true ! " he said with 
 infinite bitterness. " Oh, I knew what it was ! 
 I ve seen it before, in the eyes of women 
 hellish women. You can buy it from some 
 women s eyes! But they aren t such women
 
 64 MES. MABDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 as you, Marjorie not such a woman as I 
 thought you." 
 
 He stared at her for a moment in silence. 
 He seemed too astounded to concentrate his 
 ideas, too shaken to believe what he knew to be 
 true. 
 
 Why, Marjorie, that is an awful thing a 
 damnable discovery! " he said wildly. You, 
 Marjorie! All body and no soul! " 
 
 She regained her tranquillity. Irony was in 
 her voice, and nothing in her eyes. 
 
 Then you disapprove," she said lightly. 
 
 She rose and turned toward the door to the 
 ballroom. 
 
 What a mistake," she added, " to change 
 what might have been a warm little comedy 
 into a farce." 
 
 She had taken two steps when Charlie 
 sprang to her side and grasped the bare flesh 
 of her right arm. There was brutality in his 
 grip. 
 
 " Oh, no," he said roughly. You come 
 with me." 
 
 He indicated the door leading to the con 
 servatory. 
 
 She looked at him coldly. 
 
 The farce is done," she answered him, 
 anger in her voice.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 65 
 
 " And reality is about to begin," he coun 
 tered, his compelling grasp stronger upon her 
 arm. His gaze was domineering, and blazing 
 with desire, animal and unhidden desire. 
 
 She laughed, and there was a strident note 
 in her voice. 
 
 What heroics!" she bantered him, armed 
 in all her cool self-possession. 
 
 Then she followed him into the conservatory.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 I LEFT the window and went back to the 
 hall and into the library. There was still 
 upon me that strange feeling of being far off, 
 of being another person and watching with 
 strained eyes my real self. I repeated under 
 my breath several times: 
 
 " Marjorie is low low bad." 
 
 Twice within three days I had seen the real 
 Marjorie, the sensual woman, once with 
 Charlie, once with a nondescript of the streets 
 who had come to her back door begging bread ! 
 And that was the woman who had attracted 
 my husband, the woman with whom he had 
 spent a night on the roadside, the woman from 
 whom he had begged a dance! 
 
 My only emotion for the moment was one 
 of overpowering rage, not against her, but 
 against George. He had deceived me as 
 Marjorie had deceived Charlie! I was con 
 scious that my nostrils distended uncomfort 
 ably, and that my breathing was audible. I 
 moved my head slowly from side to side, try-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 67 
 
 ing to get rid of the tight, drawn feeling at the 
 back of my neck. My hands clasped cease 
 lessly on my handkerchief. 
 
 Then I made a tremendous effort to control 
 my movements, to keep myself from flying to 
 pieces. I must act, I thought. I must act 
 and bring things to a conclusion once for all. 
 I had been played with enough. The time had 
 come to put an end to what I was suffering, 
 the impositions of my husband, the secret con 
 tempt of Marjorie, the gossip of outsiders. I 
 forgot entirely my determination not to make 
 a scene, my resolution to prove my indiffer 
 ence toward Marjorie. I would show every 
 body that my pride could not be trampled into 
 the dust with impunity. 
 
 I stepped to the table and put my finger on 
 the electric bell button. While I waited, I 
 picked up a cigarette, and I remember now 
 that the hand with which I held the alcohol 
 lighter trembled so violently that I had diffi 
 culty in igniting the tobacco. I stood with 
 my back toward the conservatory. With a 
 supreme effort I got the cigarette to my lips 
 and inhaled some smoke. As I did it, I won 
 dered in an absurd sort of way why I wanted 
 the smoke. 
 
 Jeffries appeared in answer to my ring.
 
 68 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Find Mr. Harden," I told him. " Say 
 that I wish to see him at once here." 
 
 The music in the ballroom annoyed me un 
 speakably. The sound of men s and women s 
 laughter enraged me anew. I hated anybody 
 who could laugh. What did all that dancing 
 and chatter amount to anyway? That was the 
 way with people they cared always only for 
 themselves. And women s hearts break often- 
 est in garish scenes, to the sound of music, 
 unnoticed. Our tragedies are not even things 
 of pomp and majestic gloom. 
 
 Again I moved my head from side to side, 
 and, as I did so, caught sight of the fan Mar- 
 jorie had dropped. I stooped down and 
 picked it up, some horrible feeling of loathing 
 creeping over me. I spread it open and looked 
 at it while my tremulous hand got the cigarette 
 to my mouth once more. I tossed away the 
 cigarette, and slowly, with a painful delibera 
 tion caused by the stiffness of my fingers, tore 
 the fan to ribbons, rib by rib. With an ex 
 clamation of disgust, I dropped it to the floor 
 at my feet. 
 
 George came in from the ballroom. 
 
 You sent for me? " he asked coldly. 
 
 I did not look toward him at once. I 
 desperately wished to appear calm, to have my
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 69 
 
 features under control. I was telling myself 
 that I must seem dignified, mistress of myself, 
 able to deal with the situation thoroughly. 
 
 " Sit down," I said, a little tremor in my 
 voice. I took the chair at the right of the 
 table. 
 
 " What s the matter? " he asked, in a bored 
 tone. 
 
 I answered him imperiously, pointing to the 
 chair Marjorie had left. 
 
 "Sit down!" 
 
 He sat down and looked across the table at 
 me out of cold, i.^Acssionless eyes. 
 
 " There are some things I want to know," I 
 said. " I want to ask you a few questions." 
 
 " Now? " He seemed a little surprised. 
 
 Yes; now!" I said sharply. 
 
 " But our guests," he objected. " Why 
 neglect them? " 
 
 " It concerns one of our guests," I told him 
 curtly. 
 
 Very well," he sighed in exaggerated 
 patience, " but let us be quick about it." 
 
 Why is it? " I asked, my voice metallic, 
 " that things have been so different between us 
 for the last year? " 
 
 In my battle for self-control, in my 
 anguished effort to keep my brain clear, I was
 
 70 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 so rigid and at the same time so tremulous 
 that I might have been suggestive of a cable 
 about to snap under the strain of enormous 
 weight. 
 
 " How do you mean? " he inquired care 
 lessly. 
 
 " I mean: what do you see in Marjorie 
 Nesbit? " 
 
 " Merely a very pretty woman." 
 
 " So you do see that! " I said slowly. 
 
 " Look here, Ruth! " he exclaimed angrily. 
 What the deuce are you trying to make me 
 say? " 
 
 " And tell me this," I disregarded his ques 
 tion. " What do you see what have you ever 
 seen in Marjorie s Nesbit s eyes? " 
 
 What do you think I am an oculist? " 
 
 " Answer me! What have you ever seen in 
 her eyes? " 
 
 Well," he sneered openly, " she has rather 
 pretty eyes, hasn t she or has she? " 
 
 My laugh was scarcely audible, but it was 
 disagreeable to my own ears. 
 
 " I am told that men some men see more 
 than that," I said, my voice dead of all expres 
 sion. " In fact, her eyes are, I believe, a 
 curious literature." 
 
 He rose, and laughed mirthlessly.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 71 
 
 " I m going back to the ballroom," he 
 declared. 
 
 I, too, rose, and confronted him. 
 
 " No; you re not going back! " I told him 
 with harsh swiftness. " I ll tell you what I 
 mean. I mean your shameful and shameless 
 affair with Marjorie Nesbit! I mean I won t 
 submit any longer to this unbearable situa 
 tion." 
 
 He stood silent for a moment, and looked at 
 me, calculating. 
 
 " I never heard of such tomfoolery," he said 
 brutally. 
 
 " Well, I have! " My voice lost its metallic 
 flatness, and some of my words were shrill. 
 " Everybody else has! Of course, I was the 
 last to hear of it. I heard it from Mary 
 Calhoun and she heard it from old Mrs. 
 Mason." 
 
 "Old women s tales ridiculous stuff!" he 
 scoffed, still with that maddening sneer. 
 
 I am ridiculous!" I was raging at last, 
 and knew it, and took a savage delight in 
 letting myself go. " That s the truth of the 
 matter. I am made ridiculous by my husband 
 in my own house all because of a woman 
 whose vulgarity, whose depravity, is such that 
 it outrages the sense of decency in a man like
 
 72 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 Charlie Corcoran. Think of that! I am 
 ridiculous because I ve given myself, my soul, 
 to you and all the time your life is a prayer 
 for the love of another woman ! " 
 
 4 It is impossible to argue with you," he said 
 contemptuously. " Do you mean to say I m 
 in love with Marjorie Nesbit? " 
 
 He started to leave the room. 
 
 Then you persist in lying to me? " 
 
 My question was like an insult to a com 
 parative stranger. He turned to me once 
 more. 
 
 "Oh, cut it!" he exploded. "If I don t 
 suit you, how the thunder can I help it? 
 You re getting too high and mighty, young 
 woman! What you need is discipline 
 yes, discipline something to force you to 
 realize " 
 
 All the tautness and rigidity that had been 
 in my figure broke up. In a flash I was a 
 supple, writhing creature, my head thrust far 
 toward him, my feet restless, my arms moving 
 jerkily. 
 
 "Don t you dare say that to me!" My 
 voice was almost a whisper. " That s what 
 Charlie said to her physical force! It s the 
 crowning insult the last affront you will ever 
 put upon me! Don t stand there like a red-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 73 
 
 stone image. Don t talk to me! Get out of 
 my sight. Leave me alone alone! " 
 
 I stood erect now, my head moving from 
 side to side, my whole body in slight, continual 
 motion. I felt as if my eyebrows were drawn 
 upward toward my hair by some irresistible 
 force. My jaws held together like a vise. 
 
 Without a word he turned, and, shrugging 
 his shoulders, left me. 
 
 I stood for a moment, leaning against the 
 table and looking vaguely round the room. I 
 remember wondering, in a detached and coldly 
 impersonal way, whether anybody had heard 
 what I had said to George, and then deciding 
 that I did not care if they had. 
 
 My glance was caught again by the torn fan. 
 Marjorie! I shuddered. I picked up the 
 fan and, after trailing the rags through my 
 fingers, snapped the ivory ribs one by one. I 
 let it drop again, and, my whole form sud 
 denly crushed by weariness, started slowly to 
 ward the conservatory. My one idea was 
 flight, to get away from the merriment in the 
 ballroom, to escape from the people who 
 chattered and laughed. My anger seemed, all 
 at once, miraculously submerged under the 
 weight of an indescribable weariness. It was 
 a peculiar, dead feeling.
 
 74 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 I heard D R s voice and paused at the con 
 servatory door. 
 
 " So you see, Miss Calhoun," he was saying 
 as he and Mary came from the ballroom, " I 
 may be very old-fashioned, but that is my 
 theory that love is everything, that love is 
 life." 
 
 Standing in the doorway, I laughed weakly. 
 
 " Tell her, D R," I said, " what sort of life! 
 Be sure to tell her that." 
 
 It is from that moment that I can not re 
 member what I saw, or did, or said from that 
 moment until eleven o clock this morning. 
 My losing consciousness or memory, or what 
 ever it may be called, came without warning. 
 I felt nothing snap in my head. I had no 
 sensation of fainting. My identity was just 
 blotted out from me. 
 
 But D R told me a few hours ago all that 
 happened, that is, all he knows. 
 
 He and the Calhoun child sat on the leather 
 divan opposite the conservatory door and 
 waited for me to come back. D R thought I 
 had gone in there to look for somebody, and 
 Mary had come to apologize to me for having 
 hurt my feelings ! 
 
 They had been there, D R told me, for seven 
 or eight minutes when he saw me come out of
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 75 
 
 the conservatory. His first glance at me was 
 enough to make him spring toward me. My 
 face was pallid, so that the distorted pattern 
 of my features was hardly noticeable. The 
 blood had left my lips, and the only color in 
 the ghastly whiteness of all my face was the 
 fire of my eyes. I was in a half-crouching 
 position, my chest and shoulders thrust for 
 ward, my head strained backward, my arms 
 hanging limply at my sides. My knees 
 wavered beneath me as I half-staggered, 
 half-ran into the room. D R caught me 
 in his arms and held me upright near the 
 table. 
 
 When I spoke, it was in a hoarse, dry 
 whisper. 
 
 " He s he s gone out," I said, as if the 
 words hurt me. 
 
 Charlie Corcoran s figure flashed along the 
 veranda outside, past the bay window. In a 
 moment he came through the hall door. 
 
 " Marjorie Marjorie Nesbit," I struggled 
 with my news, " is in there " I indicated 
 the conservatory with a weak wave of my 
 hand " in there dead." 
 
 D R, with the impulse of the physician, left 
 me leaning against the table and sprang toward 
 the conservatory,
 
 76 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Tell me!" Charlie s voice cut in heavily. 
 " What are you saying? " 
 
 The question halted D R at the conservatory 
 door. 
 
 "You tell us! " he commanded Charlie. 
 
 Charlie, dumbfounded, made no reply. 
 
 Music, the song of a lover asking a rose from 
 his lady s hair, sounded from the ballroom. 
 Mary had gone into the conservatory. 
 
 " He s gone out gone out," I moaned. 
 
 Without looking at Charlie or D R, I 
 laughed foolishly, emptily, and took two short 
 steps toward the morris chair. I fell against 
 the back of it, and D R came to my help again. 
 I still was laughing foolishly, my head bowed. 
 
 "I wish I hadn t found her!" I groaned 
 through my uncanny laughter. " Oh, I wish 
 I hadn t seen her that s all." 
 
 I collapsed in D R s arms. Charlie went 
 with hesitant steps into the conservatory.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 I HAD told them the truth. There in the 
 conservatory, only a few yards from the 
 door opening on the veranda, they found 
 Marjorie, dead. She had been sitting on a 
 rustic bench, and her head was flung back a 
 little, supported by the edge of the back of 
 the bench. There were dark marks on the 
 white skin of her throat. She had been choked 
 to death. 
 
 When D R told me that this morning, I 
 refused to believe it. It was not a matter of 
 my wanting to believe it or disbelieve it. It 
 was simply that it seemed too horrible, too 
 monumental, to admit of belief. I could not 
 get into my mind an adequate representation 
 of what had happened. Marjorie dead it 
 could not be! How, in so short a time, could 
 death have come to all that loveliness, a loveli 
 ness which I had just seen animated by her 
 self-assured, reckless soul? 
 
 I said to D R, " There is some mistake. It 
 can t be true."
 
 78 MES. HARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 I repeated that over and over again, while I 
 sat very still, my limbs heavy as lead, my mind 
 rendered torpid by the immensity of what he 
 had told me. And then, while I was saying it 
 could not be true, I remembered Charlie as I 
 had seen him last night, the look of agony on 
 his face, his hands stretched out in front of 
 him, his long, nervous fingers writhing as if 
 yes, that was it as if he crushed her neck in 
 his grasp. 
 
 At that, I huddled down in my chair, shak 
 ing and jerking like a person with St. Vitus 
 dance, and I stopped saying it could not be 
 true. I said nothing more about it, but waited 
 for D R to tell me more. 
 
 While George had carried me, weak and 
 unprotesting, up to my room, they had put 
 Marjorie into an automobile and rushed with 
 her to the hospital, but all their attempts to 
 revive her had been fruitless. She was quite 
 dead when they first came upon her in the 
 conservatory. 
 
 " Now," said D R, after he had told me 
 that, " do you remember anything about what 
 you saw last night after you went into the 
 conservatory? " 
 
 " Nothing," I said, my voice hesitant and 
 thin.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 79 
 
 " What is the first thing you do remember? " 
 he continued. 
 
 " Why," I answered, making a great at 
 tempt to keep the tremor out of my voice, 
 " just a little while ago when I knew you were 
 standing over me, and 
 
 " Nothing before that? " he interrupted 
 sharply. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 He studied me intently a few seconds, and 
 I saw that he was very sorry for me. But he 
 believed me, knew I was not deceiving him. 
 
 Then you must be brave," he cautioned 
 me. " I told you I would give you the full 
 account of what has happened. It is due you. 
 More than that, it is necessary for for all of 
 us." 
 
 " Tell me, D R," I begged. " Anything is 
 better for me than suspense." 
 
 " Last night," he began, while he paced 
 slowly up and down in front of me, " after the 
 police had been notified, it was discovered that 
 Corcoran had disappeared. In spite of the 
 most thorough search, no clue whatever to his 
 whereabouts was revealed. The police were 
 at sea until eight o clock this morning, when 
 Corcoran, wearing a cap and a long raincoat 
 over his evening clothes, was recognized by an
 
 80 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 officer at the corner of Thirteenth and G 
 Streets. He was on horseback, and the horse 
 had been ridden cruelly hard. Corcoran had 
 been drinking, was intoxicated. 
 
 " But he offered no objection when the 
 policeman told him he was wanted at head 
 quarters. He slipped off the horse, called a 
 boy, and paid him to return it to the stable, 
 and went with the officer. At headquarters 
 Major Palmer, chief of police, was about to 
 start for this house. In the hope of incrimi 
 nating Corcoran, who denied any responsi 
 bility for the the crime, Palmer brought him 
 here. 
 
 " When they arrived, I had just come down 
 from your room and had left you resting 
 quietly. You were awake, apparently fully 
 conscious, but you did need rest. I had in 
 structed Miss Keyes, the nurse I called in last 
 night, to see that you were undisturbed. 
 
 " Palmer took me aside and asked me to talk 
 to Corcoran with a view to finding out what he 
 knew about the events of last night. At first, 
 I refused. I ve helped Palmer in the past a 
 good many times, but it always was with the 
 hope of saving innocent men from punishment. 
 This time he wanted me to fasten guilt upon a 
 suspected man. However, when I had thought
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 81 
 
 it over and remembered how closely all this 
 affected you, I consented. You see, I felt the 
 advisability of clearing up the whole matter as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 D R was better equipped for the talk with 
 Charlie than Chief Palmer knew. He told me 
 why. Early last evening he and Charlie had 
 engaged in a verbal fencing duel and had just 
 come to the end of it when I, looking for D R, 
 encountered the two standing at the table in 
 the library. 
 
 D R had strayed in there for a smoke ten 
 minutes before I found him, and was standing 
 before one of the bookcases near the conserva 
 tory door when Charlie, evidently agitated and 
 distressed, came in without seeing him. Still 
 without noticing D R, who had turned quietly 
 to look at him, Charlie went to the reading 
 table and got a cigarette. Without lighting 
 it, he stood balancing himself first on his heels 
 and then on the balls of his feet while he sang, 
 unconscious of what he was doing, the words 
 of the old song: 
 
 " After the ball is over, after the break of dawn ; 
 After the dancers leaving, after the stars are gone, 
 Many the hearts that are broken if you could read 
 
 them all, 
 Many the hopes that have vanished after the ball ! "
 
 82 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 He lit his cigarette, tossing down the match 
 with an impatient gesture, and stood looking 
 toward the wall farthest from D R. His eyes 
 were caught by the picture of Paola and 
 Francesca which hangs between the window 
 and the hall door. He inhaled and blew out 
 a cloud of smoke and stood gazing at the 
 picture, his back to D R, his thumbs thrust 
 into his trousers pockets. He fell to humming 
 the old song again. D R replaced the book on 
 its shelf, the noise attracting Charlie s atten 
 tion, so that he wheeled about with an expres 
 sion of annoyance on his face. 
 
 " Hello! " D R greeted him, and went to 
 ward the table. 
 
 " I didn t see you," said Charlie, coming for 
 ward to shake hands. They faced each other 
 across the table. 
 
 " So it s as bad as that? " queried D R, 
 smiling. 
 
 " What s as bad as that? " Charlie asked a 
 little sharply. 
 
 The tragedy of your unrequited love," 
 D R laughed at him. " Why, it s great enough 
 to interfere with your vision. You didn t see 
 me when you came in." 
 
 Charlie ground his cigarette into the ash 
 tray.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL S3 
 
 "So everybody knows it!" he exclaimed 
 angrily. 
 
 " Oh, I don t think so." 
 
 " Then how did you know it? " 
 
 His anger was real and evident. 
 
 " My dear Corcoran," D R half jested, 
 " you ve just confessed it to me. You re like 
 all other people. In the songs they sing and 
 the gestures they make and the words that they 
 think are trifles, they convert each minute of 
 their lives into a demonstration of what they 
 have thought or done or what has been done to 
 them. They do it in slips of the tongue even." 
 He laughed at Charlie s irritation. " And I 
 happen to be one of those whose business it is 
 to read the demonstrations." 
 
 Charlie turned and paced the length of the 
 room and back. 
 
 " Now, honestly, Doctor," he urged impa 
 tiently, " how the thunder did you know about 
 it? " 
 
 1 You forced it into my consciousness. A 
 young man comes into a room, the picture of 
 grief. He thinks he is alone. All his real 
 emotions of the moment come to the surface. 
 He hums disconsolately a song that was pop 
 ular in his boyhood boyhood being an ex 
 tremely impressionable age about the hearts
 
 84 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 that are broken. Then he loses himself in 
 revery before the picture of the most famous 
 love tragedy in history. What could be 
 simpler? " 
 
 " Oh, the dickens!" exclaimed Charlie, and 
 grinned. You scientists, Doctor, know so 
 much that you get queer ideas. The thing I 
 was worrying about was the punch. It has no 
 punch." 
 
 And just then I had hurried in to scold D R 
 for not entertaining my guests. But his little 
 feat of mind- reading had given him informa 
 tion which was valuable this morning as he sat 
 in my front parlor, with the doors closed, and 
 waited for the chief of police to send Charlie 
 to him. 
 
 As he told me of the interview, my brain, it 
 seemed to me, worked magically. I could see, 
 as if it existed visibly before me, each scene, 
 every gesture in that colloquy between them. 
 I could hear every word. I lost sight of the 
 library and, while D R talked, watched with 
 careful and breathless intensity every change 
 of expression, every little move, made by each 
 one. I am astonished now that, in my over 
 wrought condition, every word he uttered 
 made such a tremendous impression on me. 
 
 When Charlie came into the parlor and
 
 MBS. MABDEN S OEDEAL 85 
 
 slammed the door noisily behind him, D R was 
 seated near the big bay window, with his back 
 to it, so that the light fell full upon Charlie all 
 the time. For a little while, he stood in the 
 center of the room, and, without speaking, 
 looked smilingly at D R. The cap he had 
 worn was crushed into the pocket of his rain 
 coat, which hung open, disclosing his evening 
 clothes. It was easy to see that he still was 
 under the influence of drink, and, although he 
 was steady on his feet, his disheveled hair, his 
 flaming eyes, and his unnaturally good-natured 
 smile made him a curious figure. 
 
 " Corcoran," D R said kindly, " how are 
 you feeling? " 
 
 Throwing back the raincoat, Charlie thrust 
 his hands into his trousers pockets and giggled. 
 
 " I m a dead loss, Doctor," he said, " if I 
 don t believe somebody s going to suspect me 
 of " 
 
 He became suddenly serious, and added, 
 " Of this awful thing." 
 
 " I want to help you," D R said. 
 
 It was as if he held out a helping hand to 
 the accused man. 
 
 " Sit down." 
 
 "No; I ll stand," his tone became slightly 
 aggressive. " Say! What is this?"
 
 86 MES. MAKDEN S OBDEAL 
 
 " Didn t Palmer tell you I wanted to talk 
 to you? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," he answered carelessly; "but 
 you look so damned solemn." 
 
 He took a cigarette and a match from a 
 pocket of his raincoat, and began to smoke. 
 
 " It s rather a solemn thing, isn t it? " D R 
 returned impressively. 
 
 " Of course, it is, Doctor," he answered, 
 sobering momentarily. 
 
 D R looked at him a long time, and said to 
 him with all the earnestness of which he was 
 capable, " You must understand that I want 
 to help you." 
 
 Charlie eyed him with owl-like solemnity, 
 and laughed. 
 
 " So! It s to be one of those celebrated 
 duels of wit! " 
 
 He consumed more time than was necessary 
 in inhaling a volume of smoke. 
 
 " Rather, it s to be a duel between wit and 
 whiskey. Go to it! I m ready." 
 
 He had a meaningless look in his eyes, 
 the beginnings of a foolish smile upon his 
 lips. 
 
 " Corcoran," D R said with swift directness, 
 " did you kill Marjorie Nesbit? " 
 
 The smile faded from Charlie s lips, and his
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 87 
 
 eyes became at once expressive of intelligence, 
 alertness. 
 
 " I did not," he said evenly. " I swear I 
 didn t. Why, you found out yourself last 
 night I loved her! How s it possible for a 
 man to kill the woman he loves? " 
 
 " It has been done," D R answered him 
 quietly. 
 
 Charlie s drunken boredom returned. 
 
 You don t say so!" he commented care 
 lessly. 
 
 " In the conservatory last night," D R con 
 tinued the attack, " did Marjorie Nesbit please 
 you or displease you? " 
 
 Charlie looked at him warily. 
 
 Why do you hesitate? Tell me; what 
 had Marjorie Nesbit said to you or done to 
 you?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 But for his burning eyes, he might have been 
 discussing the latest scandal at an afternoon 
 tea. 
 
 That s impossible," the inquisition con 
 tinued. " She had refused you twenty-four 
 hours before. You were with 4ier alone, first 
 in the library, and then in the conservatory. 
 Now, I ask you: did she please you or displease 
 you?"
 
 88 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 Charlie tossed away his cigarette, put his 
 hands in his pockets, and regarded his ques 
 tioner gravely. 
 
 " Well," he replied, " I ll tell you the truth." 
 
 He hesitated, and asked sharply, You 
 wouldn t repeat anything that reflected on a 
 woman, would you? " 
 
 " That s an unnecessary question." 
 
 "Well, then," Charlie said with half- 
 drunken earnestness, " I ll tell you, Doctor. 
 I d just found out that she was not the sort of 
 woman I had thought her. I d been in love 
 with her. To me she had been everything 
 adorable. And then, in one look from her 
 eyes, I found that she oh, well, she was no 
 better than another sort of woman." 
 
 " So, in that instant, to all intents and pur 
 poses, the woman you had loved died? " 
 
 " I suppose so," he agreed mechanically. 
 
 " And then you went with her into the con 
 servatory? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 D R put the ring of command into his next 
 question. 
 
 " What did you do? " 
 
 Charlie smiled brazenly. 
 
 : I kissed her, of course. Why not? " 
 
 " And then? "
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 89 
 
 Charlie lit another cigarette. 
 
 " She wanted an ice," he explained. 
 " That s the truth. She wanted an ice, and I 
 went down the steps into the garden and across 
 to the dining room to get it for her. I left her 
 alone, back there in the conservatory, under 
 the roses. My God!" he added, as if the 
 thought appalled him: " A woman like that 
 under the roses ! " 
 
 D R disregarded his evident disgust. 
 
 " But you never got her the ice? " 
 
 " No," he answered reluctantly, " I didn t." 
 
 " Why didn t you? " The question came 
 imperiously. 
 
 Charlie threw away the half -smoked ciga 
 rette and went over and sat down on the sofa. 
 Before he spoke, he mopped his brow with his 
 handkerchief. He looked like a man who, 
 although drunk, feels utter weariness. 
 
 Well, to tell you the truth, Doctor, there 
 were so many other people there, and I didn t 
 feel like facing them. I started back, and I 
 can t explain it, but it s the truth out there 
 in the garden, at the foot of the steps, the idea 
 struck me that something had happened to her. 
 That s why I ran along the veranda and into 
 the library, where you saw me." 
 
 D R looked at him thoughtfully.
 
 90 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Why did you have the idea that something 
 had happened to her? You no longer loved 
 her, did you? " 
 
 " Oh," Charlie answered with a sigh, waving 
 his hands as if the discussion were futile, " I 
 can t explain it." 
 
 " But Mrs. Marden said, when she came 
 back into the library, He s gone out. Do you 
 know whether she saw you leave the conserva 
 tory?" 
 
 "No; I don t." 
 
 " Corcoran," D R demanded, " have you 
 told me the truth about this? " 
 
 " Absolutely, Doctor." 
 
 " I never heard a man break up so many 
 sentences to say he was telling the truth." 
 
 Charlie laughed vacantly. He looked 
 wearily at D R arid, sighing like a man who 
 yearns for rest, threw himself flat on his back 
 on the sofa, his head on a pillow, his knees 
 crossed at a high angle in the air, his right foot 
 dangling nervously. His gaze was straight 
 toward the ceiling. 
 
 " I ve evolved a new theory about women, 
 Doctor," he said petulantly, speaking straight 
 up into the air. " None of them will ever get 
 into me again. They re all alike all exactly 
 alike. The same white arms same lovely
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 91 
 
 hair same sweet, lying mouths. Give us a 
 cigarette, will you? " 
 
 D R handed him a cigarette and, striking a 
 match, held the flame out for him. 
 
 "Thanks!" 
 
 D R stood and watched him intently. Lying 
 on the couch, one end of the raincoat trailing 
 on the floor, his evening clothes disarranged, 
 his face heated with the flush of semi-intoxica 
 tion, he talked on. 
 
 " They won t do, Doctor. None of them 
 will ever get into me again. Give one of 
 them a piece of your soul, and you re 
 gone ! " 
 
 He devoted his attention to the cigarette. 
 
 " How about Marjorie? " D R tempted him 
 to talk more. 
 
 "My God!" he said, repugnance in his 
 voice. White arms, lovely hair, sweet 
 mouth sweet, lying mouth like all the rest. 
 And she could kiss you as if " 
 
 He paused to assume a philosophical air. 
 
 " However, let the dead bury their dead. 
 Dead kisses are so very dead! " He laughed 
 unpleasantly. " You think I killed her, don t 
 you? But you can t prove it, can you? " He 
 chuckled. " Fortunately, or unfortunately, I 
 went after that ice for her. And fortunately,
 
 92 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 or unfortunately, the only witness of what I 
 did or didn t do is gone. She he I ve seen 
 I know that." 
 
 He drew a long breath and moved his foot 
 rapidly up and down. D R waited for him to 
 continue. ^, 
 
 " All the town thinks I killed her. That s 
 very unpleasant, isn t it? And nobody in the 
 town can prove it. That s more pleasant, 
 isn t it? " 
 
 He chuckled again. 
 
 " I wonder," he speculated in grotesque 
 solemnity, " whether anybody has tried to fig 
 ure out whether she killed herself." 
 
 " But she was choked to death," D R re 
 minded him. 
 
 He lay silent several moments after that, his 
 eyes closed, the lids quivering. Suddenly, as 
 quickly as he had flung himself down, he 
 sprang to a sitting posture and, looking D R 
 in the eye, laughed. 
 
 " But you don t seem to want to talk to 
 me ! " He shook his finger reprovingly. 
 " You wise old bird! You figure things out 
 of songs and pictures ! Tell me, did I do that 
 thing? Of course, I didn t." He clapped 
 the cap on the back of his head. " I d be a 
 fine young fool to risk my neck for the same
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 93 
 
 white arms and all the rest of it now, 
 wouldn t I? 
 
 " Well," he concluded airily, " I m glad this 
 talk s over. For the love of a sweet heaven, 
 Doctor, lay off of me on these duels of 
 wits. This one s been enough. Say! Will 
 you?" 
 
 He started toward the door and staggered 
 badly once. 
 
 " Corcoran ! " D R called to him authori 
 tatively. 
 
 He turned and stood still, a grin on his lips. 
 
 You said the only witness of what hap 
 pened last night was gone." 
 
 " I said no such thing! " he snarled, showing 
 fight for the first time. "Damn you! Don t 
 try to put things into my mouth." 
 
 " But you certainly said it." 
 
 He recovered himself instantly and looked 
 at D R with a smile half-childish and half-silly. 
 
 " Oh, did I? I see what you mean. I re 
 ferred to Marjorie, of course. She s gone, 
 isn t she? " 
 
 " But you started to say something about 
 he. " 
 
 Charlie flung open the door with a flourish 
 and bowed deeply. 
 
 "Did I? No! I said she. You know,
 
 94 MES. MAEDESPS OEDEAL 
 
 when a man s drinking, he drops his s s his s s 
 and his essence of shame." 
 
 Without waiting for D R s reply, he went 
 out, slamming the door after he had lunged 
 heavily against it. 
 
 " To save my life," D R reported to the 
 chief of police, " I can t tell you whether he s 
 guilty or innocent."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 PALMER, however, was not sat- 
 isfied with this indefinite report and set 
 out to secure more evidence by thoroughly 
 searching the house and by questioning the 
 servants. And, while that went on, D R, who 
 had given up all idea of attending to his own 
 affairs for the time being, was talking to 
 George, reassuring him, explaining that the 
 nervous shock of everything that had happened 
 to me would result in no permanent injury to 
 me in any way. 
 
 In the meantime, actuated by the physical 
 nervousness which had kept me awake through 
 practically all the night, I had gone down to 
 the library. It was there that Charlie Corco 
 ran found me after his talk with D R. 
 
 He came upon me before he knew it, and, 
 when he saw me, stood startled, his cap clutched 
 in his right hand, his graceful, youthful figure 
 swaying back and forth a little. I sank into a 
 morris chair, the same chair that Marjorie oc 
 cupied last night. I did not seem surprised to
 
 96 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 see him. Without noting particularly the 
 vast anxiety in his eyes, I accepted his presence 
 there as quite the usual thing. 
 
 "Ruth you!" he said in a low, strained 
 voice. 
 
 Unaccountably, I was suddenly very tired, 
 and I did not answer him. 
 
 The hand with which he held his cap was 
 pressed hard against his breast. 
 
 " I thought thought you were ill," he said, 
 his voice still colored by alarm. " I didn t 
 think I wasn t trying to hunt you up, you 
 know." 
 
 I smiled weakly, although I was not looking 
 at him. 
 
 " Were you afraid, Charlie? " 
 
 He came to my side, standing between me 
 and the heavy hangings drawn across the con 
 servatory door so that he might engage my 
 glance. 
 
 " Afraid of what? " he inquired hastily. 
 
 I gave him a long, level look. 
 
 " My telling," I answered him directly, my 
 voice clear in spite of its weakness. 
 
 What I said made him wince. 
 
 "Telling what, Ruth?" 
 
 " What I saw last night." 
 
 He held the cap in front of him now in
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 97 
 
 both hands and studied the visor of it in 
 tently. 
 
 " I m sorry," he sympathized, " awfully 
 sorry you re so knocked out honestly." 
 
 He continued to stare at the visor of the cap 
 while I looked at him. 
 
 He did not glance toward me as he added: 
 " And, of course, you wouldn t say anything 
 to anybody." He flipped the visor nervously 
 with the fingers of his right hand. " I 
 wouldn t advise it, now, at any rate would 
 you?" 
 
 There fell a pause, broken only by the rap 
 ping of his fingers on the stiff visor. 
 
 " Are all the doors closed? " I asked. 
 
 He looked around. 
 
 Yes, all," he answered. 
 
 He hung on the thin edge of suspense. 
 
 You wouldn t say anything really 
 would you, Ruth anything at all? " 
 
 His pleading amounted to a command. 
 
 " I ought to," I said flatly. 
 
 At last his alarm was unconcealed. 
 
 " Ought to ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 He thrust his cap back into the pocket of the 
 raincoat. 
 
 I sighed and looked at him again a long 
 time.
 
 98 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " But I won t." 
 
 "Ah-h-h!" his exclamation was all grati 
 tude. 
 
 Swaying a little, he stood and watched me 
 narrowly. There was a line between his eye 
 brows, and his jaws were hard-set. 
 
 " Charlie," I elaborated, " I m not going to 
 say anything to anybody." 
 
 " I see," he said. " That s fine very." 
 
 " I think that s all," I dismissed him. 
 
 He hesitated a moment. 
 
 " Goodby, Ruth," he said in almost a 
 whisper. 
 
 He had taken one step away from me when, 
 as if animated anew, I sat bolt upright in the 
 chair. 
 
 " No! It isn t all!" I said, speaking in a 
 stronger, disagreeable voice. 
 
 He returned to my side. 
 
 " What s the use of my lying about it pre 
 tending I ll keep my mouth shut from chari 
 table motives, because of mercy? I m not do 
 ing it to save you! " 
 
 He looked about him wildly. 
 
 " I ll be honest with you." My voice shrilled 
 weakly. " I m glad glad you killed her! " 
 
 Charlie uttered a cry that came from deep 
 down in his throat.
 
 MBS. HARDEN S OEDEAL 99 
 
 " Don t ! Don t, for God s sake, say that ! " 
 he begged me. 
 
 " Why not? " I asked coolly. " There s no 
 body to hear." 
 
 I paused a moment, and added, " I want to 
 be honest with you, Charlie. I want to tell 
 you what I think, because I can t help thinking 
 it now. I tell you, I m glad she s dead 
 glad- -" 
 
 He took one of my hands in both of his and 
 urged me sternly, "Don t say that again! 
 Don t say it, Ruth. Somebody might hear 
 might come in ! You - 
 
 I laughed without merriment, and withdrew 
 my hand from his. 
 
 " But I m not going to tell," I said. " I 
 promise, Charlie. Wild horses couldn t drag 
 it out of me. She ruined my life. And you 
 did me a favor you got rid of her. Ah, don t 
 you see? " 
 
 He fell back a step or two until he was 
 almost against the hangings of the conserva 
 tory door. 
 
 " I had wished her dead, and, when I saw 
 you choke her oh, that way " I raised my 
 hands and imitated in the air what he had 
 done " I knew I was glad glad she was 
 dead. I m glad now! "
 
 100 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 He caught my hand again and cried out 
 huskily, "Don t! Won t you keep quiet? 
 For my sake, let me go! " 
 
 He flung out his left arm in a forbidding 
 gesture, and his hand struck the hangings over 
 the conservatory door. He did not move it. 
 His arm stiffened, like an inanimate thing, the 
 hand still against the hangings. Terror 
 masked his face. 
 
 " What s the harm? " I asked in weak indif 
 ference. You know I m your friend. I 
 won t tell." 
 
 "Good God! You have told!" 
 
 As he said that, he dragged the heavy hang 
 ings to the floor, disclosing Palmer, who had 
 stood between the curtains and the door. 
 Palmer kicked away the hangings piled about 
 his feet, and put his hand on Charlie s shoulder. 
 
 " I guess that s enough for today," said the 
 chief of police. 
 
 "Damn you!" said Charlie, mechanically 
 buttoning his raincoat, and added, " Let s go." 
 
 A few minutes later D R, having got a 
 description from Chief Palmer of this scene 
 between Charlie and me, hurried into the li 
 brary. He found me leaning back in the chair, 
 a smile on my tired face, as if I slept.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 101 
 
 When he bent over me, I opened my eyes 
 and looked up at him and knew where I was, 
 knew that I was real, alive. 
 
 " Ruth," he said firmly, " tell me what are 
 you doing here? " 
 
 Involuntarily, I listened for the dance mu 
 sic. Then I was conscious of the daylight. 
 
 Why why, I don t what is the matter, 
 D R? " I asked. 
 
 And then I was terribly frightened without 
 in the least knowing why.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AFTER D R had told me just as I have 
 written it down here everything I did 
 and everything that happened during my state 
 of unconsciousness, my dominant emotion was 
 terror caused by the memory of my own suf 
 fering, all that I had suffered, and all that I 
 would go on suffering. I was not even par 
 ticularly struck by the tragic way in which 
 Charlie had walked into Chief Palmer s trap 
 and met betrayal at my hands. 
 
 "Oh, I m so sorry for myself, D R!" I 
 said, with a moan. " I should be weeping over 
 Marjorie and Charlie. I should be weeping 
 because of what I ve done to Charlie. But I 
 don t at all I can t!" 
 
 " Why are you so sorry for yourself? " 
 
 He was all tenderness. 
 
 " I suffer so." 
 
 " How? " 
 
 " I m afraid so afraid ! It isn t my body 
 that suffers. It s my heart and my head. I 
 don t think things as I should, D R. Really,
 
 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 103 
 
 I don t. It isn t only about Marjorie and 
 Charlie. It s about lots of things. My 
 thoughts torture me so! " 
 
 " For a year you have felt this way, haven t 
 you? " he asked gently. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I knew it and you wouldn t come to me 
 for help." 
 
 " I was afraid afraid to tell anybody how I 
 felt, what I thought such thoughts, D R!" 
 
 " And now? " 
 
 " Now I will do anything, tell anything if 
 you can help me ! If you don t help me, D *R, 
 I shall go insane. Really, I shall." 
 
 " No," he assured me; " you won t do that." 
 
 " I know now," I sobbed, " what they mean 
 when they talk in the Bible about being pos 
 sessed by evil spirits. I know now! " 
 
 He stopped his pacing to and fro a moment 
 and looked down at me compassionately. 
 
 " Let me explain just what your trouble is," 
 he suggested. " I think it will lead to ending 
 all your pain and distress. You are, of course, 
 a neurotic. One is neurotic if one has had an 
 ugly, or unbearable, or revolting experience in 
 one s childhood something that one could not 
 adjust to one s ideals and one s opinions of 
 how things should be and people should act.
 
 104 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 If one s childhood is ever wounded in this way, 
 it means that one is handicapped in later life in 
 meeting any trying event or great disappoint 
 ment or devastating sorrow. One s moral 
 strength is cut down tremendously, and, when 
 the strain of untoward events comes, one is apt 
 to break down. That is what has happened 
 to you." 
 
 " And you can help me in that! " 
 
 I was frankly incredulous, disappointed. 
 I could remember no such event in my youth 
 as he described. 
 
 " If you will let me," he said. " We must 
 work together in order to find out every small 
 est thing, as well as every biggest thing, that 
 has made it possible for you to suffer so, every 
 thing in your adult years and everything in 
 your childhood. There are bothering you so 
 many things which you, of yourself and un 
 aided, do not and can not recall now in any 
 way." 
 
 Then he explained to me how I would have 
 to tell him all my thoughts and aspirations, my 
 entire view of life and its problems. 
 
 We shall embark upon the sea of 
 memory," he said, with his reassuring smile, 
 after my promise to tell him everything, " our 
 minds made up that we shall not be dismayed
 
 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 105 
 
 by anything we may discover during our voy 
 age." 
 
 " And if we do this," I asked, " shall I be 
 able to recall everything that happened to me 
 last night and this morning? " 
 
 " I believe so I m quite sure of it," he said. 
 " This analysis of your soul, psychoanalysis, is 
 intended to bring back to your conscious mind 
 all the troubling, harassing things you can t 
 remember. Once they are brought back, you 
 can deal with them effectively. Yes. There 
 is no reason why you should not recover your 
 memory of the events of last night." 
 
 He looked at me with his keen, kindly 
 glance. 
 
 Why are you so anxious to do that? " 
 
 " Because I don t believe Charlie killed 
 Marjorie," I said emphatically; " and I want 
 to find out how and why I ever accused him of 
 such a crime." 
 
 Why don t you believe he killed her? " 
 
 D R s questions are so direct and compel 
 ling! 
 
 " I can t explain it except that I know him 
 so well; and what I know of him counterbal 
 ances anything I may have said while I was 
 not responsible for my acts or words." 
 
 He walked the length of the room with-
 
 106 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 out speaking. Another thought frightened 
 me. 
 
 " I shall have to testify about it, I suppose." 
 
 " Don t worry about that now," he advised. 
 " I have arranged it so that you will not be 
 called for the inquest. Wait until an indict 
 ment is returned and the trial date is set." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 Tell the truth you remember nothing. 
 So far as you can recall, you saw nobody in 
 the conservatory, and you said nothing to Cor 
 coran here this morning." 
 
 D R is so comforting. I can not put it into 
 words, but his very presence breathes comfort. 
 He lives so entirely according to his simple 
 creed, which is that trouble comes fast enough 
 and that the bravest thing any of us can do is 
 to meet it squarely, face to face, when it does 
 come. 
 
 " How long," I asked, " will your your 
 treatment of me last? " 
 
 " It generally is rather long," he answered. 
 " I shall not try to deceive you about it, Ruth. 
 Sometimes it takes months, sometimes weeks. 
 We can work hard and do our best that is 
 all." 
 
 After that, he would not let me talk any 
 more, but made me come up to my room, in-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 107 
 
 sisting that I was worn out, exhausted, in 
 reality ill. In that, he was mistaken. I feel 
 incredibly strong, have felt so all day and all 
 night it is midnight now, and I have been 
 writing with feverish energy for nearly eleven 
 hours ! 
 
 It did not even upset me when George came 
 up here to my room a few minutes after I had 
 left D R. My feeling toward him was instinc 
 tive antagonism, and I resented with peculiar 
 intensity his assumption, all too evident in his 
 
 Jl 
 
 expression, that he could be of genuine comfort 
 to me in this difficulty, this crisis. There had 
 been so many other difficulties when he had not 
 even attempted to sympathize with me! And 
 since, in the treachery of his self-interest, he 
 had failed me so often and had built up within 
 me the habit of not trusting to him for help, 
 how could he think I would need him now, 
 merely because this was something which 
 affected him and the publicly known events in 
 his home? 
 
 That was what threaded my thoughts, as he 
 stood before me : how his self-interest had made 
 him traitor to me! There can be no middle 
 ground, no neutrality, in marriage. One lives 
 with a man and grows each day closer and 
 closer to him, or one lives in his house while
 
 108 MES. HARDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 one s soul withdraws from him further and 
 further. The life is a thing of strong, warm 
 sympathy, the warmth making everything 
 beautiful, or it is a thing of secret, hot rebel 
 lion, hidden flames that shrivel and twist and 
 harden one s heart. And I had drawn very 
 far away from George. 
 
 It was due to his self-interest that he did not 
 appreciate how far apart we were. He had 
 made the distance between us quite wide and 
 impassable. His life could be lived right now 
 with me entirely out of it, and he would feel 
 no inconvenience, no lack. His polo with the 
 army officers from Fort Myer, his devotion to 
 bridge at the club, his enthusiasm over golf, his 
 popularity as a raconteur and entertainer at 
 stag affairs all these things, with his business 
 of looking after his property, his apartment 
 houses, his dwelling houses, and his stocks, have 
 become his world, a world in which I figure as 
 an individual who can be made happy and kept 
 as an ornament for his house by the mere proc 
 ess of his writing in his check book! 
 
 He has always been so patently self-suffi 
 cient in an emotional way. I have never seen 
 into him, never known what went on further 
 back in his head than the surface of his eyes. 
 For three years I was continually rushing out
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 109 
 
 to him he never came to meet me. I was 
 always trying to translate to him my ideas of 
 what a home should be he always refused to 
 be translated. I sought again and again to 
 show him as plainly as I could what I needed 
 in little things, the great big little things, inti 
 mate touches and words and thoughts he con 
 sistently failed to read the banners flung for 
 ward by my soul. 
 
 Inevitably, I had been reduced to disap 
 pointments, secret tears, unspeakable amaze 
 ments, hidden wounds. My soul, the real love 
 part of me, had become like a soldier fighting 
 to the last against terrific odds, wounded, borne 
 down, dazed by a multitude of blows, strug 
 gling on, and yet indifferent to pain or even 
 death. 
 
 That, in some measure, was why, when he 
 came to me in my great need, he might as well 
 have been a stranger, was in fact a stranger 
 who, diverted for a moment by the shocking 
 things of the night from his outside routine and 
 his little " amusements " with the Mrs. Tarones 
 of his life, did " the proper thing " now and 
 offered me " help." It was with a conscious 
 effort that I kept back a bitter laugh. 
 
 When there is constraint or any lack of 
 naturalness between husband and wife, their
 
 110 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 dialogues in moments of stress are always 
 either absurd or absurdly commonplace. 
 
 He closed the door and stood a few steps 
 from me, the image of uncertainty. Because 
 he was so little used to vital things between us, 
 he reminded me of a child gasping with one 
 foot thrust into a cold bath. 
 
 " Are you well enough to be out of bed? " 
 he asked at last, unconsciously jingling the 
 keys and loose coin in his pocket. 
 
 " Quite," I returned icily, and sat down 
 near the window. 
 
 " I thought I hoped I might be of help," 
 he explained, as he might have offered assist 
 ance to a strange woman hurt in an automobile 
 accident. 
 
 I need only a doctor s help D R s," I 
 said. 
 
 He came nearer and tried desperately to 
 force some kind of ardor into his tone. 
 
 " Don t you need a husband s help? Don t 
 you need my love? " 
 
 I turned toward him impatiently. 
 
 " George, for heaven s sake don t be ridicu 
 lous ! D R is going to help me. It would only 
 bore you to be bothered with me while I m so 
 so nervous and unstrung." 
 
 "Bother me I"
 
 MRS. HARDEN S ORDEAL 111 
 
 " You know it quite well." 
 
 He jingled the keys again. 
 
 " Doyle tells me you ve forgotten having 
 been in the conservatory last night and having 
 talked to Charlie this morning." 
 
 " I have," I said, " but why discuss it? " 
 
 " It does seem to me," he objected, " you 
 and I ought to get together on this thing. It s 
 not a joke exactly. Murder has been com 
 mitted in this house, our house. We must 
 clear it up." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Look here, Ruth," he said explosively, 
 " you don t think you can get Charlie off, do 
 you? You can t think you can protect him 
 by refusing to confide in me ! " 
 
 Why should I want to protect him?" I 
 retorted indifferently. 
 
 " Then, what s the matter? " 
 
 " George, leave me, will you? " I dismissed 
 him. You only annoy me with your useless 
 suppositions. I am in D R s hands. There s 
 only one thing you can do for me don t bother 
 me, keep away from me for days; oh," I ex 
 claimed with momentary vehemence, " for 
 months ! " 
 
 Very well," he agreed instantly, " if it s 
 what you really want."
 
 112 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Exactly what I want," I said in sharp 
 finality. 
 
 That ended the interview. 
 
 After he had gone, I could not help think 
 ing of all the tragic grief I would have avoided 
 if only he had been different. I think of it 
 now, here in the middle of the night, I, a tor 
 tured being afraid to go to sleep while outside 
 all the city sleeps as if nothing at all had ever 
 happened to hurt anybody anywhere ! 
 
 But it is after twelve o clock, and I must try 
 to sleep. I will call Miss Keyes.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ONE other thing I must set down here be 
 fore I sleep, because in some indistinct, 
 half-felt way it does give me a little comfort. 
 It may be only because of the beauty of the 
 words. 
 
 When D R was talking to me this morn 
 ing yesterday morning, really he said: 
 
 " The things done to little children may 
 make them in later years commit crimes or 
 regard the crimes of others with too much 
 charity. 
 
 " I do not find it hard to believe that Bene 
 dict Arnold was a traitor because in his child 
 hood he heard, through some half-open door, 
 his father saying strange, ugly things for 
 money or that Judas bartered away his soul 
 because, as a little boy, he saw his own mother 
 sell her scarlet lips for gold. 
 
 When you are a child, your mind is a clean 
 tablet ready for the graver, a blank canvas 
 waiting for the master hand ; and the beautiful 
 picture imprinted upon it at four may be re-
 
 114 MES. MAEDE^ S OBDEAL 
 
 produced as a lovely song at thirty the ugly 
 scene as a terrible tragedy at forty." 
 
 What a tremendous theory that is! But it 
 reminds me at once of what the tramp said to 
 Marjorie: 
 
 " All my past is on my back. It is a tre 
 mendous weight, like an avalanche, that con 
 tinually thrusts me onward and downward 
 to what? . . . When one has done many 
 things and thought many things, one is no 
 longer free. One will go on. . . ." 
 
 Practically the same thing, the identical 
 idea, from a tramp educated by bitter experi 
 ence and from a scientist voicing the teachings 
 of psychology and philosophy! 
 
 But it is a tremendous theory, nevertheless. 
 If one accepts it unreservedly, one is tempted 
 to throw up one s hands and deny responsi 
 bility for everything. Perhaps, that is why it 
 comforts me now a little. It is a great idea 
 and dangerous! But all big ideas concerning 
 the emotions are dangerous to us women, I 
 think. After all, aren t we merely grown-up 
 little girls, with all the violent likes and dis 
 likes of little girls? 
 
 A woman, I think, can never be conservative 
 in her likes and dislikes. She never entertains 
 a suspicion, for in her mind a suspicion be-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 115 
 
 comes overnight a fact she can not endure 
 half-tones in either thought or feeling. Like 
 wise, she can not think another person merely 
 tolerable the other person is invariably either 
 to be welcomed into her inner circle of warm 
 affection or to be thrust into the outer world 
 of cold indifference. We women rush at 
 things or flee from them. We never stand 
 between. 
 
 But D R has told me he will explain to me, 
 as the days go by, how my childhood inca 
 pacitated me for dealing adequately and defi 
 nitely with the Mrs. Tarones and the Marjories 
 of my life. And, in doing that, he is to put 
 me in such possession of myself that the cloud 
 which hides my knowledge of what happened 
 there in the conservatory will be lifted. 
 
 How will he accomplish all this, all this and 
 the greater achievement of giving me peace of 
 mind, courage, happiness even? That is what 
 I ask myself repeatedly how? If I could 
 only understand! He will begin with me to 
 morrow. Tomorrow there are to be, then, two 
 inquests, one over the body of Marjorie Nesbit, 
 one over the soul of Ruth Marden. 
 
 And some day, as a result of both of them, I 
 am to know why and how I have done things 
 which have resulted in Charlie s going to prison
 
 116 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 and my husband s being estranged from me! 
 Everything is so mixed and ruined. The in- 
 appropriateness, the incongruity of things, a 
 murder committed in my home sensation, 
 scandal, horrible publicity! They are simply 
 things that do not belong, things that are not 
 done, things I never thought could touch me or 
 any of the people I know. 
 
 How can D R save for me anything that is 
 worth while in life? I wish I were unable to 
 doubt, but I do terribly.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 LAST night was wretched. When D R 
 told me I was exhausted and ill from what 
 I had been through, he was right. If Miss 
 Keyes had not been with me, I do not know 
 what I would have done. I was so nervous, 
 so perfectly unable to hold myself together, 
 that at last she gave me something to make me 
 sleep. I like her much she is so entirely my 
 ideal of what a nurse should be, doing only 
 what I want done and insisting on nothing I 
 dislike ! 
 
 And today I have been shown the path lead 
 ing to a new life if only I can follow it ! 
 
 D R came to see me a few minutes past one 
 o clock, and I received him up here in my 
 writing room. This is where I shall see him 
 each day. It is quiet, and away from every 
 thing, and the comfortable chairs, the open 
 fire, and the sense of it all being my own per 
 sonal atmosphere will help me in my efforts 
 to do the things he wants me to do. 
 
 I met him today with the question that was
 
 118 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 uppermost in my thoughts last night: " How 
 are you going to help me, D R exactly how? " 
 
 " First," he said, " you must tell me exactly 
 how you have suffered, exactly what you have 
 suffered." 
 
 I began to tell him, and immediately discov 
 ered how hard it was. I could not find words 
 that would express suitably or satisfactorily 
 what I had endured, what I am enduring now. 
 It is surprising how, when one has decided to 
 lay bare one s soul and to have done with res 
 ervations and ambiguities and the pitiful sub 
 terfuges one has been accustomed to use to 
 soothe one s hurt pride or to hide one s faults 
 it is surprising then how hard it is to put things 
 into plain language. The various shades of 
 feeling, the high colors of agony, the different 
 degrees of pain, although they may be felt and 
 realized in terms of tears, elude one s powers 
 of description. 
 
 " For a year," I said, " I ve suffered un 
 speakably. I ve felt a mortification for which 
 there was no redress, a bitterness I was afraid 
 to utter, a scorn on which I would not act, a 
 misery for which I wept only in secret ; a wild, 
 desperate rage which I tried to repress. I 
 have wanted to die; oh, I ve longed so to die. 
 
 " And I have wanted to go away. I don t
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 119 
 
 mean simply to leave George. I have wanted 
 to disappear entirely, never to see again any 
 of my friends, any of the people I know. I 
 wished to lose myself, to establish a new 
 identity, without any of the old ties, in another 
 part of the world. I have been desperate. 
 I ve felt like a hunted thing, with nowhere to 
 turn miserable day and night oh, so miser 
 able!" 
 
 " I know know so well," he encouraged me. 
 " Now, try to be more specific. Tell me the 
 details, can t you? " 
 
 He was looking at me with infinite under 
 standing in his eyes. Somehow, I believed 
 then that he would not blame me for anything 
 I could tell him. He had only the desire to 
 help. That enabled me to go on. 
 
 There have been times when I couldn t 
 even cry. The tears wouldn t come. I was 
 so unhappy and lonely, and yet couldn t cry. 
 That always terrifies me. It reminds me of 
 the man in Dante s hell the one whose face 
 had been encased in ice so that he might never 
 have the consolation of tears. And I ve been 
 tortured by ideas. I mean an idea would come 
 to me, and I couldn t get it out of my head. 
 Sometimes it was merely foolish. Sometimes 
 it was painful. Sometimes oh, D R, how
 
 120 MES. MABDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 can I say it? sometimes it was disgusting, 
 low, perfectly disgusting." 
 
 " I know," he said again. " That is the 
 agony of the fixed idea. It is torturing." 
 
 " And again I ve felt as if I would do things 
 in spite of myself, things that I didn t want to 
 do at all, horrible things like insulting people 
 gratuitously, or laughing at sorrow. I have 
 done it I ve insulted people, and I have 
 laughed at people s suffering." 
 
 ;< That, too, I understand," he nodded his 
 head slowly; "compulsions." 
 
 " All that has made me afraid afraid! I m 
 always afraid I shall do something or say some 
 thing in spite of myself, things that are not like 
 the real me at all. I m no longer mistress of 
 myself. That s why I say I m losing my 
 mind." 
 
 He got up from his chair, and, with his hands 
 behind him, began to pace to and fro, between 
 me and the fire. 
 
 " As I told you," he said, " you are neurotic. 
 But you mustn t think that so terrible. We 
 are all a little neurotic. It is a question of 
 nerves. Only in your case the neurotic condi 
 tion has become so bad that you must have 
 help. You must be shown how you can con 
 trol yourself.
 
 MKS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 121 
 
 " Somebody has said that we all are born 
 heirs to the stars, but, before we have gone 
 very far, we fall into a pit. That is, the storm 
 and stress of life drags us back, drags us down, 
 and we can not realize our ideal of happiness 
 and content. What do you think has kept you 
 from realizing your ideal happiness? " 
 
 " George," I returned unhesitatingly. " I 
 don t trust him. For more than a year, he has 
 made the thought of love an ugly, despicable 
 thing." 
 
 We will come back to that many times. 
 Now, you see, having met this obstacle to your 
 happiness, you haven t dealt with it frankly 
 and fully. As you say, you decided there was 
 no redress for your mortification. You didn t 
 give voice to your bitterness. And you came 
 to the point where you wanted to die, or run 
 away, anything to escape your tragic disap 
 pointment. It is this state of mind which 
 accounts for many of the mysterious disap 
 pearances the newspapers report." 
 
 He paused before he added: 
 
 " I want to be very clear about this: the 
 neurotic who comes to grief does so because she 
 refuses to fight out her battles. She flees from 
 realities. Let me put it this way: all neurotics, 
 men or women, are those people who, faced by
 
 122 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 painful problems, throw up their hands and 
 give up the battle of life. That is, they are in 
 a sense morally timid moral cowards. Do 
 you see? " 
 
 * You mean we don t make the best of 
 things?" 
 
 " Practically that, but it is more than that. 
 After you decided it would do no good to talk 
 it over with George or anybody else, you nat 
 urally withdrew into yourself, tried to solve 
 your problems alone, tried to be all-sufficient 
 unto yourself. Of course, that was impossible. 
 No one is sufficient unto one s self. 
 
 You demonstrated that very clearly, with 
 your search for happiness outside your home, 
 your excited indulgence in all sorts of amuse 
 ments, your outbreaks of hilarity, your attacks 
 of gloom and depression. So many women do 
 the same thing. And the moment one turns 
 from one s loved ones and says, I don t care; 
 let things go to smash ; I ll find happiness else 
 where, just then one heads for tragedy. 
 
 Your viewpoint is twisted by your brood 
 ing, or by your cynical levity, or by the grief 
 which you continually exaggerate by dwelling 
 on it. Your thoughts run away from you, 
 carry you hither and thither; you become the 
 prey of fixed ideas and obsessions. Running
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 123 
 
 away from disappointment is just as demoral 
 izing as running away from an enemy. Cow 
 ardice always entails the most costly kind of 
 suffering." 
 
 It was queer that I did not resent what he 
 said. If anybody else had said it to me, I 
 would have resented it. I would have been 
 angry with him had I not realized so fully that 
 his one aim was to help me. Strangest of all 
 was the mental attitude I had toward this dis 
 section of myself, my motives, my conduct. 
 Thanks to his earnestness, his loving kindness, 
 I was able to look at myself with something of 
 clarity, some little measure of criticism. 
 
 " I can realize," I said, " how I ve been 
 unable to find happiness away from normal 
 life and normal things. I may be able to con 
 vince myself that I was cowardly in not trying 
 to persuade George he was unfair to me. But 
 why did I run away from the fight? Why did 
 I have the cowardly impulse ? No one chooses 
 to be a coward." 
 
 " Every coward is made a coward in child 
 hood," he answered without the slightest hesi 
 tation. Tell me: what kind of a childhood 
 and young girlhood did you have? " 
 
 ;< It was," I answered bitterly, " a thing of 
 sackcloth and ashes. You know about my
 
 124 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 mother and father, how I loved him, how he 
 died when I was ten, how irritable my mother 
 was, and how strict she was with me, of how 
 much pleasure she deprived me. I say this 
 although I loved her dearly, and she did what 
 she thought was best for me. But I wouldn t 
 like to live through my childhood again." 
 
 " Ah! " he exclaimed with quick sympathy. 
 You have come back to what I said: in your 
 childhood the foundation was laid for the sor 
 row and discomfort you now feel. In fact, I 
 do not think I go too far when I say unhappy 
 marriages, divorces, and all the tragedies of 
 domestic life are formed, in miniature, in one s 
 childhood. You ran away from your problems 
 because your troubled childhood established in 
 you the habit of mental flight, of not being 
 able to satisfy yourself as to why this or that 
 had to be or had to happen." 
 
 " And what am I to do? " 
 
 We are going to bring back to you the 
 memory of all the things that hurt you as a 
 child. And those, taken with these later an 
 noyances and irritants, we shall be able to dis 
 cuss and deal with effectively when once you 
 have remembered them. 
 
 The trouble is, we flatter ourselves we have 
 forgotten many of the things that wounded us.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OBDEAL 125 
 
 As a matter of fact, we never forget. The 
 things we have thrust into our subconscious 
 minds with ruthless hands because we did not 
 want to think about them, come back in dis 
 guised forms and strike down our calm, our 
 mental efficiency." 
 
 " And if I am able to remember them, to 
 bring them back, they will not trouble me any 
 more? " 
 
 " Exactly. What you are today is the prod 
 uct of all the things you have thought and 
 felt and done in all the past hours of your life. 
 You are a nervous wreck now because you 
 thought and felt wrongly, dealt inadequately 
 with some of the things that came into your 
 life. We will bring them into the light of 
 reason, and, when we have discussed them and 
 deprived them of the power of worrying you 
 further, you will be strong, courageous, able 
 to take hold of life and really mold it closer 
 to the heart s desire. 
 
 " But how can I remember all these things? " 
 I urged. " How can I ever accomplish it? " 
 
 * Through the proper use of your dreams." 
 
 "My dreams, D R! How?" My incre 
 dulity returned in all its force. 
 
 " I shall analyze them," he said, disregarding 
 my unbelief. " Your dreams are but the rec-
 
 126 ME8. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 ord, the record in hieroglyphics, of your past 
 troubles. They tell in symbols, a beautiful 
 symbolism as you will find, exactly wherein 
 you have been hurt and sent stumbling and 
 timid into the battle of life." 
 
 " I suppose," I remarked, still doubtful, 
 " you can read my dreams." 
 
 " It is only necessary," he said, " for you to 
 tell me what the things in your dreams remind 
 you of. I will explain the symbolism and the 
 meaning to you as we proceed." 
 
 " I will do my share," I said humbly. 
 
 * Then," he assured me cheerfully, " we need 
 have no fear as to the result. You must trust 
 that to me." 
 
 As he was leaving, after I had repeated to 
 him what I wrote last night about my unhappi- 
 ness with George, he said: 
 
 * Be ready tomorrow to tell me any dreams 
 you may have tonight." 
 
 Why, I forgot! " I cried in dismay. " I 
 never dream." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do," he said with conviction. 
 
 Everybody has dreams every night, but not 
 
 everybody has the habit of remembering them." 
 
 I wonder if everybody does dream ! And I 
 wonder how I am to get happiness as a result 
 of my dreams. While he talked to me, I felt
 
 MES. HARDEN S OEDEAL 127 
 
 comforted, assured. Now that he is no longer 
 here, I am all doubts, and indecisions, and 
 fears. How are my dreams to give me peace, 
 or make me happy with George? Or does he 
 mean that I shall be happy by leaving George ? 
 And when? 
 
 Most particularly I wonder how my dreams 
 are to make me remember what I saw in the 
 conservatory and why I accused Charlie Cor 
 coran of a murder I did not even know I had 
 witnessed ! 
 
 It all seems so hopeless and far away and 
 useless, this seeking, by conversation, to regain 
 the mastery of my own soul and to establish 
 the innocence or guilt of Charlie. Do I want 
 to remember what I saw Charlie do in the con 
 servatory? It might be better, after all, not 
 to remember. Even if he is guilty, it may be 
 just as well for me not to remember. I do not 
 want to see him punished.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 EVERAL hours after D R left I read the 
 afternoon newspapers. He allows me to 
 do this. When I asked him about it, he said: 
 
 " I think it would be better for you to know 
 what is happening than to sit here imagining 
 all sorts of things. You see, what we are try 
 ing to do in this work is to enable you to face 
 facts." 
 
 The rest of my life he has permitted me to 
 arrange as I see fit. For the present, I spend 
 my time in my bedroom and writing room, 
 seeing nobody but Miss Keyes, not even 
 Amanda, my cook, who really is also my house 
 keeper. I have not seen George since yester 
 day. I shall not see him for a long time. I 
 can not stand it and it would do no good. 
 In a few days I shall take a ride in the car, 
 with Miss Keyes. 
 
 She is a blond little thing, always cool and 
 self-possessed. Her sureness of movement, 
 her quickness, her quietness, and her gift for 
 never irritating me have pleased me immensely. 
 I know I shall like her more and more. That
 
 MES. MAKDEN S OEDEAL 129 
 
 is, I shall be able to endure having her near me. 
 I feel that I never want to like anybody really 
 again. In the end, to like anybody is merely 
 to doom oneself to final disappointment! 
 
 The inquest was held this morning. D R 
 had given his testimony there before he came 
 to me, and he did not mention it while he was 
 here! Mary Calhoun was a witness and the 
 policeman who arrested Charlie on the street 
 and Chief Palmer, who related the conversation 
 he had heard between Charlie and me. Charlie 
 did not testify. 
 
 And now he is in jail " to await the action 
 of the grand jury. The prosecuting attorney 
 plans to bring him to trial the latter part of 
 November." The last of next month, then, 
 he will go to trial for his life. In the mean 
 time, he is in jail, in a common cell, lodged with 
 outcasts and riffraff, with nothing to do but 
 gaze at the walls of his narrow cell. Charlie, 
 who was forever on the go, forever full of fun 
 and life, dancing, driving his gray roadster at 
 incredible speeds, laughing his way through 
 life Charlie, handsome, rich, without a care 
 on earth. 
 
 The verdict of the coroner s jury was that 
 Marjorie came to her death " at the hands of 
 Charles Tevis Corcoran."
 
 130 MBS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 Ever since I read that and it is now late at 
 night I have been seeing Charlie s hands as 
 they were before he and Marjorie went into 
 the conservatory strong, writhing hands 
 which, in pantomime, crushed her throat. I 
 have seen those hands, and there have flashed 
 through my mind hundreds of times the words 
 " at the hands of Charles Tevis Corcoran." I 
 can t get rid of his hands, even while I am writ 
 ing. They dance before me, leap at me out 
 of the dark, set my brain to whirling like a 
 mill-wheel. Those are the kinds of things that 
 make me suffer so. It is worse than being 
 haunted by a ghost. I can not escape. I 
 know that, when I go to bed, I shall lie there in 
 the dark and see those hands and repeat to my 
 self, like a mental litany, " at the hands of 
 Charles Tevis Corcoran." 
 
 Another afternoon paper printed this: 
 " Mrs. George Marden, the well known 
 young society matron, was not a witness at 
 the inquest. Although she will be ultimately 
 the star witness of the prosecution against Cor 
 coran, all idea of summoning her today was 
 given up when Doctor Francis P. Doyle, the 
 eminent neurologist, assured the chief of police 
 that she was suffering from a complete nervous 
 breakdown and was unable to take the stand.
 
 MRS. HARDEN S ORDEAL 131 
 
 " In this connection, there was a rumor going 
 the rounds this afternoon that Mrs. Harden, 
 who was an intimate friend of Corcoran s, will 
 never testify against him. The report is that 
 Mrs. Marden claims to have no recollection of 
 what she saw in the conservatory on the night 
 of the murder or what she said to Corcoran in 
 the hearing of Chief Palmer. 
 
 " When Doctor Doyle was questioned about 
 this alleged aphasia on the part of Mrs. Mar- 
 den, he refused to make any comment. 
 
 " Chief Palmer, however, was more com 
 municative. He said: 
 
 I do not believe Mrs. Marden suffered 
 any such aphasia, nor do I believe that such an 
 excuse will be put forward by her or her 
 friends to prevent her testifying at the trial. 
 It is merely a wild rumor. An aphasia which 
 is as convenient as that was, lasting only 
 long enough to cover up the commission of the 
 crime and her incriminating Corcoran, would 
 be ridiculous. 
 
 I can realize Mrs. Marden s desire to pro 
 tect the accused. It is natural in her first 
 shocked horror as a result of the crime. How 
 ever, there is no cause for worry. Mrs. Mar 
 den will testify. You can be sure of that. 
 This is not an age when justice can be thwarted
 
 132 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 by cooked-up excuses simply because a witness 
 happens to like a criminal. 
 
 How do such things get into print so soon? 
 Who could have told a reporter about my con 
 dition? Is it a guess, some wild imagining 
 that happens to strike the truth, or has the 
 chief of police found out about me? Nobody 
 knew of it except D R and George. Has 
 George confided in somebody, and has that 
 somebody betrayed his confidence? Or did 
 D R have to tell the chief of police? 
 
 After all, it doesn t matter. What does 
 matter is that this is what everybody is saying 
 about me, that I am lying, that I am trying to 
 protect Charlie, and that the attempt is ab 
 surdly weak. So, all things considered, I must 
 remember ! I must win back to a real recollec 
 tion of what I saw and said. Not to remember 
 will do Charlie no good. I have sent him to 
 the scaffold, as things stand now. My only 
 chance of saving him is to remember, to be 
 able to say that he did not kill Marjorie 
 and that what I said to him yesterday morn 
 ing in the library was nothing but the mad 
 raving of a woman temporarily out of her 
 mind. 
 
 That, of course, puts another burden upon 
 me. To confess that I was out of my mind!
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 133 
 
 What woman cares to do that? But I must. 
 I must ! 
 
 I believe Charlie is innocent. Yes, I sin 
 cerely believe that. But why does the vision of 
 his strong, writhing hands haunt me so? Why 
 did they seem so ready and eager to crush, to 
 choke ? Why do they float before my eyes and 
 torment me? Why, when D R told me Charlie 
 had been arrested, was my first idea the recol 
 lection of those writhing, strong, eager fingers? 
 Perhaps, it is because I am so weak nervously. 
 It must be that. 
 
 Charlie did not kill her. I know him too 
 well. He did not. And I must remember all 
 about it, so that he will be saved. I am sure 
 on that point now. I want to remember all 
 about it. D R and I must work, work, work 
 every day so that, in the end, I may be able to 
 take the stand and tell the truth. I do not 
 fear the ordeal of testifying if only I can help 
 him, if only I can undo some of the misery I 
 have made him bear.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 LAST night I slept the dead sleep of utter 
 exhaustion, except that once I awoke and 
 sat up in bed terrified for the moment. I had 
 had a dream one which, in spite of its 
 grotesqueness, filled me with genuine horror 
 and made my heart flutter and my breath come 
 and go in gasps. 
 
 When D R came, I told him the dream, I 
 who had been so sure twenty-four hours before 
 that I never dreamed. 
 
 " I don t think it can mean anything," I 
 said with a short, deprecatory laugh, " but this 
 is it: 
 
 " I dreamed I saw George running down a 
 long, narrow road. The road had low, thick 
 bushes on each side of it. He was running 
 after a little curly-haired boy, and in some way 
 I knew that he intended to kill the child. He 
 was about to catch the child and kill it when a 
 tall Indian stepped out of the bushes and 
 handed me a hatchet, or a tomahawk. I threw 
 the hatchet at George and struck him just as he 
 was about to grasp the child s hair. Then I 
 was so horrified, I awoke,"
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 135 
 
 D R, pacing in his slow, restful way to and 
 fro in front of me, nodded approvingly. 
 
 " That is an excellent dream," he declared 
 encouragingly. 
 
 He went to my desk and wrote one or two 
 lines on a piece of paper which he slipped into 
 an envelope. Then he put the envelope on 
 the mantel, leaning it against a vase. 
 
 " Now," he began, turning to me again, " the 
 great thing we must remember is that every 
 dream expresses and fulfils a wish entertained 
 consciously or unconsciously by the dreamer. 
 In discussing all your dreams, in analyzing 
 them and rinding out what they mean, we must 
 keep that in mind: to discover the wishes, the 
 longings, wrapped up in them. 
 
 " And the only way we can do this, and the 
 only way you can recover from your neurosis 
 and remember the affair about Corcoran is 
 this: Whenever I ask you a question about 
 what you are reminded of by a word or a sen 
 tence or a fact in the dream, you must answer 
 me immediately. The thought must spring 
 instantly from your brain to your lips. You 
 must not edit it or qualify it or hold it back. 
 No matter how absurd or how irrelevant may 
 be the idea brought up, you must give it 
 to me."
 
 136 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Is that all? " I asked, thinking how easy 
 it would be. 
 
 " Yes ; that, and the things I may find it 
 necessary to say to you by way of explanation 
 as we proceed." 
 
 " I can do that," I agreed readily. 
 
 You can if you will be brave," he cautioned 
 me. 
 
 " Now," he pursued, pausing in his walk and 
 looking at me intently, " what are you re 
 minded of by a little child? " 
 
 I looked at him for fully ten seconds with 
 out opening my lips. 
 
 You said you would tell me," he per 
 suaded. What has become of the thought 
 that came into your mind? " 
 
 " Oh, D R," I answered, distressed, " do I 
 have to tell you that? " 
 
 " Everything," he said, but with wonderful 
 tenderness. 
 
 I hesitated, struggling with myself at the 
 beginning of the process of laying bare my 
 soul. 
 
 When you said little child, " I forced my 
 self to the words, " it reminded me that, ever 
 since I ve been married, I have wanted children 
 of my own." 
 
 " And George? " he asked in a low voice.
 
 MES. MAKDEN S OEDEAL 137 
 
 I fought with myself again. 
 
 " He he," I said, the words coming in a 
 whisper, " has never wanted them." 
 
 " Tell me all about it," he urged gently. 
 
 It was terribly hard. I felt ashamed, 
 humiliated, and, coupled with that, was an 
 indignant wondering as to how all this could 
 account for any of my present suffering. But 
 somehow, stumbling, hesitant and abashed, I 
 told the story which I had thought for years 
 nobody, not even George, could ever drag from 
 me, the story of my lost happiness, of my grief 
 because I could have no children without in 
 curring the displeasure of my husband ! 
 
 To the happy mother, with her children at 
 her knee, this might seem silly and impossible. 
 But to those others, the childless married 
 women, the women who have had no children 
 simply because their husbands loved them as 
 women and not as potential mothers, it must 
 ring true, bitterly true. So many of them 
 have gone through that anguish, an anguish all 
 the greater because it was not expected. They 
 know the agony of it. They know! I have 
 seen it on their faces, the shadow of sweet 
 hopes denied, lovely visions unrealized. And 
 I know ! 
 
 It all came back to me as, stirred to clear
 
 138 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 memory by the promptings of a jumbled-up 
 dream, I told D R about it. I told him all, 
 my happy engagement to George, my dreams 
 of a home and curly-haired babies, my feeling 
 on my wedding night that I was about to begin 
 with this man the real earnest business of liv 
 ing, my shy, and yet eager, welcoming of his 
 caresses; my surrender, in a storm of passion 
 made beautiful by love, to him who would be 
 the father of my children. And then I had to 
 tell him of what George had said that very 
 night his not wanting children, his wanting 
 me just as I was. 
 
 D R had sat down across the hearth from 
 me. 
 
 " And what did you think of that? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, at first," I said, " I was numb with 
 grief. It did not seem real or true. But, of 
 course, I was in love with my husband, and I 
 wanted to please him. I I never argued it 
 with him again. I D R, I couldn t don t 
 you see? I just went on living for months 
 with that dull ache down in my heart, that 
 thought in my mind that I had been struck a 
 cruel blow, been robbed of the greatest sweet 
 ness of life. After a while, eight or nine 
 months, I guess, all that wore away. I for-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 139 
 
 got. I made myself forget. I wouldn t 
 think of it any more. If George would be less 
 happy with children, they were impossible. 
 That was all. I stopped worrying, and turned 
 to other things." 
 
 D R got up and walked slowly back and 
 forth. 
 
 " A neurotic," he explained, " is one who has 
 sacrificed her ideals needlessly and refused to 
 meet her destiny. She does not live naturally. 
 If one fulfilled as nearly as possible all one s 
 ideals and did what nature intended one to do, 
 one could never be neurotic. 
 
 You see, you are to be cured, enabled to 
 regain possession of your mind by finding out 
 how you have crushed your ideals and how best 
 you may realize your destiny to the full. 
 
 " Being a woman, your destiny was to have 
 children. That is the destiny of all of us, men 
 and women, particularly women. There is 
 only one substitute for it, for this great creative 
 business of reproduction, and that is important 
 and creative work. Love and work are the 
 only things worth while in life absolutely. 
 And they are worth while simply because they 
 are creative. The ideal state is to have a fam 
 ily and to do some other creative work also, 
 but it is seldom that a woman can make
 
 140 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 work a thoroughly efficient substitute for her 
 babies. 
 
 " Now, what did you do? You turned 
 directly against your destiny, against nature. 
 Because, in the first flush of your love, you 
 wanted to please George at all costs, you de 
 serted your ideal of a home with children and 
 deliberately denied your highest wish. As you 
 say, it distressed you at first, but you made 
 yourself forget it. 
 
 " As a matter of fact, did you forget it? 
 You did not. You merely refused to think 
 about it. But that did not help. It was still 
 in your mind, in your subconscious mind. No 
 matter what you did, there it was: your dis 
 tress because you had no children, and your 
 secret reproach and blaming of your husband 
 for that fact." 
 
 " I don t think I ever blamed George," I 
 objected, breathless with wonder at the truth 
 of most of what he was saying. 
 " Did you blame yourself? " 
 " No-o," I hesitated. " I think not." 
 But the dream," he said, " indicates that 
 you blamed your husband. And dreams never 
 lie. In the dream, he was pursuing the child 
 to destroy it, and not only did you resent that 
 and blame him for it, but you took the hatchet
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 141 
 
 and attacked him. The picture of the Indian 
 and the hatchet is but the convenient symbol 
 ism by which in your sleep you express that 
 dislike of George which you never allowed 
 yourself consciously to voice during the first 
 three years of your married life. Do you 
 see? " 
 
 " Perhaps," I answered, still reluctant. 
 
 Then the thought came to me that, during 
 my honeymoon, I had inwardly reproached 
 George. I remembered a night when I had 
 leaned on the sill of my bedroom window, over 
 looking the sea, and had thought, had even 
 whispered, to myself: " Does he mean this 
 for all the time? Are we never to have any 
 children? Why, George can t be as unnatural 
 as that!" 
 
 I caught D R s eye. 
 
 " Yes," I told him with childlike candor; " I 
 did reproach him during our honeymoon. I 
 remember that I thought he asked too much." 
 
 After that, we talked about the Indian. 
 What did the Indian bring to my mind? It 
 brought many things, most of them childhood 
 things. As a little girl, I had loved the works 
 of Fenimore Cooper and had read all the other 
 books I could find about Indians. And my 
 mother had scolded me for it at first, had pun-
 
 142 MES. MABDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 ished me finally. Girls, she had said, should 
 not become absorbed in blood-and-thunder 
 stories. And all the time the Indian had stood 
 in my mind as the type of one who revenged 
 himself on his enemies, acted swiftly and 
 bravely, fought for his rights. 
 
 You see," said D R, " how natural it was 
 in the dream for you to get help from an In 
 dian in resenting a wrong that had been done 
 you, this injustice of motherhood frustrated. 
 
 Your dream isn t so silly after all, is it? 
 It means simply that, in your sleep, you pun 
 ished George for having denied you the happi 
 ness of having a child. You fulfilled your 
 wish, unconscious or semi-conscious wish, to 
 revenge yourself upon him. If you had fought 
 the matter out with him at the beginning in 
 stead of submitting to his preferences against 
 your will, you would, I think, never have been 
 able to have such a dream as this one. 
 
 " Our battles all must be fought out sooner 
 or later. If we don t fight them openly and 
 directly, we continue to try to fight them in our 
 dreams, in our daily irritabilities, bursts of 
 rage, discontents but such substitute battles 
 are never satisfactory. And, finally, we are 
 overwhelmed by our futile struggles. We 
 throw up our hands and surrender. We fight
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 143 
 
 no more. When we do that, the world beats 
 us. We are weaklings, unable to go about the 
 business of living properly, unable to achieve 
 happiness." 
 
 He sat down opposite me again and looked 
 into the fire. 
 
 " But," he went on, " it is not sufficient for 
 you to bring up in your mind the things that 
 hurt you because you looked at them incor 
 rectly and because you responded to them un 
 wisely. It is also necessary that, after you 
 have remembered them, you consider them and 
 see for yourself where and how you acted 
 wrongly. 
 
 " For instance, you told me yesterday that 
 you blamed George for all your unhappiness 
 and suffering. Do you blame him for your 
 not having children? " 
 
 Why, certainly," I said at once. 
 
 " But is that fair? " 
 
 " How do you mean, D R? " 
 
 " I mean, can you be sure that you did every 
 thing possible to get him to look at the matter 
 from your viewpoint? Did you tell him how 
 miserable the thought of not having children 
 made you? Did you say anything to him to 
 persuade him that children would make both 
 you and him happier in the end? "
 
 144 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " No. What he said had shocked me too 
 much." 
 
 " There! You see? You accepted that 
 blow to your ideals without even a struggle to 
 avoid it. You accepted as final what he said. 
 So! You can t blame him entirely, can you? 
 It was in some degree your fault that things 
 remained as they were, wasn t it? " 
 
 " Oh," I said impatiently, " I hate squab 
 bling!" 
 
 All the same, he had started me to thinking 
 that George in that one instance might have a 
 case, some sort of defense. But, I reflected, 
 no young girl should be confronted with such 
 a thing by a man six years older than herself. 
 I said as much to D R. 
 
 " Oh," he agreed in his gentlest voice, " it 
 was unfortunate, miserably unfortunate; but 
 we must try now to see both sides of the mat 
 ter, George s as well as yours." 
 
 Before he got up to go, he said: 
 We must keep on working very hard to 
 remember every one of the ideals which you 
 allowed to be blurred or which other people 
 dimmed and dwarfed for you. If we call them 
 all up and discuss them and see wherein you 
 went wrong, that will cure you of all your 
 nervousness everything. Ideals, my dear
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 145 
 
 child, are the guideposts by which we approach 
 at last to contentment and to be contented 
 properly is to lead a successful life." 
 
 He was about to say goodby when, for no 
 reason at all, I remembered that Marjorie s 
 funeral was to have been this morning. I had 
 not thought about it all day until then. He 
 saw my face change, and asked, " What is it, 
 Ruth? " 
 
 " Marjorie s funeral this morning," I an 
 swered, a little feverishly. " Did you go? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It seems strange that I didn t." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I don t know. It just does. We we 
 knew each other so well." 
 
 When he had left, and Miss Keyes came in, 
 I was thinking about Marjorie. Rather, I 
 tried to think about her, but my thoughts were 
 all wandering and confused. 
 
 " She s as cold now as she used to look," I 
 would say to myself, and then glance at Miss 
 Keyes and think, " I wonder if you are ever 
 troubled you look so cool and fresh and 
 calm." Then I would have those two thoughts 
 all over again, and over and over. But I 
 simply could not feel overwhelmed with sorrow 
 for Marjorie; I just sat there in front of the
 
 146 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 fire and thought how cold she was, and how 
 fresh and calm Miss Keyes was. 
 
 My mind was a whirligig. I could not keep 
 it to the straight line of what I wanted to con 
 sider. Again and again, as I tried to make 
 myself realize the tragedy of Marjorie s death, 
 the death of that lovely body with its evil-warm 
 spirit, I found myself wondering in ridiculous 
 vagueness whether Miss Keyes was ever 
 troubled! 
 
 The envelope D R had left on the mantel 
 caught my gaze. I took it down and saw that 
 it was addressed to me. On the paper inside 
 were these words: 
 
 This is a typical dream, the kind that has 
 been dreamed by so many women that any 
 psychoanalyst can interpret it at once. It 
 means you secretly dislike your husband be 
 cause you have no children." 
 
 If anybody else had employed such means to 
 convince me of the correctness of his science, I 
 would have considered it theatric, smacking of 
 the charlatan, and like boasting. But D R is 
 not that kind. I realized that he had done it 
 to make me see at the very outset the extreme 
 importance of all my dreams and to increase 
 my faith in the work he was doing with me 
 and for me.
 
 MES. MAKDEN S OEDEAL 147 
 
 And the thing astonished me. Even before 
 we had had all our discussion, bringing up 
 painfully the thoughts stirred by the contents 
 of the dream, he had known precisely what I 
 would say, the story that I would narrate ! It 
 struck me as marvelous, uncanny. 
 
 I crumpled up the note and threw it into the 
 fire. And all at once I was seized by mis 
 givings, doubts. How long would this process 
 have to continue before I could remember what 
 I had seen the night of Marjorie s death? How 
 many tiresome, fruitless days and nights would 
 I have to spend? Why wasn t there some 
 swift, sure way to give me relief? Must I go 
 on indefinitely, racking my brain and battering 
 away my physical strength against the enigma, 
 the double enigma, of my own happiness and 
 Charlie s peril? I could see no hope of timely 
 relief. 
 
 Desperation settled upon me. I hurried 
 into the bedroom and studied my face before 
 the mirror, trying to read in my features, not 
 what I wanted to see, but what actually was 
 there. It was the first time I had ever ap 
 proached a mirror in that state of mind. And 
 I saw that my eyes eyes which in the old days 
 had had mystic, elusive lights in their black 
 depths, soft lights of high ideals and true
 
 148 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 romance, and quick lights of humor and enjoy 
 ment were characterized now by a sort of 
 steely glitter, very hard and very inexpressive, 
 as if they withdrew my soul from my own in 
 spection. And about my mouth, across the 
 upper lip, plainly evident at the corners, was a 
 new line, a bit coarser than I had ever seen it. 
 The flesh about my eyes was not as firm as I 
 had thought. It seemed to have loosened, 
 ready for the inroads of tiny wrinkles. 
 
 It was, I decided, not a happy face. It had 
 that about it which frightened me at first. It 
 was the beginnings of age age! And I was 
 only twenty -five! D R would have said that 
 it came from the assaults of my hidden 
 thoughts upon my calmness and, therefore, 
 upon my good looks. That infuriated me. 
 People had always called me good looking. I 
 had been good looking. I knew that. Now, 
 the thought of losing my beauty was too much. 
 
 In a sudden, all-enveloping, futile burst of 
 rage, I seized a hairbrush and struck the mirror 
 with all my might. It crashed into bits. 
 
 When Miss Keyes ran to me, I was out 
 wardly calm, although inside of myself I was 
 seething. 
 
 "So awkward!" I said coolly. "I acci 
 dentally struck the mirror with a brush."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THIS, the fourth day since Marjorie s 
 death, has been productive of so much 
 and so little ! D R was called to Philadelphia 
 for an important consultation, but there were 
 many others who wanted to see me. I sup 
 pose they think, as Marjorie has been buried, 
 they are now at liberty to satisfy their curiosity 
 by coming to study me, to form their opinions 
 as to what effect the tragedy has had upon me. 
 Mrs. Mason was the first to leave her card after 
 asking for me insistently. Lots of others, 
 some of them good friends of mine, called also. 
 But I refused to see them. They would have 
 assured me of their sympathy. Sympathy! 
 It is almost always a mockery, a device through 
 which smug people pat themselves on the back 
 and say to themselves, " Thank heaven! noth 
 ing like this ever happened to us!" And I 
 simply felt that I could not stand it. 
 
 Before luncheon, however, Dick Jerdyce 
 and Tom Fordney came, and I did see them. 
 
 They were waiting for me in the small par 
 lor. I found them standing with their backs
 
 150 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 to the open fire. They seemed like strange 
 men, they were so solemn, so subdued of man 
 ner. In a way, they awed me. I had never 
 seen them like that before. Always they and 
 Charlie had been, with me, so full of life, so 
 much the impersonation of the delight of liv 
 ing, so unfailingly an incentive to gayety and 
 brightness and high-hearted laughter. They 
 had never seemed to take themselves or life 
 very seriously. 
 
 As I entered the room, their greeting was 
 stiff, almost brusque, so determined were they 
 not to let their emotion get the better of them. 
 They appeared desperately afraid of seeming 
 sentimental. I could see how they held them 
 selves in. 
 
 " Hello, Ruth," was all Dick Jerdyce said, 
 as he took my hand. 
 
 He was striking looking in his captain s 
 uniform. The dignity of it, perhaps, accen 
 tuated the gravity in his face. 
 
 While he pulled forward a chair for me, Tom 
 Fordney held my hand in a long clasp, and 
 asked affectionately, " How you do? " 
 
 Tom sat down opposite me, but Dick stood, 
 leaning his tall figure on one elbow against the 
 mantel. They are altogether different, these 
 two Dick, with his long, lean face and strong,
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 151 
 
 bony jaw, a countenance wonderfully express 
 ive of his keen knowledge of human nature 
 and his quick, rather mordant wit; and Tom, 
 round-faced, chubby, a little florid, one who 
 likes his cocktails and his practical jokes. 
 
 " Feeling pretty fit? " Dick looked down at 
 me in real concern. 
 
 " Yes," I said, feeling oddly oppressed. 
 " Have you seen Charlie? " 
 
 " Just came from there," he answered with 
 his new, clipped way of speaking. 
 
 " How is he? " 
 
 " Fine." 
 
 " In great shape," supplemented Tom. 
 
 "But tell me!" I demanded. "Tell me 
 about him. How does he feel? What does 
 he think? What does he say? " 
 
 " Got the finest nerve I ever saw," Dick 
 said, turning slightly and leaning with both 
 shoulders against the mantel. 
 
 You d think he was on a lark instead of in 
 jail, almost," Tom elaborated. 
 
 Dick handed me a cigarette and lit one for 
 himself. 
 
 After that, he walked to the window and 
 back. Tom sat staring into the fire. 
 
 You see, it s this way," Dick began after 
 he had resumed his place before the fire ; " I
 
 152 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 start for New York tomorrow. I sail for 
 France in a short while." 
 
 " Of course, of course," I commented, as if 
 he had said he liked the weather. 
 
 " And Tom s to get his commission before 
 the week s up." 
 
 " Of course," I repeated, and added irrel 
 evantly, " I haven t done any Red Cross work 
 for weeks and weeks." 
 
 The war was so far away, and my own suf 
 fering was so near ! I knew that I should feel 
 interested in the war, but I couldn t. It was, 
 for the time being, something that did not 
 touch me in any manner. 
 
 I just sat there, reproaching myself for that 
 feeling in an impersonal, insincere way. 
 
 " And," Dick concluded, " we wanted to talk 
 to you about Charlie before we left." 
 
 " I think we ought to tell her, though," Tom 
 suggested, " that Charlie told us not to." 
 
 * Yes," agreed Dick; " he wouldn t hear of 
 it told us to let you alone." 
 
 There was an awkward pause. 
 
 Tell me everything," I turned to Tom. 
 
 We went down there, to the jail, this morn 
 ing, 1 " he said, fidgeting nervously in his chair. 
 We saw him with his lawyer, William Ritten- 
 house you know, the Rittenhouse of Ritten-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 153 
 
 house, Stabler and West. And Charlie told 
 us about where he was the that night after 
 she she died. He said he was so unstrung 
 that he couldn t hang around, and he walked 
 bare-headed through the streets to the club. 
 It never occurred to him that the police would 
 want him that night. He went into one of the 
 card rooms and, mechanically more than any 
 other way, drank a lot of champagne while he 
 sat there trying to figure the thing out. 
 
 " He didn t get drunk, he said, but he 
 couldn t think things out clearly. All at 
 once he wanted to get out, to be in the open 
 you know how he loves motion anyway. And 
 he had a boy telephone for a horse. He was 
 riding about in the country aimlessly from 
 three in the morning until he came back into 
 the city and the policeman saw him. Strangely 
 enough, that was when the champagne affected 
 him. He felt groggy, he said, just as soon as 
 he slipped from the horse." 
 
 " What did Mr. Rittenhouse say to that? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Well, he didn t - -" Tom hesitated. 
 
 You might as well know, Ruth," cut in 
 Dick. We came here to tell you. Ritten 
 house said he didn t suppose that story would 
 be hard to substantiate, but he did say he
 
 154 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 couldn t see how the story Palmer heard you 
 tell Charlie was to be combated." 
 
 " And Charlie? " 
 
 " He said these were his words: I don t 
 know about that. My personal opinion is that 
 Mrs. Marden saw somebody, and, because she 
 thought Miss Nesbit and I had had some differ 
 ences, leaped to the conclusion in her nervous 
 state that I was the man. 
 
 Was that all he said? " I pursued. 
 
 I could feel the blood pounding my temples. 
 They were so slow, so timid about their words. 
 
 " Oh, he said he was innocent, and he had 
 not the slightest doubt of being vindicated. 
 In this age, he flung at us with his old buoy 
 ancy, you can t hang a man for nothing. He 
 was great, Ruth, great." 
 
 " Before we left," supplemented Tom, " he 
 took me aside and told me we were not to annoy 
 you in any way. * I know you fellows will 
 go to see Ruth, he said. * That s right. She ll 
 be glad to see you. She ll need a little cheering 
 up, I guess. But there s only one message 
 you re to give her from me. Tell her I m right 
 as a trivet, and say I sent her word that she s 
 not to concern herself about me for one mo 
 ment not for one moment is she to concern 
 herself about me. When we left him, he was
 
 MES. MABDEN S OEDEAL 155 
 
 standing in the middle of the jail reception 
 room, smiling, his hands in his pockets as he 
 swayed gently to and fro on the balls of his 
 feet you know, his favorite attitude." 
 
 " And Mr. Rittenhouse the lawyer what 
 did he tell you boys? " 
 
 I had a sickening premonition of what the 
 answer would be. 
 
 " Hang it all! " burst forth Dick. " That s 
 what we came to see you about, and we might 
 as well have it over. Rittenhouse said, unless 
 we could overturn your story, which Pal 
 mer heard, Charlie didn t have a chance on 
 earth." 
 
 The immensity of that took away my power 
 of speech for a moment, and I looked help 
 lessly first at one and then at the other. 
 
 " And how," I asked at last, " can my story 
 be overturned? " 
 
 You re the only one who can do it," said 
 Dick, and walked to the window. 
 
 "That s it, Ruth," Tom stumbled on. 
 You must try something besides this aphasia, 
 this not knowing what happened, what you 
 saw." 
 
 Immediately I knew what these two 
 thought: that the aphasia was merely a pre 
 tence, that I remembered having seen Charlie
 
 156 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 kill Marjorie, and that I, in order to save him 
 after the damage had been done, had put for 
 ward the story of not being able to remember 
 what I had seen and said. 
 
 From the window Dick flung over his 
 shoulder: 
 
 You ve got to remember you didn t see 
 Charlie and, after that, Palmer s story about 
 what he heard can t stand absolutely unsup 
 ported." 
 
 You see? " emphasized Tom. 
 
 You don t believe that happened to me? " 
 I asked in amazement. You two, who know 
 me so well, don t believe my memory of those 
 things was wiped out, utterly? " 
 
 Tom answered me, and his voice shook a 
 little as he spoke. 
 
 " Nobody believes it, Ruth. You might as 
 well know. It it seems too extraordinary. 
 It doesn t seem possible, don t you know." 
 
 " Doctor Doyle says it is possible," I offered 
 in explanation. " It has happened to others. 
 There are many precedents. And my memory 
 may be restored. It was destroyed, tempo 
 rarily, by the emotional strain under which I 
 was laboring. You must you two must be 
 lieve that, must believe me." 
 
 Dick came back from the window,
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 157 
 
 " If you say so, we do believe, Ruth," he 
 assured me. " I guess we were mistaken. We 
 thought you had adopted this tack as the best 
 way of saving Charlie. And we wanted to 
 tell you it wouldn t do." 
 
 " In some way," explained Tom, " we got 
 the idea that Charlie thought you were merely 
 trying to save him by keeping quiet." 
 
 " We thought," said Dick, " that was why 
 he sent you word not to concern yourself about 
 him. He doesn t want you to make any sacri 
 fices for him." 
 
 Then I told them how D R had begun to 
 treat me, how I would work, how I was work 
 ing, to regain my recollection of what I had 
 seen, and how favorable the chances were for 
 my success. 
 
 " And, when I do that," I said, " I shall tell 
 it all. I shall be glad to tell it, because I am 
 as sure as you are that Charlie didn t do this 
 terrible thing." 
 
 I asked them if anybody else was under sus 
 picion. 
 
 " Nobody," replied Dick, in quick emphasis. 
 " Nobody. The way things stand now, Charlie 
 is doomed doomed." 
 
 " Such a thing can t happen," I broke forth, 
 moved by the despairing, futile anger I have
 
 158 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 felt so often lately. " It just can t! I shall 
 remember." 
 
 " You understand," begged Tom, " why we 
 didn t believe the aphasia story, don t you? 
 We knew you were the real thing, and we 
 thought you d hit on that as the best way to 
 save him." 
 
 " Yes," I said wearily. " I understand." 
 
 I understood also that they did not under 
 stand about me, that they had not the remotest 
 idea of what I was suffering, that they could 
 not estimate the cost of what I was doing so 
 as to overcome this loss of memory which they 
 had doubted. 
 
 In spite of their immobility there before me, 
 I sensed their nervousness. Dick, I knew, 
 was anxious to be off to arrange for his de 
 parture to the front. Tom, I felt, was think 
 ing he was due back at his desk in the State 
 Department. 
 
 They had gotten through with their mission. 
 They had done all they could for Charlie. 
 They were, perhaps, very, very sorry for me. 
 But this was not a thing that sucked up the 
 essence of their lives and dwarfed all other 
 things into nothingness not for them. It 
 was I who bore the brunt of it, all the weight 
 of it. Why, they had told me, in so many
 
 MES. HARDEN S ORDEAL 159 
 
 words, that it was I who would free Charlie or 
 send him to destruction! They had given me 
 that to contemplate, and here they were, im 
 patient to go about their other affairs. 
 
 And they were good fellows, fine men, my 
 warm friends. Yet, in this sorrow, they were 
 as far from me as perfect strangers might have 
 been. They could not reach me, and I could 
 not reach them. It did not seem fair that I 
 should bear so much, they so little. 
 
 " Oh, it is awful, awful! " I said, getting to 
 my feet, my voice tremulous more with anger 
 than with distress. " It is so awful for me. 
 You don t know. You don t know!" 
 
 Yes," said Dick; " it s one of those things 
 one can t grasp in ordinary terms of thought." 
 
 " Immeasurable," said Tom, swallowing 
 hard. 
 
 " Crucifixion by circumstances. We know," 
 Dick added. 
 
 I had a revulsion of feeling. 
 
 Thank you," I said, my voice steady 
 again. " I believe you do." 
 
 A little later, I sat before the fire in my 
 writing room and went over what they had 
 said. After all, they had told me nothing that 
 I had not suspected. I had believed all along 
 that the outside world considered the story of
 
 160 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 my loss of memory a lie I had told in the hope 
 of not having to testify against Charlie and of 
 weakening Chief Palmer s story of what I had 
 said that morning to Charlie. They had merely 
 made more clear to me the absolute necessity 
 of my recalling those events. 
 
 Their description of Charlie had been fine, 
 his cheerfulness, his confidence, his thought- 
 fulness in sending me word not to concern my 
 self about him. I could close my eyes and see 
 him, as Tom had sketched him, his hands in his 
 pockets, smiling, rocking back and forth on 
 the balls of his feet the old Charlie, he of the 
 high spirits. And I am not to concern my 
 self! . . . 
 
 Miss Keyes brought me an afternoon paper. 
 
 This was the first article that caught my 
 eye: 
 
 " Somebody other than Charles T. Corcoran, 
 the wealthy clubman, who is now in the District 
 jail as the result of the verdict of a coroner s 
 jury, may have murdered Miss Marjorie Nes- 
 bit in the George Marden residence on the 
 night of October 25. That is the problem now 
 confronting Chief of Police Palmer and his 
 subordinates. 
 
 " This new element of mystery was injected 
 into the case this morning when Lawrence
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 161 
 
 Dolby, an extra waiter employed in the Mar- 
 den home for serving refreshments at the dance 
 that night, told Detective Springer of having 
 seen a suspicious character in the gardens back 
 of the house at the time the murder was com 
 mitted. 
 
 " According to Dolby, who went to head 
 quarters this morning and volunteered his 
 story, he was standing in the kitchen door a 
 few minutes past midnight when he happened 
 to look up and see a man astride the high brick 
 wall which separates the Harden garden from 
 the alley. The man looked as if he had just 
 climbed the wall from the inside of the yard 
 and was making his escape. He dropped out 
 of sight into the alley while Dolby was looking 
 at him. 
 
 " Hardly had the man disappeared when 
 there broke out the confusion in the house as 
 a result of the discovery of the dead woman s 
 body in the conservatory. Strange to say, 
 Dolby, according to his statement, failed to 
 couple the man on the fence with the tragedy 
 until last night when he was thinking over the 
 crime. 
 
 " Dolby s description of the intruder is that 
 he was rather small of stature and very thin. 
 Dolby was impressed by the man s gauntness
 
 162 MKS. MARDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 because, as he moved his legs in getting off the 
 top of the wall, they got the legs of the loose, 
 baggy trousers he wore into a position which 
 clearly outlined the thinness of his limbs. 
 Dolby could see this from the glare of an arc- 
 light in the alley. 
 
 The tramp, as Dolby calls him, had on his 
 face a black beard of about a week s growth, 
 and his face was pallid. He wore a battered 
 derby hat. Dolby could identify him, he 
 says." 
 
 Marjorie s tramp! 
 
 The gauntness, the baggy clothing, the 
 black beard, the pallid face, the battered derby 
 hat, all those were the details of the man s 
 appearance which struck me that morning in 
 Marjorie s kitchen. The paper slid from my 
 lap as I sat up straight, trying to think what 
 this meant. 
 
 I remembered the assured, possessing light 
 in the tramp s eyes, and the warm, alluring 
 glow of Marjorie s. There came back to me 
 the impression of danger, of sensual wicked 
 ness, I had received from witnessing the scene. 
 It had been pregnant with possibilities, so 
 much so that I had felt intuitively that Mar- 
 jorie needed the protection of her mother. 
 
 What had come out of that strange acquaint-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 163 
 
 anceship, that unnatural congeniality between 
 Marjorie and the derelict man? She had 
 seen him again, once that I knew of, perhaps at 
 other times. Had she, in her foolish toying 
 with the man s passion, inflamed him to the 
 point of idiocy ? Was it possible that he could 
 have presumed to jealousy? Had her weak 
 ness carried her into reckless disregard for 
 everything? Could he have thought himself 
 entitled to dispute possession of her with any 
 one? Was it within the range of human 
 probability that he resented her presence at 
 the dance while he, outlawed by fate and yet 
 her blood-brother by temperament, was con 
 signed to the alley? 
 
 Had he killed her because she had amused 
 herself with him as she had done with so many 
 other men, men more restrained than he, men 
 not so elemental, so impatient of law and con 
 ventionality, as he? 
 
 If that had happened, Charlie would go free. 
 
 I picked up the paper again. With the ex 
 ception of the waiter Dolby s photograph, and 
 the statement that the police had instituted 
 search for the tramp here and in other cities, 
 there was nothing more of interest. 
 
 I, then, knew more than the police. I, 
 alone, had the key to the real connection be-
 
 164 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 tween Marjorie Nesbit and the derelict. I 
 was the only one who could show a possible 
 reason why the tramp should have wanted to 
 punish her. I could tell the story of how Mar 
 jorie had stooped down from her high position 
 to talk, to play, to engage in the color of sin, 
 with this creature of the gutters. 
 
 On a sudden impulse, I rang for Miss 
 Keyes. 
 
 " Please call Mr. William Rittenhouse on 
 the telephone," I told her, " Rittenhouse of 
 Rittenhouse, Stabler and West, and say to him 
 that Mrs. George Marden has some important 
 information for him. Ask him to come here 
 today, at once." 
 
 Within the hour I was talking to him a 
 little man with hard, steel-gray eyes and very 
 tight thin lips. He sat in one attitude all the 
 time, made no gestures, betrayed no emotion 
 just kept still and listened to every word I said 
 and studied me. He impressed me as having 
 great power. 
 
 I described to him the scene between Mar 
 jorie and the tramp and elaborated my theory 
 that it had led to the murder. I went with 
 great detail into a description of the ex 
 pressions I had seen on their faces and what I 
 had taken those expressions to mean. I re-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 165 
 
 peated several times my willingness to testify 
 about the whole thing at the trial. 
 
 When my story was finished, he was silent 
 for quite a long time, thinking. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said at last, " but 
 do you know positively that Miss Nesbit ever 
 did anything er that is, ever was actually 
 guilty of immorality? " 
 
 " No," I replied. " I never heard anything 
 like that about her." 
 
 " Or that she was ever dangerously indis 
 creet? " 
 
 I thought of the night she and George had 
 spent together. 
 
 " Well, no," I said, a little hesitant. 
 
 That s the difficulty," he observed, after 
 he had looked at me sharply. " No jury would 
 ever accept what you saw in her face as proof 
 against her character, or proof that she had 
 encouraged this tramp as you describe. It s 
 not evidence, really." 
 
 " But I thought it might be, since the tramp 
 is now known to have been so near the scene of 
 the teurder." 
 
 " You see, Mrs. Marden," he explained, 
 " I m looking at this, not from my viewpoint, 
 but from that of the prosecuting attorney. I 
 know him, very keen fellow, unusually able,
 
 166 MES. HARDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 Harrow won t be bothered by the waiter 
 Dolby s story unless it is corroborated in some 
 way." 
 
 " You mean it won t help Char Mr. Cor 
 coran? " 
 
 " Not without corroboration. Harrow will 
 put Dolby through a cross-examination that 
 will make him admit, in the end, that what he 
 saw on the fence was nothing but a shadow. 
 No; the Dolby story, unsubstantiated, won t 
 help won t help at all. The only hope is to 
 find the tramp." 
 
 " And yet," I objected bitterly, " I know, 
 know as well as I know my name, Miss Nesbit 
 was bad." 
 
 " Quite so," he agreed, coolly analytical. 
 " The world is rather densely populated with 
 people who, without ever breaking a single 
 law, are thoroughly evil. But justice, as it is 
 administered, never touches thejp." 
 
 " But," I persisted, " the paper says the 
 police are looking for the tramp." 
 
 " Oh, yes. They want him. To produce 
 him and prove that he saw Corcoran go back 
 into the conservatory from the veranda, or to 
 have him say he saw nothing connected with 
 the crime, will merely strengthen their case 
 against the accused,"
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 167 
 
 " Nevertheless," I clung to my point, " I m 
 sure Mr. Corcoran s friends would like to see 
 this tramp produced. Mr. Corcoran himself 
 would pay a handsome reward for his dis 
 covery." 
 
 On that, he reflected. 
 
 " That s not a bad idea, Mrs. Marden," he 
 conceded. " I ll suggest it to Mr. Corcoran: 
 that he offer a reward for the apprehension of 
 the tramp. It will have a good effect on public 
 opinion, his eagerness to dig up anybody who 
 can tell anything about the events of that 
 night." 
 
 " I would be so glad if you would," I 
 thanked him. 
 
 " Of course," he said, rising, " you are the 
 most important witness." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Rittenhouse," I exclaimed, " if I 
 only could! If I only could remember! " 
 
 You may," he answered, his manner 
 softening. " Aphasia is a queer business. 
 This is not the first time I ve encountered it." 
 
 But he left with me, as Dick Jerdyce and 
 Tom Fordney had clone, the conviction that I, 
 and I alone, could save Charlie from the mass 
 of circumstantial evidence against him.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THIS is the first time in more than two 
 weeks that I have written in this diary. 
 Today is the fifteenth of November, and 
 altogether I have had seventeen talks, or 
 " sessions," with D R in the long, grinding 
 struggle " to find my own soul " and to regain 
 my memory. It has been cruelly hard, a little 
 encouragement followed by great discourage 
 ment, an imaginary ray of light succeeded by 
 darkness and despair. The " association of 
 ideas " has seemed to lead everywhere except 
 to the point I desire. 
 
 I know I should not complain. Everything 
 is done for my comfort and pleasure. D R s 
 patience is indescribable, his persistence giant 
 like, his confidence in the ultimate result un 
 shakable. I never see George. He has 
 dropped out of my life, as I wished. 
 
 I continue to have my meals up here in my 
 writing room with Miss Keyes, whom I have 
 retained as a companion rather than as a nurse. 
 She bears wonderfully with my petulance and
 
 MES. ICAEDEN S OEDEAL 169 
 
 unreasoning bursts of anger. If she does not 
 understand me, she is at least completely 
 tolerant, and always kind. 
 
 The grand jury has brought in the indict 
 ment for murder against Charlie. The police 
 have unearthed no sign of the tramp. Even 
 Charlie s offered reward of a thousand dollars 
 for information looking to his apprehension 
 has produced no results. 
 
 More and more it becomes plain that the 
 life of Charlie Corcoran, the life of my friend, 
 my " playfellow," depends utterly on me. 
 The enormity of that responsibility rests upon 
 me continuously. I can not escape the thought 
 of it. If I do not remember, he will be con 
 victed. Everybody says so. I know it is 
 true. And still that terrible night is some 
 thing hidden from me as completely as if it 
 had never been. I can not lift up even a little 
 corner of the curtain that conceals it. My 
 desire to do so and my inability grind me be 
 tween them. 
 
 This analysis is so slow, some of it so appar 
 ently without reason! It seems to me that 
 D R and I have gone down into the depths of 
 my subconsciousness and dragged up to the 
 light of day a million experiences and im 
 pressions of my past. But, so far, that night,
 
 170 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 which contained the most important few hours 
 of all my life, recedes always from me. 
 
 The idea of suicide still haunts me. There 
 are times when I feel that I must leave this 
 house and everybody I know. Often in the 
 daytime I am compelled to go into my bedroom 
 where I may be alone and clench my hands 
 and gnash my teeth to prevent my shouting 
 aloud ugly things, even disgusting and pro 
 fane expressions, words I did not even know 
 I had ever heard. And again, I burn with 
 shame at the thought that I, even in mv un- 
 
 dj * 
 
 conscious condition, thanked Charlie for the 
 murder. Such ideas and shames and regrets 
 pursue me with vivid relentlessness. 
 
 And yet, I realize that D R is working 
 steadily, however slowly, toward some goal. 
 My only fear is that we shall never reach the 
 necessary goal, my complete happiness, and 
 the revivification of my memory. In the 
 seventeen hours he has worked over me, he has 
 led me into the real fairyland of dreams. 
 
 I know I have learned fascinating things 
 about the symbolisms in all dreams, how they 
 take ordinary things and facts and make them 
 stand for the most beautiful and intimate 
 things in life. I appreciate now the real 
 meaning of thick and verdant underbrush in
 
 MBS. MAKDEN S ORDEAL 171 
 
 a dream, the invariable significance of a moun 
 tain, the meaning of a lane or a long, narrow 
 road, or of a book. I can tell with exactness 
 that thing for which any long, slender instru 
 ment stands, and the true significance of a 
 sudden fall. The appearance of water, one 
 of the loveliest symbolisms, is thoroughly 
 familiar to me. In other words, I have come 
 to the place where I can help D R in analyzing 
 the more obvious parts of my dreams. 
 
 They recall, with unmistakable emphasis, 
 those incidents that hurt me worst in the sack- 
 cloth-and-ashes childhood to which my strict 
 and irritable mother confined me, those events 
 which brought me face to face with things I 
 could not reason out to my satisfaction and 
 had to accept as needlessly painful or inexcus 
 ably harsh and wrong in the general scheme of 
 things. 
 
 For instance, today one of my dreams re 
 minded me of fairy stories, and that brought 
 into my recollection, as I talked to D R, how 
 rudely and completely my mother shattered 
 my childish belief in fairies when I was ten 
 years old, shortly after my father died. It 
 was one of the biggest tragedies of all my life. 
 It was particularly so because she gave me no 
 explanation, offered me nothing in place pf
 
 172 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 the beautiful things I had believed. It caused 
 me only intense suffering and a startled, hot 
 resentment that people should have lied to me 
 so in letting me believe in fairyland. 
 
 For I did believe in it, thoroughly and with 
 out question of any kind. I was not surprised 
 when my father told me that lovely nymphs 
 lived in the cool, green places under deep 
 waters, and dryads, with hair like gold, danced 
 in the depths of the forest. 
 
 Nor did it seem impossible to me that " there 
 was once a king s daughter so beautiful that 
 they called her the Fair One with Golden 
 Locks," and that Avenant, daring all things, 
 finally won her love through the aid of lesser 
 creatures he had befriended. 
 
 I was persuaded that the path of braided 
 silver leading across the waters to the moon 
 was made by fairy footsteps. And it was true 
 that the exquisite markings of a flower flung 
 to the world every summer the story of a 
 lover s lovely death. If it was not true, how 
 had the markings been made? 
 
 I loved the story that long ago a great ruler 
 believed a beautiful girl could spin straw into 
 gold, and that, when she failed, a man with 
 wonderful power volunteered to accomplish 
 for her the miraculous task to which she had
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 173 
 
 been assigned. I believed men spun straw into 
 gold for women always, and always would. 
 
 Even the philosophy of fairy stories was, to 
 my childish mind, a true picture of how things 
 were done in the big, outside world. In them, 
 wickedness finally was punished, and the good 
 and deserving received their reward. Those 
 who longed for beautiful things found rest at 
 last in palaces that were beautiful. 
 
 The little girl, poisoned by the wicked step 
 mother, was befriended by seven little men who 
 carried her across the mountains in a casket 
 made all of glass and gold as if it had been the 
 resting place of a king s daughter and at last 
 she became the daughter of a king. 
 
 The child who was starving in the field was 
 fed from a magic table and the boy who 
 went up to kill the terrible giant succeeded. 
 The girl whose loveliness was radiant even 
 in the smudge of the kitchen escaped her 
 tormentresses and became the bride of a 
 prince. 
 
 All of that was exactly as it should have 
 been. I believed it had been so. I believed 
 it always would be so. And suddenly the 
 whole beautiful fabric of that belief was 
 shattered because my mother happened to be 
 in a tantrum and lost her patience when I
 
 174 MES. HARDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 asked her to give me a new book about fairies. 
 That, I say, was one of my great tragedies. 
 It is, I dare say, a great tragedy in most chil 
 dren s lives, a tragedy that never can be undone 
 when once it has been committed. 
 
 If I had been told that the fairies lived in 
 our souls and were the embodiments of our 
 strivings for the good and beautiful, that would 
 have saved to me the comfort I had had from 
 the fairies. More than that, it would have 
 helped me in the future battle with life. That 
 is very evident, I think. No childhood should 
 be deprived of Fancy and Romance. 
 
 If I have Fancy when I am a child, none of 
 the fogs of life can ever make the world en 
 tirely hideous in my eyes. By the same token, 
 if I have in my childhood no Romance, I shall 
 grow up to believe that all women are false 
 and all men liars, because I shall see many 
 false women and shall meet many men who lie 
 and shall have no shield to hide them from me. 
 But, if I have been taught Romance, I shall 
 know throughout my clays that the good, the 
 noble, and the sweet are the real predominating 
 elements of life. 
 
 We should know more of the grace of Ariel. 
 Caliban always waits round the corner to drag 
 us down.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 175 
 
 But all this is merely an illustration of how 
 my dreams, properly interpreted, parade be 
 fore my mind the wounds and defeats to which 
 I have been subjected throughout my life. 
 They are legion. Because of my mother s 
 temperament, I was made into a timid child, 
 one who responded with hilarity to advances 
 from anybody but retreated in alarm when no 
 one showed me kindness. I was destined to a 
 life of feeling uncertain of myself, of with 
 drawing into myself, of being at the same time 
 too much moved by pride and too much cast 
 down by fancied slights. 
 
 One by one, these experiences come up. 
 When will the great one appear from that wide 
 territory of the things I thought I had for 
 gotten? When will D R be able to say, 
 "Ah, that is the one; that is the very scene 
 which made you a neurotic child and finally 
 caused you to forget what you saw in the con 
 servatory "? 
 
 " Every adult tragedy," he tells me, " is the 
 reflection of a childhood tragedy in some way 
 or another." 
 
 When are we to bring up from the depths of 
 my mind that old, old childhood scene which 
 made me forget? Shall we ever be able to 
 bring it up ? To answer that, is to answer the
 
 176 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 other question which allows me no peace: Is 
 Charlie to be acquitted? 
 
 No wonder that I want to escape from every 
 thing, that I long to die !
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 m y memories were all of 
 A my childhood and my mother. Today 
 they were centered on George; and D R and 
 I talked about love. How marvelously this 
 wise, patient man enables me to see that I have 
 regarded the affairs of life either mistakenly or 
 insufficiently ! There is about him none of the 
 manner of a preacher, no platitudes, no empty 
 copy-book texts, no maudlin sympathy, no out 
 bursts of blame or censure merely a friendly, 
 discriminating, and yet so convincing, way of 
 discussing things with unerring accuracy and 
 unqualified frankness. 
 
 None but the most moral man should ever 
 attempt psychoanalysis, because the analyst is 
 obliged to take up with his patients, men and 
 women, many things of a nature so delicate 
 that they have never allowed themselves even 
 to dwell upon them in frank consideration. 
 For instance, a week ago we spent half an hour 
 trying to determine exactly why I like the 
 peculiarly embroidered lingerie which I affect ! 
 Today it was about George and my feeling
 
 178 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 toward him, not only the feeling of dislike I 
 have for him now, but particularly the ideals 
 I had about love when I married him, and later. 
 So devious is the path leading back to my re 
 membering what occurred the night of the 
 murder! 
 
 " We must remember," D R said, " that not 
 everybody realizes what love is. So many 
 think the mere acceptance of love from another 
 in a happy frame of mind is everything. 
 That, of course, is a dreadful mistake. To be 
 loved is a blessing that comes to us without any 
 special exertion on our part. We deserve no 
 credit for it. It is something given to us, like 
 the sunshine, or the moonlight, or the keen, 
 fresh air of an autumn morning. 
 
 " But to love, that is the supreme test of our 
 fitness in life. Then it is that we give some 
 thing, create an emotion in ourselves that is 
 of the very highest. We become constructive. 
 
 " Every girl who marries knows, if she goes 
 downtown and buys a potted plant and puts it 
 in her bedroom window, she must give it care, 
 see that it has plenty of water and sunlight, 
 if it is to be kept alive and made to bloom. 
 But toward love, she has in the great majority 
 of cases a different attitude. He loves me, 
 she says, and that s all that is necessary.
 
 MRS. HARDEN S ORDEAL 179 
 
 " She does not understand that love must 
 be nourished with infinite pains, that it is a 
 flower which, if neglected, will wither or die in 
 any human breast. She fails to realize that 
 the vital thing for her is to preserve this 
 precious gift that has been laid at her feet. 
 She is too often possessed by the idea that it 
 will take care of itself, that it is something only 
 for her benefit and pleasure, and that neglect 
 can not kill it. 
 
 Whereas, in fact, it is only by unselfish 
 ness and daily care on the part of both man 
 and woman that a beautiful love may be main 
 tained between them. Work, work of the 
 spirit and the heart, is the rare coin with which 
 happy love must be bought." 
 
 " I think I loved George that way," I said. 
 " I was always wanting him to be with me, td 
 understand me; and I wanted to be with him 
 and understand him." 
 
 " But did you, in fact? " he asked quickly. 
 " Let us see. You have told me how you were 
 always rushing toward him, as you expressed 
 it, always trying to translate yourself to him* 
 show him your needs, and so forth. That was 
 all very well as far as it went. But it was the 
 smaller part of love. 
 
 " Did you carry out the greater part? Did
 
 180 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 you study his wants and desires? Did you 
 long, did you agonize, to know him thoroughly? 
 Did you try to interest yourself really and 
 truly in his amusements, his tastes? Was 
 your rushing toward him a thing emphatic 
 enough to carry you over into the domain of his 
 way of looking at things and enjoying life? 
 
 " No two people can simply happen to he 
 thoroughly congenial and contented together. 
 When they go into marriage, they must agree 
 to make themselves, each somewhat in the 
 image of the other, and they must do it in the 
 spirit of love, with great pains, so that their 
 ideals are not lost sight of, so that neither is 
 induced to espouse false values. 
 
 We all know that success in business, in 
 sport, in achieving a reputation, in accumulat 
 ing money, is won only by the greatest effort 
 and the most painstaking exertion. But suc 
 cess in love, we say, will come of itself, just 
 so, unworked for, without pain and care. 
 Foolish people ! The average married couple s 
 life is a sad commentary on what the result of 
 such a view must be." 
 
 His words shook me to my depths. 
 
 " You are right, D R perhaps. I believe 
 I was like most girls. I know I expected 
 George s love to last forever. I was not im-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 181 
 
 pressed with the necessity of so much work on 
 my part." 
 
 " Of course," he took care to explain, " it 
 must be happy work, cheerful, a thing of gifts 
 and flowers and smiles whole-hearted, un 
 reserved, with generosity unbounded." 
 
 " You think I demanded too much and 
 gave too little? " 
 
 " I want you to think," he left the decision 
 to me. " Surely, in your own heart, now that 
 you have looked at the facts, you know the 
 truth." 
 
 I did think for a long while. More than 
 ever, I had the feeling that his knowledge 
 gradually rechiseled me into the semblance of 
 something finer, that his wisdom was like a 
 magic blade, stripping from me a noisome 
 covering of inadequate opinions, distorted 
 ideals, and erring judgments. I felt vaguely 
 troubled. 
 
 " Love, you know," he added gently, " is an 
 altar before which the incense of selfless devo 
 tion must be kept always burning. It is the 
 great sanctuary for the human heart, but it 
 is a sanctuary intended only for the holy steps 
 of two." 
 
 Again I was silent, wondering whether to 
 speak,
 
 182 MES. MAEDElsf S OEDEAL 
 
 " Tell me," I burst forth at last, " why I 
 was always so delighted with the companion 
 ship of Charlie Corcoran, Dick Jerdyce and 
 Tom Fordney. I must know." 
 
 " Corcoran," he answered immediately, 
 " was close to the truth the day he said he 
 thought you liked him and the other two be 
 cause there was some misunderstanding be 
 tween you and your husband. You were 
 hunting false values. You were taking from 
 them the admiration, the congeniality, and the 
 close fellowship you were not getting from 
 George Marden. You were substituting some 
 thing outside your home for what you should 
 have had only in your home. 
 
 " That, I think, is back of all the friendships 
 you see between married women and outside 
 men. And every husband, consciously or un 
 consciously, resents it." 
 
 " Why? " I demanded. 
 
 I was remembering that George, although 
 he never voiced it, had made me realize his 
 resentment in this respect. 
 
 " Because he knows there is some sort of sex 
 motive back of any man s marked attention to 
 any woman." 
 
 "Oh,DR!" 
 
 " I do not mean necessarily grossly sexual,
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 183 
 
 in the ordinary acceptance of the word. I 
 mean that the man may see in the woman 
 merely his ideal of what his own wife should be, 
 or his ideal of what every charming woman 
 should be. But, notwithstanding, the sex 
 motive is there." 
 
 " I can not believe it," I said indignantly. 
 " I refuse to believe it." 
 
 " How many of these friendships between 
 men and women," he asked quietly, " are last 
 ing? And how many of them finally result 
 either in a disagreeable termination or down 
 right scandal? " 
 
 To that I had no answer. 
 
 When a woman, a wife," he concluded, 
 " turns to other men to satisfy her craving for 
 entertainment or excitement and to satiate her 
 longing for admiration, she brushes the bloom 
 from the flower of her love for her husband. 
 She is seceding, county by county, from the 
 state of matrimony. Do you see? " 
 
 * You mean she robs her husband? " 
 
 Yes and fosters rebellion within herself." 
 
 Then, impulsively and without considera 
 tion, I told him about Mrs. Tarone. 
 
 I tell you," I said indignantly, " I saw 
 him kiss her." 
 
 " Where? "
 
 184 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " It was when we were up on the North 
 Shore Massachusetts, you know. We were 
 down on the beach, the private beach that be 
 longed to the house we had rented for the 
 summer. They were in a little cove hidden 
 from the rest of us, and I came upon them 
 unexpectedly." 
 
 " And that made you feel rebellious? " 
 
 " Angry, of course." 
 
 " But you said nothing to him gave him no 
 opportunity to explain? " 
 
 What explanation could there have been? " 
 I demanded. 
 
 " Perhaps, he has one," he said with convic 
 tion. 
 
 I made no comment. 
 
 " Now," he elaborated, " your bringing up 
 this Tarone affair on top of our talk about 
 friendship for these three men is very inter 
 esting, isn t it? Isn t it suggestive of the fact 
 that you believed, so long as there were Mrs. 
 Tarones in George s life, there could be noth 
 ing wrong in your having the Corcorans and 
 Jerdyces in yours? " 
 
 " Oh, I don t know," I replied, feeling 
 miserable and terribly depressed. " I don t 
 know. Dick made love to me once, before I 
 was married."
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 185 
 
 " But it never amounted to anything with 
 you? " 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " The principal thing is that you resented 
 Mrs. Tarone, felt rebellious. I am inclined 
 to think the thing at the bottom of all your 
 unhappiness, your neurotic temperament, is 
 your tendency to rebel, to retaliate, to punish 
 instead of ever conciliating and compromising. 
 One can t succeed in life if one always fights 
 back, particularly if one does it without telling 
 why. 
 
 " Some day, I think, we shall find out what 
 gave you that temperamental slant, dig up the 
 very incident in your childhood that convinced 
 you it was always right to punish and to fight 
 mercilessly the loved one who hurt you. Yes ; 
 I believe we shall come upon that and learn 
 how wrong the tendency is, wrong because it 
 was implanted in you by an ugly and un 
 warrantable scene." 
 
 Ever since this conversation, I have alter 
 nated between cool self-contempt and fierce 
 self-assertiveness. Can it be possible that I 
 undermined my own happiness because I did 
 not understand the real business of loving and 
 living? Was I as much at fault as George? 
 I refuse to believe it. I see that there were
 
 186 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 some things I might have done differently 
 but the others ! 
 
 And, if George failed me, was I to mope 
 alone and not try to find pleasure and com 
 panionship elsewhere? Why didn t I have the 
 right to rebel, as D R says, against the in 
 justice of Mrs. Tarone and Marjorie and 
 others? Why was I to beg for explanations? 
 
 As I write this, there recurs in my mind the 
 question: Why shouldn t I send for George 
 now and see what he has to say? But no 
 sooner does the question come than I recoil 
 from the suggestion. He has not suffered as 
 I have, has not felt so deeply. He would 
 never understand, never! He is not one to 
 talk things over. I could never get close to 
 him, never know what he really thinks. 
 
 It is all as hopeless as ever. Is my happi 
 ness to be regained in this way? Does D R 
 think it can be won back this way? I can see 
 he thinks George and I will be reconciled. 
 But how? What is to tear down the wall be 
 tween us? How can we ever be truly man 
 and wife again? 
 
 When I ask that and realize how desperate 
 my plight is, I am still more horrified, because 
 D R has told me that my happiness will come 
 to me at the same time that I remember,
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 187 
 
 remember about Marjorie s death. And there 
 settles upon me the weight of this double 
 burden, my lost peace of mind and my re 
 sponsibility for the imprisonment and indict 
 ment of Charlie Charlie, the man who saw in 
 me the ideal of what his own wife should be ! 
 
 Can it be that, deep down in my subconscious 
 mind, I don t want to remember, that I am in 
 reality glad Charlie killed her and I want to 
 protect him? 
 
 " There is," D R told me several days ago, 
 " a compelling, logical reason for everything. 
 If I like curiously carved lamps on long, 
 slender stems, or if I admire tall, graceful 
 women under Gainsborough hats, the reason 
 for it exists and is inextricably bound up in my 
 whole personality. If you like to see, as I 
 know you do, the slanting flight of doves in 
 summer, or fountains hanging like ropes of 
 silver in the light of the moon, the reason for 
 it is due to what the years have taught you of 
 beauty." 
 
 If that is true, there is also a compelling 
 reason why I have loved wrongly, lived 
 wrongly. And in that, my comfort must be. 
 D H will find out why my soul was wounded, 
 crippled and he will make me whole again. 
 I believe that. I must believe it and leave all
 
 188 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 these questions to be answered by him. I must 
 let him lead me like a little child into the light 
 of reason, into the calm sweetness of strength 
 and self-reliance. 
 
 For my own comfort just to reassure my 
 self I write down here the theory of all that 
 he is doing for me. It is this: 
 
 He educates me as to how to control and 
 marshal my thoughts, how to think properly, 
 and how to remember. When that education 
 is complete, when I no longer am terrified by 
 any of the aspects of life, I shall have the 
 mastery of my mental processes. I shall re 
 member everything, and I shall fear nothing. 
 Therefore, when I regain my own happiness, 
 I shall possess also the ability to tell the truth 
 about Charlie and to free him from the accusa 
 tion now made against him. 
 
 That is clear enough to me when I set it 
 down in black and white. But I can not keep 
 it always before me. The old fears still over 
 whelm me. I am not yet able " to walk alone." 
 I know that, if, for any reason, D R deserted 
 me now, I should be miserable for the rest of 
 my days. 
 
 It is not strange, then, that I love him, that 
 I turn to him for advice on everything, and 
 that, for the time being, he is to me a father
 
 MES. HARDEN S OEDEAL 189 
 
 and a protector. And, deep down in my heart, 
 I know I believe he will eventually do for me 
 all that he promises. The only trouble is that 
 this belief is so often obscured and without the 
 power to comfort me. 
 
 Hurry, D R! Hurry! I have suffered so 
 long and Charlie !
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 TODAY I approached a feeling of exulta 
 tion. It is the eighteenth of November, 
 and Charlie s trial is set for the third of Decem 
 ber. With that ordeal only sixteen days off, 
 he sent me this characteristic note: 
 
 " Somewhere In Jail. 
 
 " DEAR RUTH : Don t bother yourself about 
 me. Worry is the enemy of the leisure classes. 
 Don t surrender to it. Rittenhouse has told 
 me of your sending for him. It was the sort 
 of thing you would do. Pretty soon I ll thank 
 you in person. 
 
 " Of course, they have no case against me. 
 True, the whole affair is a mystery, but no 
 twelve men will punish me because the police 
 have been unable to solve the problem. I am 
 as gay as a lark. Once more : don t worry. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " CHARLIE." 
 
 But that was not the only thing to cheer me 
 up. In the morning paper was a long, de 
 tailed statement of the fact that the police and 
 the prosecuting attorney, Mr. Harrow, feared
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 191 
 
 the collapse of their case against Charlie, owing 
 to the fact that they had nothing against him 
 but circumstantial evidence. In view of this, 
 they have redoubled their efforts to find the 
 tramp seen by the man Dolby the night of the 
 murder. Descriptions of him have been sent 
 again to all cities and towns in the country as 
 far west as St. Paul, and wide publicity has 
 been given to the reward offered by Charlie for 
 his apprehension. 
 
 Corcoran s anxiety to find the tramp, the 
 paper pointed out, was another thing that dis 
 quieted the authorities, since it evidenced his 
 confidence in his ability to withstand anything 
 the missing man might say. It is claimed that 
 some of the police believe the tramp is more 
 probably the murderer than Charlie. Their 
 only difficulty is that they can discover no pos 
 sible motive for his having committed the 
 crime. He may have been actuated by the 
 desire to rob the dead woman of her jewelry. 
 That he did not rob her, weakens their 
 suspicions, although it may be that he was 
 frightened off before he had time to carry out 
 any such intention. 
 
 At any rate, it is feared that no conviction 
 can be had against the man now in jail. " The 
 police ambition," said the article in the paper,
 
 192 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 "is to secure a conviction. Therefore, the 
 prosecution of Corcoran will not waver. On 
 the contrary, it will be carried through with 
 every resource at the department s and the 
 prosecuting attorney s command. However, 
 everybody realizes that the case would be 
 strengthened or a new accused be secured 
 if the mysterious tramp could be located. 
 
 " Chief Palmer still maintains his confident 
 belief that Mrs. George Harden will be a wit 
 ness, a valuable witness, at the trial. Although 
 it is generally understood now that the promi 
 nent society woman suffered a curious stroke 
 of aphasia which still prevents her remember 
 ing the events of the night in question, the 
 chief, without giving his reasons for his 
 opinion, declares that she will appear with the 
 whole story. It is upon this that he bases his 
 prediction of a conviction of Corcoran, al 
 though some of his subordinates do not share 
 his optimism. 
 
 " If he has a card up his sleeve, he is de 
 termined not to let the public see it at this 
 time." 
 
 The references to myself in the article did 
 not cause me any uneasiness. I think that is 
 because, in spite of my wavering and uncer 
 tainty, I have reached the point where I believe
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 193 
 
 implicitly in the power of D R to restore me 
 to a normal condition and to give me back my 
 power of memory unimpaired. And, added to 
 that, is my trust in Charlie s innocence. 
 
 The tramp is the murderer. Not only am I 
 convinced of it, but I have an abiding faith in 
 the future, that the tramp will be found and 
 brought to justice. I know, know, in advance, 
 that, when I do recall what I saw that night, 
 I shall remember having seen him. 
 
 All this made me ask D R today if I might 
 go to see Charlie at the jail. He said he saw 
 no objection. After we had talked it over, we 
 decided that it could have no other result than 
 to benefit Charlie. It would show my sin 
 cerity in my statement that I had not seen him 
 commit the murder and would emphasize my 
 belief in his innocence. 
 
 I wonder now that I had not thought of it 
 long before. When I mentioned this to D R, 
 he said: 
 
 " Heretofore, you ve been thinking of your 
 self so entirely that you haven t had time to 
 think about anybody else don t you think 
 so?" 
 
 Yes," I answered. " And does this mean 
 that I m better better because I am not so 
 wrapped up in my own affairs all the time? "
 
 194 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Of course. It is an old but an always 
 timely truth that we get out of the world 
 exactly what we give to the world. We help 
 ourselves only when we help others." 
 
 Miss Keyes and I went to the jail in my car. 
 It was the first time I had been out of the 
 house. We had sent no word of our coming, 
 but the jailer was very kind and showed us 
 into the bare reception room, which was fur 
 nished with a plain deal table and plain 
 straight-backed chairs. There was one win 
 dow, iron-barred, looking out on the desolate 
 ground toward the river. The cold, rough 
 outlines of the room gave me my first real im 
 pression of the surroundings to which Charlie 
 had had to submit during all his confine 
 ment. 
 
 A warden ushered him into the room and 
 retired. He came toward me, a little look of 
 concern on his face in spite of his smile. So 
 far as I could see, he had not changed at all. 
 He had all the spring and snap of former times 
 in his manner. 
 
 "My!" he said gaily, taking my hand, 
 " I m glad to see you." 
 
 " I wish I had come long ago," I said, and 
 introduced him to Miss Keyes. 
 
 The three of us sat down. Charlie was the
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 195 
 
 only one who seemed natural, free from con 
 straint. 
 
 " Now," he sighed, as if in delighted ex 
 pectancy, " tell me all the news, all the gossip." 
 
 " I came to beg your forgiveness," I refused 
 to let him be light-hearted. " I don t know 
 how you can ever forgive my folly in " 
 
 " Don t think of it, Ruth," he interrupted 
 me. " Forgive what, pray? There s nothing 
 to forgive. Besides, don t pretend I m threat 
 ened with anything serious. You might 
 remind me of tiresome people, a thing you 
 never did in your life. I ve been visited by a 
 representative of the Prisoners Aid Society, 
 and by so many people who believe I ve com 
 mitted a crime. They all say, How sad! 
 How sad ! or they exclaim, * How careless he 
 is ! They ve made me laugh when they 
 haven t reduced me to tears of boredom. But 
 you why, we can t waste our time with that 
 sort of talk. Neither you nor I ever got very 
 close to mock heroics, did we? " 
 
 He clapped both his hands lightly, palms 
 down, on the deal table, thrust his head forward 
 in the attitude I knew so well, and laughed. 
 
 The ruling passion strong in jail!" he 
 exclaimed, the old gayety in his voice. 
 " Haven t you a cigarette, a good cigarette, in
 
 196 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 that bewildering mesh of gold you call a 
 bag? " 
 
 I handed him the bag, and he burrowed in 
 it like a child looking for candy. 
 
 " But you must let me tell you," I said 
 desperately, " that I am doing all I can, Doctor 
 Doyle is doing all he can, to bring back my 
 memory of that night." 
 
 He looked up from the bag. 
 
 " Is that true? " he asked, as if amazed. 
 " Rittenhouse told me something of it, but I 
 didn t believe it." 
 
 " Why, Charlie? " 
 
 He lit the cigarette he had found, and 
 handed the bag to Miss Keyes. 
 
 " Oh," he said, " I thought you, of all people, 
 would realize the absurdity of this charge 
 against me and not bother yourself about it. 
 Don t waste any more time on it, Ruth. 
 Please, don t." 
 
 He inhaled the smoke deeply. 
 
 " Ah," he breathed in frank enjoyment, 
 " this is good." 
 
 He was all animation and keen interest 
 again. 
 
 " Some news, some news, my kingdom for 
 some news ! I do nothing down here but talk 
 to Rittenhouse who has a blanket indictment
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 197 
 
 of humanity stuffed into the place where his 
 heart ought to be. I see him, and I ve seen a 
 few men. But men know nothing about tell 
 ing you news. They talk only of cards, horses, 
 and the war. Women are the only people who 
 have the gift of talking about people, human 
 affairs. Tell me! What s happening in the 
 world of chiffon and champagne? What 
 skeletons rattle against the saucers as the 
 spoons clink against the teacups in the after 
 noons? What scandals sweep their sombre 
 robes across the ballroom floors? What 
 domestic tragedies furnish the succulent fare 
 for the discriminating palate at state dinners? 
 What beauty s lustre is dimmed? What 
 reputation is being damned? " 
 
 "Oh, Charlie," I finally cried out, "I 
 haven t been anywhere. I haven t seen any 
 body. I haven t done anything but worry 
 about you." 
 
 His manner changed at once to the gravest 
 concern. The gayety slipped from him as if 
 by magic. 
 
 " Forgive me, Ruth," he said, like one who 
 is penitent. " Forgive me. Of course, I 
 should have remembered." 
 
 That showed me how hard he had been act 
 ing with his assumption of merriment.
 
 198 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 I reached across the table and took his hand 
 for a moment. 
 
 " Charlie," I said, my voice gone all to 
 pieces, " we believe in you. We all do." 
 
 He looked at me very seriously. 
 
 " Of course, you do," he answered me a little 
 huskily. 
 
 " And, whatever happens," I told him, 
 speaking with greater firmness, " remember: I 
 shall get back my recollection of what I saw 
 that night. I shall go on the stand and tell 
 it all. I know I shall remember everything, 
 everything, by the third of December." 
 
 He half started to his feet, with, " Oh, don t, 
 Ruth! Leave it alone! " 
 
 Then, seeing my surprise, he slid back into 
 his chair. 
 
 What s the use of your torturing yourself 
 this way? It s all going to come out right. 
 I m not one bit afraid. Really, I m not. I 
 wish you wouldn t bother." 
 
 He turned to Miss Keyes. 
 
 " Exert your authority," he said in his old 
 light manner. " Make her take care of her 
 self. Women, you know, have such a weak 
 ness for letting these neurologists annoy them 
 to death." 
 
 After that, in spite of me ? he steered the
 
 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 199 
 
 versation into easier channels, gossiping about 
 the people we knew, the men who had gone to 
 the war, the women who were doing great 
 things in war relief. As I rose to leave, he 
 said: 
 
 "I m going to the front as soon as this is 
 over. The aviation business intrigues me im 
 mensely. I like speed." 
 
 His last words to me were, " Don t bother 
 another moment, Ruth. Things are perfectly 
 fine, just as they are." 
 
 And he spoke with the air of supreme con 
 fidence. 
 
 On the way home, I asked Miss Keyes I 
 call her Mildred now: 
 
 " What did you think of him? " 
 
 " He s innocent," she said with quiet con 
 viction. " Anybody can see that." 
 
 " I know he s innocent," I declared, " and I 
 know I shall be able to prove it. I know." 
 
 My visit to him, I see now, did not mean to 
 him anything near what I had intended it to 
 mean. He had so dominated the situation, 
 had so taken control of the talk, that he had 
 made of it merely a " conventional call " which 
 he appreciated more than he could say. And 
 I had meant to prostrate myself before him, to 
 beg for his forgiveness, to assure him that he
 
 200 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 had nothing to fear because D R would give 
 me command of my memory, and I would clear 
 him through my evidence. Yet, I had suc 
 ceeded in doing none of that. I had been in 
 adequate when confronted by my opportunity. 
 
 I had even forgotten to congratulate him on 
 the pessimism of the police and on their 
 anxiety to find the tramp. In fact, I had not 
 carried him the comfort and cheer I had hoped 
 to do. 
 
 Nevertheless, he had given me immeasurable 
 hope. His bearing, his voice, his courage, had 
 reconvinced me if that had been necessary 
 of his innocence and of the impossibility of his 
 being punished for a crime of which he was 
 innocent. He had given me far more than I 
 had taken to him. 
 
 Charlie Corcoran is, I believe, the bravest 
 man I ever knew.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 I HAVE seen Marjorie s tramp! And I 
 would give everything I possess if I had 
 never seen him, if the earth had opened and 
 swallowed him up. Yesterday I felt that I 
 could put out my hands and gather hope in 
 their eager grasp. Tonight I am wretched, 
 miserable. I am too much like that, at one 
 time walking on false heights, at another in 
 depths that are real. The hours take hold of 
 me and throw me hither and thither without 
 mercy, without cessation. 
 
 Early this morning, quite soon after break 
 fast, Miss Keyes came to me with the in 
 formation that there was a tramp downstairs 
 insisting that he be allowed to see me. She 
 had tried to get rid of him, she said, but he had 
 refused dismissal. 
 
 There s something about him, Mrs. Mar- 
 den," said Mildred; " I don t know what it is, 
 but he affected me so strangely, so strongly. 
 I believe he wants to tell you something 
 important."
 
 202 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " What does he say? " I asked, and, as I put 
 the question, I thought of Marjorie s derelict. 
 
 " He keeps repeating that you will not be 
 sorry if you see him. But it isn t so much 
 what he says. It s the way he says it. He s 
 compelling, for all his rags." 
 
 That s enough to arouse my curiosity," I 
 said. " I ll go down and see him." 
 
 I had Jeffries show him into the small parlor. 
 
 He came in and stood, a short distance from 
 the door, marvelously at ease in spite of his 
 grotesque appearance. There could have been 
 no possibility of my failing to recognize him. 
 He was the man who had held with his ardent 
 gaze the warm, inviting eyes of Marjorie that 
 morning in her mother s kitchen. The un 
 natural pallor of his face, the flaming eyes, the 
 finely chiseled nostrils, the worn clothes 
 bagging over his gauntness, even the beard of 
 four or five days growth all the details of 
 his appearance were as they had been when 
 I had seen him before. 
 
 He held the battered derby hat with easy 
 grace in his right hand. 
 
 I was seated near the fire opposite him. 
 The strong light from the wine-like autumn 
 sunshine fell full on his face. As I looked at 
 him and saw the expression in his eyes, I
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 203 
 
 remembered, with odd distinctness, what he 
 had said to Marjorie about the eyes of the bird 
 whose nest he had robbed when he was a boy. 
 
 " You wanted to see me? " I asked, in a 
 neutral tone. 
 
 He came one step nearer to me. 
 
 " I ve made so bold as to insist upon it," he 
 replied, his resonant voice so much that of a 
 cultured man of the world that now, as on the 
 other occasion of my hearing it, I was really 
 startled. It was so unsuited to his appear 
 ance, to his shabbiness. They told you? " 
 he continued. They seemed to think you 
 would not see me." 
 
 He paused, waiting my permission to say 
 more. 
 
 What is it you want? " I asked, giving no 
 intimation that I remembered him. 
 
 "It is a favor, a promise," he said, with a 
 smile that was half pathos, half irony. 
 
 Apparently, he realized with painful thor 
 oughness his presumption in asking anything 
 of anybody. 
 
 Somehow, I knew it had to do with Mar 
 jorie. Stranger than that was the fact that 
 I had no conscious thought about his having 
 killed Marjorie. As I look back upon it now, 
 I am sure I did not consider that phase of the
 
 204 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 matter at all. I was not even thinking, at the 
 moment, about what bearing this man s reap 
 pearance would have on Charlie s fortunes. 
 His eyes commanded my attention to him so 
 forcefully that I was taken up with wondering 
 what he had to say. It was strange, unnatural. 
 
 There I was, a few moments before con 
 vinced that he had committed the murder and 
 obsessed with the wish that he might be found 
 by the police for Charlie s sake. But, as I 
 looked at him, or, rather, as his fiery glance 
 held mine, I felt neither interest in Charlie nor 
 loathing for the tramp because I was sure he 
 was the murderer. To all intent, there was 
 for the time being nobody in the world but 
 him and me. And I, /,, had condemned Mar- 
 jorie so fiercely because she had been in 
 terested in him. 
 
 " How can 7 do anything for you? " I asked, 
 avoiding any display of interest. 
 
 He was now standing quite close to me, that 
 out-of-place grace of attitude characterizing 
 his gaunt frame. 
 
 You saw her Miss Nesbit with me that 
 morning in her house," he stated, positive in 
 tone, although hesitant in phrase. 
 
 I looked at him closely, as if I sought to 
 remember.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 205 
 
 He put out his left hand with a deprecatory, 
 pleading gesture which effectively did away 
 with any pretence on my part. 
 
 " Of course, you remember, Mrs. Harden." 
 
 " Yes," I said. " I do remember." 
 
 " Then I may speak? " 
 
 " If there is anything I can really do for 
 you," I answered, with more kindness in my 
 tone than I had intended. 
 
 Mechanically, I noticed that his hands were 
 well kept and I thought it queer. 
 
 " I am," he began, " as you see, nothing but 
 a tramp, a derelict. I " 
 
 Quite unexpectedly to myself, without any 
 conscious volition, I interrupted him to ask 
 him to sit down. 
 
 He took the chair at the opposite end of the 
 hearth. 
 
 You will forgive my explaining," he be 
 gan again with his slow, pathetic smile, his 
 eyes reminding me all the time of the eyes of 
 a bird. " I have gone down and under hope 
 lessly. There are people who do that lose 
 their courage, give up their pride, and drift. 
 Some do it at forty, some at fifty. I went 
 under at thirty. There is, I believe, I know, 
 no good thing in me. Aspiration, ambition " 
 he smiled horribly at that " manliness, are
 
 206 MES. MAEDEN S OKDEAL 
 
 dead in me, totally destroyed. It is arrogance 
 for me to take up your time." 
 
 I made a move of my head in negation. He 
 bent forward in his chair and spoke with fever 
 ish swiftness. 
 
 You know nothing of that. It is some 
 thing nobody cares to know. But I am of the 
 tribe of Ishmaelite continually unhappy, 
 ground down forever. It was so before let 
 us say, before my fall. I always reached out 
 for greater happiness than I had, than I could 
 get. Nothing satisfied me. I belonged to the 
 army of those who know no peace, to the 
 caravansarai of discontent. Some human 
 beings are born like that. They can not 
 struggle and win. They are doomed, pre 
 destined to ruin. 
 
 " So you know me, Mrs. Harden, an out 
 cast, one who is now blind to beauty. Music 
 has no charms for me any more I who loved 
 music. Beautiful sunsets are to me nothing 
 but the coming of night. So far as loveliness 
 and good and nobility are concerned, I am 
 atrophied, dead, all of me. I am an ugly 
 thing leading an ugly life in ugly ways. I 
 who was once a man am become the sport of 
 men. I who was once a character am now 
 moral dust."
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 207 
 
 He paused a moment and stroked slowly the 
 battered, discolored crown of the derby that 
 rested on his knee. 
 
 " I am anxious for you to recognize me as 
 I am," he resumed, " so that you may not be 
 too greatly shocked when I tell you what I 
 have to tell you. One who has been high, who 
 has seen the stars, always falls lowest. Let 
 me repeat: I am moral dust. For ten years 
 I ve been that, nothing more." 
 
 He rose to his feet, as if the strength of his 
 feeling lifted him, as if he felt the need of more 
 space, more movement, in his attempt to 
 describe what had happened to him. I was 
 utterly oblivious of his dress, of his grotesque- 
 ness. The battered hat, for all I saw of it, 
 might have been a scepter. He fascinated me 
 by his very intensity. 
 
 Then I saw her Miss Nesbit," his voice 
 thrilled delicately. " It was not merely what 
 my physical eyes saw the pomegranate 
 mouth, the brilliant, audacious hair, her eyes 
 that were not only eyes but fires of affliction. 
 It was that immediately I knew her soul, as she 
 knew mine. Do you see? You who had 
 known her all her life she was to you a 
 stranger. And of necessity. There are no 
 emigrants from the realms of lasting discontent
 
 208 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 to the crowded level of ordinary emotions. 
 We who battle with the current of life, heading 
 always for the harbors that gleam in the 
 distance and finding them, upon arrival, 
 gloomy holes whose shadows were but mirages 
 of light from afar you others never know us. 
 
 " And that is the curse of both of us. It is 
 the explanation of all the woe, all the tears, all 
 the hardness of heart in all the world. Nobody 
 ever knows another nobody ever, save those 
 who have in their eyes those fires, fires of 
 affliction. We were like that, she and I. We 
 had known the baptism of incommunicable 
 yearning, irredeemable discontent. I wonder 
 if you understand what it means, always to 
 be out of the reach of happiness and satisfied 
 desires." 
 
 He was silent a moment, his glance cast 
 downward, as if he despaired of making me 
 understand. 
 
 " At any rate," he rushed out the words, " I 
 knew her for what she was and she knew me ! 
 I think of it! I, the nondescript, the ruined 
 creature, could walk a while with her in perfect 
 communion, in unspeakable understanding! 
 I, the tramp, the despised, took her in my arms, 
 kissed her on her mouth, felt all her loveliness 
 pulsate with a pleasure that had in it too much
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 209 
 
 of pain she who was destined for tragedy, 
 who was born never to be thoroughly happy, 
 she in whom the fires of longing and discontent 
 smouldered hotly. And I who - 
 
 " Stop! Stop!" I suddenly cried out, my 
 hands over my eyes. 
 
 There was dead silence in the room except 
 for the whispering of the flames. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mrs. Marden," he said 
 at last, humbly. 
 
 I put down my hands and looked at him. 
 
 " What is it? " 
 
 " I had a favor to ask," he apologized fur 
 ther by the inflection of his voice. " Let me 
 explain, please, one thing. In all the ten years 
 of my vagabondage see how I train my 
 tongue always to the words that are bitter in 
 all those ten years, that was the one event 
 which relit in my spirit the old fires of my 
 youth and brought back to me some semblance 
 of the far-flung visions I had had. With her, 
 I relit the flame I had thought burned out. 
 For just that little time I walked in places that 
 were not ugly, and heard the music of the 
 dawn, and saw the pale splendor of the stars, 
 and loved the hush of twilight. For just that 
 little time; no more." 
 
 His utterance was checked a moment by a
 
 210 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 queer noise in his throat, like a sob cut short 
 with a sneer. It was not good to hear. 
 
 " So," he said, forcing himself to more of 
 calmness, " that little time seems to me, in spite 
 of what I am, sacred. It seems holy, just an 
 hour or two between her and me, in our own 
 world. It is sacrosanct. And I came here to 
 ask you not to make it known that she well, 
 condescended to speech with me. I came to 
 ask you, because I know you realized that 
 morning how close her soul was to mine. For 
 her sake, Mrs. Harden, will you be silent 
 about it? " 
 
 Having voiced that amazing statement, that 
 extraordinary request, he was silent, his form 
 erect, his face eagerly entreating, his eyes 
 marvelously like the eyes of a wounded bird. 
 
 I tried to shake off the tremendous impres 
 sion he had made upon me, to resent his visit, 
 his intrusion. 
 
 " How did you know who I was, where to 
 find me? " I asked. 
 
 " She told me who you were that morn 
 ing." 
 
 He was still expectant, his manner holding 
 me to the favor asked. 
 
 " Why did you think it necessary to ask me 
 this?"
 
 MES. MARDEN S ORDEAL 211 
 
 He answered me directly. 
 
 " Because I shall fall into the hands of the 
 police today, tomorrow, soon, some time." 
 
 Like a flash, with intense vividness, I read 
 the furtiveness new in his manner. 
 
 " You were in my garden that night! " 
 
 " Why, yes," he said easily; " I was." 
 
 " And you killed her ! " I cried, half -rising 
 from the chair as I accused him. You killed 
 her!" 
 
 He put up a hand in denial. 
 
 "No, I didn t," he contradicted, "but I 
 might as well have killed her so far as what 
 I did was concerned." 
 
 There whirled through my mind the idea of 
 calling for the police, of telephoning for them. 
 Suddenly, the spell of his peculiar presence, 
 his resonant speech, was broken. I detested 
 him. I thought of Charlie in the jail, of my 
 own suffering. 
 
 " What did you do? " I demanded. " Tell 
 me!" 
 
 His figure was no longer tensed by emotion. 
 He stood, easily graceful, almost nonchalant. 
 
 " I was in the garden, at the foot of the 
 stairs leading from the veranda, when a man, 
 rushing out to the veranda, saw me. He 
 bounded down the stairs and urged me to
 
 212 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 leave, threatened me if I would not leave, 
 offered me money to go, told me where to meet 
 him, mentioned a large sum. He said there 
 had been trouble. He evidently thought I 
 had seen something. I told him I would meet 
 him, and I went over the wall. That was 
 when Dolby saw me." 
 
 " And the man who made you leave! " 
 
 My voice was a whine. 
 
 I knew what he would say. 
 
 " It was this man Corcoran." 
 
 " It can t be true! It can t be so! " I said, 
 again in that thin, tremulous whine. 
 
 " It is true," he insisted, his voice steady. 
 
 I thought I detected in his tone the hint of 
 malice, malice for Charlie. 
 
 Then the absurdity of all he had said dawned 
 upon me. He had told me, had swept me out 
 of myself as he described, the sacredness with 
 which he regarded the time he had spent with 
 Marjorie, and yet now he coolly related how he 
 had turned on his heel and left the garden 
 when she had been killed. It occurred to me 
 that he must be crazy. 
 
 He read my mind. 
 
 " I warned you that I was moral dust," he 
 said in unveiled self-derision. " I didn t know 
 at the time that anything had happened to
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 213 
 
 her to Miss Nesbit. The next morning, 
 when I read it in the newspaper I picked up, 
 I I did this: " for a second his face was 
 sinister, inexpressibly evil, " I threw the paper 
 away, felt the money in my pocket, and said 
 to myself, Oh, what s the use? Let things 
 go. And I went on, turning my back on the 
 murder, on the fact that I had known her, on 
 everything. I sneered and said, Of course, 
 it was not for me, anything that might lift me 
 up. It s the same old hell for me always 
 always. And I drove it all out of my mind. 
 I told you," he repeated, " I was moral dust." 
 
 Then why have you come back? " 
 
 " Oh," he spread out his hands, illustrating 
 futility, " I knew the police, for all their 
 stupidity, would find me sometime." 
 
 I simply stared at him while I groped for 
 words to deny his fantastic story. 
 
 " And," he added, still self -deriding, " you 
 may not believe it, but I don t like the state 
 ments in the papers that I committed the mur 
 der. I don t, really." 
 
 " But the money you took the money," I 
 went back to that with the belief that it in 
 criminated him dangerously. 
 
 I think my real idea was to frighten him 
 away, to make him try to escape the police
 
 214 MRS. HARDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 for Charlie s sake. No matter what I might 
 say to him, at heart I believed him, believed 
 him! 
 
 Without answering me at once, he bent 
 down and fumbled with the frayed edge of his 
 right trousers leg. In order to use both hands 
 in what he was doing, he laid the battered 
 derby on the floor. After considerable trouble, 
 he drew from the coarse cloth, the inner stiffen 
 ing of what had been the cuff of the trousers 
 leg, a wad of paper. He flattened this out. 
 It consisted of four fifty-dollar bills. 
 
 That," he said, " is the money Corcoran 
 gave me." 
 
 He smiled wearily, scorning himself. 
 
 What use has a tramp for money? " 
 
 Then, quite simply and without even the 
 hint of trying to produce any theatric impres 
 sion, he stepped closer to the fire and threw the 
 bills into the flames. 
 
 He picked up his hat and looked at me, the 
 old pleading in his eyes. 
 
 " In spite of all that," he said with tre 
 mendous energy, " will you do me the favor, 
 Mrs. Marden? Will you see that there is 
 brought into Corcoran s trial no hint of how 
 she Miss Nesbit knew me? I will tell 
 about my having been in the garden."
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 215 
 
 " Yes ! Yes ! " I told him, not knowing very 
 clearly what I said, and having forgotten that 
 I had ever told Mr. Rittenhouse about it: 
 " Yes; but go go before I call the police." 
 
 He got to the door without turning his back 
 to me and went quietly out. His only 
 acknowledgment of what I had said was a long- 
 drawn sigh of relief. 
 
 I sat, too stunned to move, trying to go over 
 in my mind the whole astounding scene. I 
 felt physically ill, mentally befogged. But 
 there was something to try me even further. 
 
 When I finally started to leave the room to 
 go upstairs, I looked up and saw standing in 
 the doorway a woman. For a moment I did 
 not recognize her. When I did distinguish 
 who she was, my heart sank. I felt like 
 screaming out to her that I did not want to see 
 her, that I wished she would go away. It was 
 Mrs. Susie Mason, the Mrs. Mason who had 
 described me to Mary Calhoun as " the most 
 stupid or the most stupendous woman " in 
 regard to my attitude toward George and 
 Marjorie. 
 
 I have never liked her. She wears old 
 lavender, and lives on other people s emotions, 
 and has a tongue like a fang. 
 
 She came toward me amid a swirl of ample
 
 216 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 skirts. She moved swiftly, as if to emphasize 
 her enthusiastic delight at seeing me. I sank 
 back into my chair. I haven t the faintest 
 recollection of how I greeted her. All I re 
 member is that once, as I put my hand to my 
 cheeks, it felt like ice. 
 
 Scraps and sections of what she said to me 
 recur to my mind now like parts of a con 
 versational crazy-quilt. 
 
 " But I knew, my dear, you wouldn t mind 
 seeing me. Any woman, particularly a young 
 woman, is fortunate in having a friend to 
 represent her, as it were, at such a time. . . . 
 So, you see, they re all wondering what s the 
 truth about Ruth Harden. . . . 
 
 " Judith Scofil referred to you as * the 
 astonishing Ruth Harden. . . . She tried 
 to tell me she had noticed that you behaved 
 peculiarly before this thing happened, drank 
 too much champagne, and stopped speaking to 
 Habel Turner for no reason on earth! I 
 denied it. 
 
 . . . and it s impossible to find an 
 ideal marriage nowadays. Judith said the 
 secret of happy married life lay in the ability 
 of husband and wife to always make phenom 
 enal escapes from each other. She thinks, you 
 know, she s terribly epigrammatic. > .
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 217 
 
 Of course, I know how awful it is to have one s 
 private affairs paraded before the world. It s 
 like paying the price of a divorce without 
 getting the divorce. . . . 
 
 " I said, and I said it in all reverence, it was, 
 perhaps, a good thing that she died, because, 
 if she hadn t died, she would have become a 
 notorious character. . . . Judith said it 
 was tragic, the way beautiful women never 
 seemed to be able to keep from being found 
 out! . . . 
 
 " Somebody expressed great admiration be 
 cause you had hit on the idea of simply for 
 getting everything you had seen in connection 
 with the whole affair. Lots of them refuse, ab 
 solutely refuse, to believe your memory failed 
 you in spite of everything I ve been able to 
 say. . . . 
 
 . . . foolish for not looking more ill 
 than you do. That really surprises me. I 
 had expected to find you a shadow, and here 
 you are, your old beautiful self, save a few lines 
 about your eyes. It surprises me, really. 
 . . . Social popularity is always a boome 
 rang. . . . 
 
 " Judith said she had lost faith in this talk 
 about nerves. She said she once complained 
 of an attack of nerves when she was a girl, but,
 
 218 MES. MABDEN S OBDEAL 
 
 when her father threatened to cut off her pin 
 money unless she behaved herself, she re 
 covered quickly. . . . 
 
 . your husband. Servants gos 
 sip. Anyway, that s the report that there s 
 been some sort of an estrangement between 
 you and your husband. . . . 
 
 . . . and I said you had always been 
 a great friend of young Corcoran s purely 
 platonic, my dear, purely. He never did any 
 thing but throw away the money old J. W. had 
 made. . . ." 
 
 When she had gone, I was frantic. What 
 she had said about my abnormal behavior, and 
 how people thought I was hiding the truth, the 
 intimation that there had been a flirtation be 
 tween Charlie and myself, the talk of my being 
 estranged from George, the whole picture of 
 myself as the center of gossip and scandal 
 all that hurt, but it was a distant, numb sort 
 of pain compared to my thoughts of Charlie. 
 
 He was guilty. The tramp had brought 
 forward indisputable proof of that for the 
 tramp had told me the truth. That was what 
 I believed while I considered all that he had 
 said. 
 
 It upset me so that, when D R arrived, my 
 lips were blue and my teeth were chattering.
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 219 
 
 I asked him to let me go to bed, to put off our 
 work untij tomorrow. He consented, but I 
 could see that he knew I had sustained some 
 great shock. 
 
 " Isn t there something you want to ask my 
 advice about now? " he asked me over and 
 over. 
 
 But I shook my head and told him I only 
 wanted rest. I can not lie to him, and I did 
 not feel equal to telling him all I had learned 
 from the tramp. I was not up to it physically. 
 I felt that, if I tried to talk to him, the exertion 
 of it would result in something serious. I let 
 him go without even analyzing my dream of 
 last night. 
 
 And now I am sorry. I have changed my 
 mind about the tramp. He came here to de 
 ceive me, to persuade me, through sympathy 
 for him and the dead woman, to keep quiet 
 regarding what I know about them. He did 
 that so as to hide forever any real motive he 
 might have had for rage against her. It seems 
 very plain to me now that, if any jury knew 
 of the real relations that existed between him 
 and her, they would have to consider him as far 
 more probably the murderer than Charlie. 
 
 So, again, I hold the real key to the mystery, 
 certainly enough of a key to prevent the con-
 
 220 MES. MARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 viction of Charlie. They say Charlie s motive 
 was jealousy and anger. I can show that this 
 derelict s motive was precisely the same, that 
 he made his extraordinary visit to me in order 
 to cover up the motive. 
 
 Tomorrow I shall tell D R all about it. He 
 will advise me as to whether I shall tell the 
 story to the prosecuting attorney or to Mr. 
 Rittenhouse. 
 
 The tramp s story is too absurd for belief. 
 
 Ah, Charlie, if you only knew tonight! I 
 shall be able to help you much, so much.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 BEFORE I could tell the story of yester 
 day s events to D R today, he related to 
 me a conversation he had last night with the 
 chief of police. Mrs. Mason was right no 
 body believes in my having forgotten what I 
 saw. If this story of what Chief Palmer in 
 tends to do had come from anybody but D R, 
 I should be terrified. That, perhaps, is one 
 reason why he chose to give me the facts in his 
 own reassuring way. 
 
 Mr. Palmer called on him last night and, 
 after much humming and hawing, said he had 
 come to ask his assistance in a most important 
 matter. 
 
 " What is it? " D R inquired, realizing at 
 once what it was about. 
 
 " Let me explain the thing to you," Palmer 
 prefaced his request. " Right after the mur 
 der of the Nesbit woman my case against Cor 
 coran was complete. Everybody said his con 
 viction was a foregone conclusion. I thought 
 so myself. But I ll be honest with you. I m 
 beginning to lose confidence in it."
 
 222 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " What s happened? " asked D R. 
 
 "Nothing yet," the chief replied. "But 
 look at the thing as it stands. The only real 
 evidence I have is what Mrs. Harden said when 
 she staggered into the library after discovering 
 the body. Even then she didn t mention Cor- 
 coran s name. Then I heard what she said to 
 Corcoran the next morning. That is the soli 
 tary thing that really fastens the crime on him. 
 But I know Rittenhouse. He ll have a string 
 of specialists and alienists you, probably, 
 among them to testify that the words of a 
 woman in such a nervous condition could have 
 no possible value. After that, what s left? " 
 
 " Well," D R prompted, " what is left? " 
 
 The rest of it is merely circumstantial, and 
 I m not strong for circumstantial evidence. 
 Occasionally you get one of these birds on it, 
 but most of the time you fall down, and then 
 the newspapers and the public bawl out the 
 police force." 
 
 D R smiled. 
 
 Your idea is that you must send up some 
 body anyway? " 
 
 That s my duty," agreed Palmer frankly. 
 " I ve got to make good on my job." 
 
 " Well," D R brought him back to the point, 
 " what help can I give you? "
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 223 
 
 " You see," Palmer still delayed his re 
 quest, " I know what you can do with people 
 who don t want to talk, people who won t 
 testify. You ve helped me a lot in the past. 
 You kept me from sending up an innocent man 
 in the Williamson case, and you showed me 
 how to get the right man in the Delphos matter. 
 I ve talked this over with the district attorney, 
 and he agrees with me that you re the man to 
 help us out." 
 
 " Tell me what it is," D R said without 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " It s about Mrs. Marden," he began. 
 " She denied that interview with Corcoran the 
 very day she had it, and she says flatly she 
 knows nothing about the murder, remembers 
 nothing about it." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 D R s tone was in no way responsive. 
 
 What we need, what we must have," Pal 
 mer came at last to his demand, " is Mrs. 
 Marden s true story of what she saw in the 
 conservatory that night." 
 
 " I don t know what she saw," D R told him 
 coolly. 
 
 " But you re treating her, ain t you? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 Incredulity appeared in the major s face.
 
 224 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " And you don t know what she saw? " 
 
 " I haven t the least idea," said D R, resent 
 ing the man s incredulousness. 
 
 Then," remarked Palmer, " I ve got an 
 entirely wrong idea of what psychoanalysis 
 is." 
 
 " I tried to explain it to you at the time of 
 the Anderson murder," retorted D R. " It s 
 not my fault if you don t understand it." 
 
 " I thought you could get anything out of 
 a person with it," Palmer persisted. " I 
 thought you could make people tell you every 
 thing." 
 
 There is no opportunity for compulsion in 
 psychoanalysis." 
 
 Palmer shifted uneasily. 
 
 What the district attorney and I want to 
 do," he forced out the words with some diffi 
 culty, " is to make Mrs. Harden talk." 
 
 " Just what do you mean? " D R re 
 turned with an emphasis which, in some way, 
 was like a slap in the face. 
 
 " Oh er if you can find out what she 
 knows," he stammered, " and then tell us 
 whether it s worth anything, that will be all 
 right with us. If she knows anything we 
 ought to know, and you can tip us off " 
 
 D R was doing what was for him a rare
 
 MES. MABDEN S OEDEAL 225 
 
 thing. He was indulging in an access of 
 almost unbridled anger. He kept his keen 
 gaze on the man. 
 
 " You see," Palmer floundered on, " you 
 have her confidence. It would be easy for you 
 to persuade her to tell what she knows to 
 show her that her " 
 
 "That s enough, Palmer," D R cut him 
 short, his voice like steel. 
 
 The chief made another effort. 
 
 " It would be for the sake of justice," he 
 said. 
 
 " Understand this, Palmer," retorted D R; 
 " I am Mrs. Marden s physician and you 
 commit the enormity of asking me to spy upon 
 her! Now, I ll tell you this: I ll threaten 
 the welfare of no human mind, imperil the 
 peace of no woman s soul, for any reason." 
 
 His voice rang with scorn. 
 
 What you ask is that I play the role of a 
 detective and try to trump up evidence about a 
 man who has or has not broken the law. 
 Why, can t you understand? Man, she s my 
 patient! " 
 
 The chief of police sprang to his feet, show 
 ing the aggressiveness he had felt when he first 
 entered the room. 
 
 " You won t do it? " he demanded roughly.
 
 226 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Of course, not," D R replied contemp 
 tuously. 
 
 " Harrow says," Palmer s voice carried a 
 threat, " you could find out all about it with 
 hypnotism; all you ve got to do is to hypno 
 tize her and get the whole story. He says 
 what you re doing well, there s nothing to 
 it." 
 
 " Mr. Harrow s opinion of it, or yours 
 either," D R answered that coldly, " has no 
 weight with me. In this case, hypnotism 
 would produce no results. Besides, I am 
 working to bring Mrs. Marden health, peace 
 of mind, happiness. It is, I suppose, some 
 thing that neither you nor Harrow could be 
 expected to understand." 
 
 " All right, Doctor," Palmer went back to 
 his threat. " Don t say, when things come to 
 a show-down, I didn t give her a chance 
 through you." 
 
 D R looked at him searchingly. 
 
 What do you mean? " 
 
 " She s going to talk, and talk turkey! 
 There are more ways than one to get the truth 
 out of her." 
 
 D R s solicitude for his patient led him to 
 put the question, " What are you going to 
 do?"
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 227 
 
 Palmer took his hat from the desk and 
 laughed grimly. 
 
 " Doctor," he asked, " have you ever heard 
 of such a thing as arresting a person as an 
 accessory after the fact? " 
 
 " You wouldn t do it! " D R defied him. 
 
 " Won t I? You wait until the time comes. 
 . . . Doctor Doyle, if Mrs. Marden won t 
 talk, she ll be made to talk. She s got plenty 
 of time to think it over just about two weeks* 
 By that time, maybe, the arrest won t be 
 necessary." 
 
 D R kept down his anger. 
 
 " Palmer," he demanded crisply, " how can 
 you make a woman describe a scene which she 
 doesn t remember? " 
 
 " I m not so sure she don t remember," he 
 said bluntly. 
 
 " But, if she goes on the stand," persisted 
 D R, " and tells the truth, which is that she 
 remembers nothing about the murder, what 
 then? " 
 
 Palmer struck the desk with his fist. 
 
 " Doctor, it s up to you. You know that, 
 and I know it. It s up to you, and you can 
 decide whether this arrest is to be made at all." 
 
 D R shook his head slowly. 
 
 " Don t be unreasonable," he said. " Why,
 
 228 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 Palmer, what a patient says to me is inviolate. 
 Neither you nor any court of law may 
 scrutinize it. I am not at liberty to disclose 
 the secrets that come to me in the confessional 
 of my practice." 
 
 Palmer s aggressiveness did not diminish. 
 
 " She s your patient and your friend," he 
 returned, doggedly. " And it s up to you, 
 Doctor. There s plenty of time for you to 
 decide. I may not understand your methods 
 or your science, but I do know that you have 
 access to the secrets of the people who come to 
 you for help. You can prevent her arrest. 
 It s up to you." 
 
 When D R had finished telling me about 
 Palmer s visit, I asked him, " Would he really 
 do it, D R? Would he arrest me? " 
 
 " I don t know," he answered slowly. " He 
 might. We must look at these things squarely. 
 Yes; he might. He would do anything that 
 resembled a strengthening of his case against 
 Corcoran." 
 
 " And to arrest me as an accessory after the 
 fact just what is it? " 
 
 " It s the charge that 3^011 are protecting the 
 accused by not giving evidence in your posses 
 sion, evidence valuable to the state." 
 
 Then I remembered about the tramp, and I
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 229 
 
 told him all about it, the conversation, the 
 burning of the money, my belief in him at 
 first, my decision last night that he was guilty 
 and was trying to conceal his having had any 
 motive for the murder. 
 
 D R agreed with me in this last supposi 
 tion that the tramp had sought, with great 
 cleverness, to insure my silence concerning his 
 connection with Marjorie. 
 
 " And yet," I said, " he impressed me at 
 first as being sincere. His manner was so con 
 vincing, and he talked so well, so unusually 
 well." 
 
 " We are told," said D R with a smile, " that 
 a certain other castaway is rather good at 
 quoting scripture for his own purposes." 
 
 " But what am I to do now? What can 
 I do?" 
 
 " Do nothing," he advised me, to my great 
 surprise. You see, Ruth, we have less than 
 two weeks for our work, if it is to produce the 
 results we desire before the trial. The police 
 will find this tramp. You need not feel alarm 
 about his getting away. Your evidence con 
 cerning him will be as good the day of the 
 trial as it is now." 
 
 " But to keep quiet is merely to prolong 
 Charlie s suspense,"
 
 230 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " He can stand a little more of it," D R 
 said, with great gentleness. " There is some 
 thing even bigger than that for you to do now 
 regain your memory of that night. And 
 you can do it by concentrating your energy 
 on your analysis. Try to let these other 
 things take care of themselves. They will, if 
 you will let them." 
 
 Then I told him a dream I had had, and, so 
 absorbing, so detailed and constant, is the 
 thought required by the work, that for the time 
 being I was free from worry. D R was right 
 when he told me weeks ago the work required 
 industry. It does, unlimited industry. The 
 labor of bringing up to consciousness the 
 thousands and thousands of experiences 
 and impressions that have made up one s 
 life is immeasurable, and apparently unend 
 ing. 
 
 When I began to write this evening, I said 
 that, perhaps, D R had told me about his talk 
 with Chief Palmer because he wanted me to 
 hear of the intentions of the police from such 
 a source and in such a way that I would not be 
 terrified. That much is true, of course. But 
 I believe also he thought it would do me good, 
 would benefit our work, if I knew what danger 
 threatened me. He gave me, so to speak, an
 
 MES. HARDEN S ORDEAL 231 
 
 added incentive to remember. He did it, 
 whether he intended it or not. 
 
 And it is odd that the idea of my facing 
 arrest should not trouble me more than it does. 
 In a way, contemplation of it is altogether 
 horrid. Yet, I believe it will never occur. I 
 am sure, strangely sure, that my memory 
 will come back to me. And my happiness? 
 My love for my husband, and his love for 
 me? 
 
 Yes; I am beginning to see that even these 
 things may yet be mine. I can not explain 
 how slowly this first glimmer of real hope 
 has dawned upon me. I can not even tell 
 how very vague and unformed it is, even 
 now. I still walk among shadows, and I can 
 only feel the probable coming of the light 
 just as one walks in a wood before dawn and 
 senses, before seeing, the first gray that 
 changes the dark into a place peopled with 
 immense ghosts, ghosts which later take 
 on the semblance of trees and other natural 
 things. 
 
 It is all mixed up, confused, but I hope! 
 That is the great thing. I hope for happiness, 
 just as I hope for the return of my memory 
 in all its completeness. 
 
 D R s patient, untiring work and struggle
 
 232 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 with my subconscious and my conscious mind 
 have done me good, however little it may be 
 so far. 
 
 I hope hope vigorously.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MY situation is appalling. Today I re 
 tain the hope for better things which 
 was with me last night, but that very hope 
 enables me to appreciate with all the more 
 clearness the difficulties that beset me. Run 
 ning through the pages I have already written, 
 I realize that I have not had at my command 
 language sufficiently vivid or impressive to 
 describe adequately what I have suffered. 
 
 This diary has been written, is being written, 
 by a nervous, grief-stricken woman. I have 
 put into it only the hurried high lights that 
 have touched me in the past few weeks. A 
 reading of it carries hardly any idea of the 
 torture I have endured through the long, un- 
 peaceful days and the endless, horror-haunted 
 nights. I have alternated between the mirage 
 of hope and the unplumbed depths of despair, 
 and, necessarily, bitterness has characterized 
 my thoughts, my acts and all my words. 
 
 I can not remember that I have said one 
 kind, considerate thing about anybody in all 
 these chapters ! That, of itself, is awful proof
 
 234 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 of what my state of mind has been. Only the 
 unutterably sad are immeasurably bitter. 
 
 I characterized my situation just now as 
 appalling. It is particularly so because, for 
 the first time, I am face to face with the in 
 exorable truth that, in order to make one s 
 happiness sure and to handle the problems of 
 life with success, one must depend absolutely 
 upon the resources of one s own soul. That 
 sounds trite. It is trite. But how many peo 
 ple, most especially how many women, realize 
 its profound truth? Most of us and I have 
 been in that number prefer not to think, not 
 to reason things out. Thinking, after all, is an 
 inconvenient and dangerous thing. It is so 
 apt to hurt our pride if we think honestly! 
 
 Therefore, we let others think for us, form 
 our opinions for us, even shape our emotions 
 for us. We do as others do, because it is so 
 easy to run with the herd. And yet, I dare 
 say, nobody has ever yet come very close to the 
 stars by running with the herd. Fortunately, 
 I have been shown how to think. I say " for 
 tunately," although that is still hard for me to 
 say in strict truth. There are so many times, 
 even now, when I am tempted to long for soul 
 indolence, mental lethargy, so as to escape my 
 own responsibilities.
 
 MBS. MABDEN S OEDEAL 235 
 
 Had not a great need driven me, I question 
 whether I should ever have scrutinized myself 
 as closely as I have done recently. In truth, 
 I know I should not have done it, but for the 
 agonizing need of it. But D R led me into it, 
 helped me with it and I believe I am sincere 
 when I say I am thankful for all he has shown 
 me about myself. 
 
 As I am situated today, Society, of which I 
 thought so much, is in reality inimical to me, 
 suspicious of me, imputing to me the most un 
 worthy motives. I am, however I may try to 
 deceive myself about it, a person watched by 
 the police, one thought capable of every sort of 
 lying in order to shield a murderer. Charlie, 
 whom I have injured irreparably, is in peril 
 of his life because of me ; a derelict of the road 
 skulks, hidden, while he sneers in his confidence 
 that I will not betray the ugly secret of his 
 relations with Marjorie. But that is not all. 
 D R has taught me to see in how many inde 
 scribable ways I have fallen short in dealing 
 with the burdens of life. That, of itself, has 
 been enough to make me cry aloud by day and 
 by night. 
 
 Finally, I am separated from my husband 
 by a feeling of repugnance which I can not 
 overcome. How he feels toward me, I can not
 
 236 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 tell. How he will feel if I ever am able to go 
 to him in sweetness and love again, I have not 
 the slightest idea. 
 
 This morning, still with that faint glow of 
 optimism in my heart, I said in sudden impul 
 siveness to Mildred, " Find Jeffries, will you? 
 Have him say to my husband that I would like 
 to see him today, this morning." 
 
 For a moment, she looked surprised and 
 startled. Before she was out of the room, 
 my mind changed irresistibly. I could not 
 follow out the impulse. 
 
 " Never mind," I said with assumed care 
 lessness. " Not now. Some other time will do." 
 
 I could not have faced him or talked to him 
 satisfactorily if my life had depended upon it. 
 It is the truth that, to all intents and purposes, 
 there might as well be a granite wall, mountain 
 thick and towering to the skies, between him 
 and me. It is a repugnance from which, as 
 yet, I have been unable to escape. I dare say 
 other women have had the same experience. 
 I can well understand it. 
 
 There are two women I have known who 
 remind me of myself today. One was a plain, 
 matter-of-fact person, a milliner, in a little 
 town up on the New England coast. I knew 
 her a year after my marriage, and, while she
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 237 
 
 worked for me, I used to talk to her about 
 many different things. Women of that class, 
 I believe, are more outspoken than others con 
 cerning their views of life. Perhaps, it is be 
 cause they have so much more loneliness in 
 their lives, and, therefore, feel the need of self- 
 expression. I remember that she said to me 
 one day: 
 
 " There are some wives, I suppose, who 
 know about the infidelity of their husbands, 
 but, because of pride, refuse to admit, even to 
 their husbands, that they do know it." 
 
 At the time, that shocked me beyond the 
 power of words to describe. It sounded so 
 like the selling of the body into bondage. It 
 took away from life all its nobility, all its 
 sweetness, even all its decency. 
 
 But am I not a little like that woman? 
 
 Was not George s refusal to have children 
 as much of an infidelity to me, to my happi 
 ness, to my ideals, to the holiness of our union, 
 as was the infidelity of that husband about 
 whom the woman talked to me so naively? 
 And, when I consented to his demand, did I 
 show any more nobility, any more independ 
 ence, any more decency, than she did? I think 
 not. 
 
 Perhaps, what she said horrified me so ter-
 
 238 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 ribly because I unconsciously recognized in 
 myself a danger of doing as she had done. 
 After all, to feel horrified is a means of guard 
 ing oneself against doing wrong things. May 
 it not be possible that the strict, cruel code we 
 women have against the sisters who stray from 
 the strait and narrow path is a high barrier, 
 tipped with points of steel, to remind us that 
 we must keep within the inclosure? It may 
 be so. That seems a bitter thing to say, to put 
 down in black and white, but I am through 
 with the soft and easy things, and I do know 
 now that in each of us there is a latent but 
 tremendous possibility for wickedness. We 
 all have need of the high barrier tipped with 
 pointed steel. We must wall ourselves in 
 from evil. 
 
 Another woman, a very good friend of mine 
 and the wife of an extremely talented archi 
 tect, told me a year or two ago: 
 
 " John wants to take a house in the country 
 for a year, because Society wears him out, cuts 
 down, he says, the freshness and originality in 
 his work. I ve consented to it, of course 
 what else could I do? But I m scared to death 
 about it. How will life be worth while out 
 there, with just John? " 
 
 Such an attitude as that seemed to me out-
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 239 
 
 rageous. I recall how I said to myself: 
 " Why, she s nothing but a parasite woman 
 taking all, giving nothing." 
 
 But what right did I have to recoil from her, 
 to condemn her selfishness? Am I not as much 
 of a parasite as any woman who ever lived? I 
 have produced nothing. I have no children. 
 I have done no work. And I have given 
 George nothing worth while absolutely noth 
 ing. Because I am the wife of a rich man, I 
 have sat at festal boards and covered myself 
 with rich fabrics and wasted my time and 
 energy in entertaining other men, men who 
 now are either on their way to fight the battles 
 of the world or in this country doing the 
 world s work. 
 
 I, who should have been to the One Man a 
 princess, have allowed myself to become merely 
 his plaything. I have joined the fool s parade 
 of silks and laces, have made love into a mock 
 ery, have lived as a very zany of sentiment, 
 have tried to substitute for the splendors of the 
 soul the ugliness of ease and the looseness of 
 luxury. I have been I know it too well a 
 traitor to my destiny. No wonder that self- 
 scorn spurred me on to phantom joys and no 
 wonder that I came to know the soul-weariness 
 that is back of every tragedy in the world.
 
 240 MES. MAKDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 So, I say, my situation is appalling I feel 
 for myself a contempt which I can not express, 
 and Society condemns me on every side. It 
 would be too appalling, too intolerable, for me 
 to contemplate if I believed it all had happened 
 because of the inscrutable will of a divine 
 providence. People are apt, many of them 
 like, to sit down and say, " This is Fate. It 
 had to happen to me." I refuse to say any 
 such thing. I refuse to believe it of myself or 
 of any unhappy woman. 
 
 I know now, I have learned, that there is a 
 cause for everything, and that we who waver 
 and fall in life have had horrible things done 
 to us in our childhood, in those years supposed 
 to be filled only with the things which will 
 bring forth good fruit in the years to come. 
 Christ, whose psychology was invariably irre 
 futable, knew that figs could not be gathered 
 from thistles. Why do not people know it 
 today? He said it two thousand years ago. 
 Surely, the world has had time to learn its 
 truth. 
 
 And, if figs can not be gathered from 
 thistles, how can beautiful lives grow from 
 childhoods that have been made ugly? It is 
 the same thing; it is the inexorable law that 
 the harvest comes from the seed. I think there
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 241 
 
 should be a new law written, a fresh command 
 ment, and it should read: 
 
 " Honor thy son and thy daughter." 
 But, although I scorn myself and Society 
 condemns me, I still hope. The hope is, as I 
 said, not so brilliant and dazzling that it com 
 forts me, but it does hold out to me promise 
 of better things. If D R were to cease to help 
 me, I should feel utterly without resource. I 
 should know that I probably would never 
 remember the events of the night of the mur 
 der, and that I would never be able to achieve 
 contentment with my husband. 
 A few days ago I said to D R: 
 " I know now that I should feel differently 
 toward George, that he has as many things to 
 forgive in me as I have in him. But I can not 
 force myself to go to him. There are times 
 when I think I shall never be able to follow my 
 convictions as to what I should do." 
 
 He explained it by saying it is always hard 
 for us to make our deepest feelings follow the 
 behests of high and abstract thoughts. We 
 can think things out when we can not feel 
 them. It is so of all people who are high- 
 strung and neurotic and extremely sensitive to 
 impressions. 
 
 For instance, the drunkard knows quite well
 
 242 MES. MAEDEX S OEDEAL 
 
 that he should not get drunk; the morphinist 
 knows that she is degrading her intellect and 
 wrecking her good looks with the drug; the 
 gambler, in seeking the absorbing excitement 
 of cards, realizes his folly but they all go 
 through with it again and again. They are 
 two very different things, to plan and to do, 
 to think and to act. There is within us, as the 
 result of the past years, impulses which drive 
 us blindly unless we stop and analyze them, 
 often analyze them with the help of another. 
 
 And there are many examples of repug 
 nance, such as I feel toward George. There 
 have been great neurotics, I mean by that great 
 men who were neurotic, and they have left 
 indisputable evidence of the fears and repug 
 nances that preyed upon them and lessened 
 their ability. Julius Csesar was so afraid of 
 thunderstorms that, whenever they were rag 
 ing, he sought refuge in a cellar. Frederick 
 the Great had such a repugnance to water that, 
 whenever he drove across a bridge, he did it 
 with the curtains of his carriage drawn, and in 
 the meanwhile he was bathed in perspiration. 
 Such a list could be carried on almost indefi 
 nitely. 
 
 They all paid hideous tribute to ugly things 
 that entered into their souls when they were
 
 MES. MAEBEFS OEDEAL 243 
 
 young, when they did not clearly understand, 
 and when their parents did not understand 
 them sufficiently to enlighten them. That, 
 too, has the ring of bitterness. But it has also 
 the note of truth. Do I not know it? Have 
 I not paid tribute to my mother s mistakes? 
 
 If I did not know this, I should be entirely 
 without consolation, without the hope of com 
 fort. I should resign myself to sorrow and 
 discontent for the rest of my days. I should 
 have to try to satisfy myself miserably with 
 husks like the woman who accepted her hus 
 band s infidelity without comment like that 
 other woman who contributed nothing of love 
 or helpfulness to her husband. 
 
 But I refuse to do that. I know that D R 
 will help me to remember, aid me to right the 
 evil effects of some ugly things that came to 
 me as a child and compelled me to look at life 
 from a distorted angle and with an unworthy 
 purpose. 
 
 The cry of my soul is for happiness, worthy 
 happiness, and by that I feel that I shall come 
 at last to peace and shall solve all the problems 
 which confront me, my own self-contempt and 
 the condemnation and accusations of Society.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 TPHIS is the night of the twenty-ninth of 
 * November, and there are left only three 
 days in which I may keep up my fight to win 
 back my lost memory in time to save Charlie. 
 It seems such a brief space in which to accom 
 plish what I desire such a little bit of time for 
 the working out of this thing that puzzles me 
 and terrifies me by turns. 
 
 When we had finished our talk today D R 
 said: 
 
 " Do not lose faith. Keep up the magnifi 
 cent courage you have shown so far. We shall 
 succeed. I am sure of it." 
 
 After that, he was silent for a long time 
 before he asked: 
 
 " Ruth, if you regained your memory of that 
 night, and if what you remembered incrimi 
 nated Corcoran beyond all dispute, would you 
 tell the truth in court? " 
 
 It was the first time he had asked me that. 
 It was, also, the first time I had ever thought 
 of it seriously, so confident have I been of
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 245 
 
 Charlie s innocence. It staggered me for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Yes," I answered him, at last; " I would." 
 
 And I would. 
 
 I have learned that no one may lightly as 
 sume the burden of a lie. I know now that, 
 in the end, what one does in secret one finally 
 shouts aloud from the housetops. That would 
 be true of Charlie, if he were guilty, just as it 
 would of me. The truth, when all is said and 
 done, is the only means by which one may keep 
 one s hands clean. It is as fatal to try to 
 deceive others as it is to deceive oneself. 
 
 And yet, I am strangely confident of 
 Charlie s innocence, although the papers today 
 were crowded with statements of his guilt. 
 That was because the police yesterday appre 
 hended the tramp. He gave his name as Dan 
 Higgles, and he told the authorities the same 
 story he related to me that he had been in the 
 garden the night of the murder, that Charlie 
 rushed from the veranda and offered him a 
 large sum of money to disappear, that he did 
 leave the garden by the way of the wall and 
 later met Charlie at the corner of Seventeenth 
 and I Streets, receiving from him two hundred 
 dollars in bank notes. 
 
 Moreover, the police have found Uiat the
 
 246 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 bartender of the club cashed, from the money 
 in the bar s cash register, one of Charlie s 
 checks for two hundred dollars, giving him the 
 money in four fifty-dollar bills. 
 
 All that, apparently, has been more than 
 sufficient to convince the police and the press 
 of Charlie s guilt. They have refused to con 
 sider the possibility of the guilt of the man 
 Higgles. Such a line of reasoning has not 
 occurred to any of them. 
 
 But they will have to value it. D R has 
 agreed with me that I must tell the whole story 
 of the tramp s acquaintance with Marjorie 
 when I go on the stand, most particularly the 
 detailed story of his interview with me when 
 he asked me to keep silent and when he burned 
 the money. That is, if I fail to remember 
 what I saw the night of the murder. 
 
 But I shall not fail ! On that, I am resolved. 
 I shall make my great desire to remember 
 whip my mental mechanism into greater 
 activity. I refuse to have that night wrapped 
 in darkness and kept from me. I am deter 
 mined to win back to a clear recollection of it 
 all. I want the fine gold of those forgotten 
 hours the fine gold with which I shall buy 
 back Charlie s freedom. 
 
 And, while I work for it, I am not to be
 
 MES. MAEDEX S OEDEAL 247 
 
 molested. D R has obtained from the chief 
 of police his promise that I shall not be ar 
 rested until after I have testified, after I have 
 refused to tell what I saw in the conservatory 
 that night. The possibility of arrest has lost 
 all terrors for me. I know I shall not 
 deserve it.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 QENTENCES from the newspaper of to- 
 v.3 day, the thirtieth of November: 
 
 " Public interest in the trial of Corcoran 
 transcends all bounds. Literally thousands of 
 people are besieging the authorities for cards 
 of admission to the courtroom. In this num 
 ber are many society women, and it is prob 
 ably correct to state that there is far more 
 speculation as to what Mrs. George Harden 
 will say on the stand than there is interest in 
 the actual fate of the prisoner. What the 
 beautiful society woman knows about the 
 crime, is so far a mystery. Nobody, with the 
 possible exception of the accused man s attor 
 ney, Mr. Rittenhouse, has the least inkling of 
 what her story will be. . . . 
 
 " The tramp, Dan Riggles as he calls him 
 self, sticks to his story, although he has been 
 put through several severe grillings by the 
 police. He is now regarded as the star wit 
 ness against the prisoner. . . . 
 
 " Corcoran keeps up his surprising show of
 
 MES. MAKDKN S OEDEAL 249 
 
 courage and optimism. Those at the jail who 
 come into daily contact with him declare that 
 he feels sure of acquittal in spite of the over 
 whelming array of cold facts against him. . . . 
 
 " Doctor Francis P. Doyle, this country s 
 best known authority on psychiatry and mental 
 problems, has been interviewed by both the 
 prosecuting attorney and the counsel for the 
 defense. It is understood that his testimony, 
 aside from being a repetition of what he heard 
 Mrs. Harden say in the library of her home 
 the night of the murder, will throw little or no 
 light on the facts of the case. He will state 
 that Mrs. Marden does not, and can not, re 
 member what she witnessed in the conserva 
 tory, the actual scene of the crime. 
 
 To combat this, however, the prosecution 
 has called two celebrated alienists to give their 
 opinions as to whether Mrs. Marden s alleged 
 aphasia could have lasted for the brief time she 
 claims it did. . . . 
 
 " Chief Palmer continues to predict that 
 Mrs. Marden will give invaluable evidence for 
 the prosecution. . . ." 
 
 Instead of being dismayed by this notoriety, 
 I feel within myself a growing strength, a fund 
 of optimism sufficient to enable me to keep up 
 the work of trying to remember.
 
 250 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 More and more I am impressed with what 
 I owe to D R. I say somewhere in this diary 
 that he is a famous man, famous in many ways. 
 But what is far more important is his reputa 
 tion among his fellow men for probity, in 
 tegrity, right living. I doubt that any other 
 man has ever been so universally looked up to 
 and respected. 
 
 I see now that, if this had not been true, I 
 would have been pursued and annoyed to dis 
 traction by the police. I know that, but for 
 his standing in the community, Chief Palmer 
 would never have promised to postpone my 
 arrest until the very last moment, after my 
 refusal to testify at the trial. 
 
 There is nothing more for me to do now 
 except hope and work during the few hours 
 that are left. D R worked with me more than 
 two hours this afternoon. He would have 
 devoted more time to me but for the fact that 
 it is impossible to achieve anything like satis 
 factory results after that length of time. The 
 human brain can be spurred and urged and 
 hurried only so much. After that, it is like 
 any other human machinery. It succumbs to 
 weariness. 
 
 He has decided that the best time for me to 
 tell Mr. Rittenhouse all the details of the
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 251 
 
 tramp s coming to see me will be the evening 
 before the trial Sunday. 
 
 " That is," said D R, " if in the meantime 
 you have not remembered." 
 
 I see plainly that he is as confident as I of 
 the ultimate result. 
 
 I asked him this afternoon, " Why is it that 
 I feel so sure of success? This hopefulness is 
 almost a new thing with me." 
 
 " It s because," he answered, " we have got 
 ten rid of nearly all the scars that were on your 
 mind and soul. You have cast aside the 
 weights that were holding you down, the dis 
 torted ideas, the wrong judgments, all of them 
 except the one scene of your childhood which 
 definitely gave form to your neurosis. When 
 we come to that, when some dream of yours 
 leads us to where that soul ugliness is hidden in 
 your subconsciousness, our work will be 
 finished." 
 
 I understand that. I feel as if the thing we 
 are looking for were just around the corner, 
 and I about to come face to face with it. 
 
 And, coupled with that sensation, is my 
 conviction, now full-grown, that Charlie is 
 about to go free.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A 
 
 T last 
 
 At last I remember the events of the 
 night of the murder, and at last I possess my 
 own soul. 
 
 I remember and the day after tomorrow 
 Charlie Corcoran is to take his place in the 
 prisoner s dock before the world, to be tried 
 for his life. The contemplation of that brings 
 upon me humiliation, an incomparable woe. 
 When I think of it, I stand aghast, incapable 
 as yet of deciding what I shall do or say. 
 
 I possess my own soul, but it is a trembling, 
 uncertain possession. At one moment I tell 
 myself that I shall allow no outside matters, 
 no outside people, to disturb me. Knowing 
 myself as I do, I am conscious of the urge to 
 withdraw myself from the world, to preserve 
 my own peace of mind. 
 
 But to that there succeeds the sweeter, 
 stronger thought that the world must mean 
 more to me than ever before, and that I shall 
 attain to the full possibilities of myself only by 
 living with, and learning to love, all the things
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 253 
 
 that are in the world the cries of sorrow, the 
 cool of the spring rains, the evanescent silver 
 of the moon, the rose petals that carpet the 
 gardens, the golden hands of the dawn, the 
 strains of solemn music, the stifled sobs, the 
 laughter of children, the hum of the city, the 
 voices of the warriors who fill the land every 
 thing. 
 
 I, Ruth Marden, am myself again, and 
 through myself I must reach happiness. And 
 to be happy what is it? Quite plainly, but 
 very far off, as it were, I see the meaning of 
 happiness. It is to wonder like a little child, 
 to find mystery in everything, every day, 
 everywhere, to be surprised continually, to 
 clap one s hands in glee as every brilliant hour 
 flashes past. That is happiness. But, in 
 order to attain to it, I have far to go and much 
 to do. 
 
 No woman, I believe, ever faced such an 
 ordeal as that which confronts me here in the 
 night hours. Upon my decision rest the future 
 of the accused man, the happiness of my hus 
 band, and the destruction or salvation of my 
 self. Surely, any one will understand why I 
 weep bitter tears and am torn by wonder. 
 
 When D R came to me today, I noticed for 
 the first time that he, like myself, labored under
 
 254 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 a nervous strain. Because of his love for me, 
 he has suffered as much as I in our desperate 
 struggle to bring back my memory. And the 
 time had grown so short ! 
 
 " Did we have a dream last night? " he 
 asked, with that slow, gentle smile which is so 
 completely characteristic of his sweetness of 
 soul. 
 
 Yes ; one which I can t make anything of, 
 at all." 
 
 Then I told it to him. 
 
 " I dreamed that the President of the United 
 States stood in the center of a room. A lark 
 flew toward him, and he smiled at it, but it 
 suddenly turned into a big bird like a vulture, 
 with a funny beak like a pin. Also it was a 
 red-headed bird. It was the funniest thing 
 her head, instead of being covered by feathers, 
 had on it human hair, red hair. She fought 
 the President, who only smiled as she tore at 
 his face with her beak until the blood came. 
 This made me furious I had been standing 
 near watching and I suddenly grasped the 
 vulture, and caught the neck and tore off the 
 wings, killing her." 
 
 Well," he said, pacing to and fro, as he 
 always does when thinking intently, " what 
 does the dream bring up in your mind? "
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 255 
 
 " Nothing," I answered. " I ve been all 
 over it, and the result is a blank nothing." 
 
 " I am inclined to think this is a big dream. 
 I believe a lot of your childhood is mixed up in 
 it. Try to think something. Anything? " 
 
 I got the idea that he was deeply impressed 
 with what I had told him, that he thought we 
 were about to put our hands on what had been 
 to me, as a child, a tremendous experience. 
 Somehow, I had the same formless idea my 
 self; and it frightened me, awed me. 
 
 " I have an impression, some sort of an im 
 pression," I answered, absorbed, my voice 
 strangely like that of one who reports to others 
 on the outside progress being made in the ex 
 ploration of a dark room, " about something 
 that happened at night." 
 
 I paused, still striving to rescue something 
 from the domain of my subconsciousness. 
 
 ; Take the vulture s beak," he suggested. 
 That was a most unusual beak for a vulture 
 to have, like a pin." 
 
 Still, I made no answer. 
 Think does a pin remind you of any 
 thing? " 
 
 I suddenly sat bolt upright. 
 
 " Oh, D R! I believe I remember. It was 
 at night, and there was something about a red-
 
 256 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 headed woman something my mother said to 
 my father. Now, I wonder what it was." 
 
 He stood still, keyed to the top pitch of 
 mental alertness. He looked like a man on 
 the edge of a great discovery. 
 
 Think," he encouraged me. What was 
 it?" 
 
 " I was standing in the door of a room that 
 was our parlor or living-room. That was so 
 long ago! I must have been only five years 
 old for the room in the dream is the one that 
 was in our old house, down on K Street, and 
 we moved away from there before I was six." 
 
 He waited silently while I groped, seeking 
 the fragments of a mental picture more than 
 twenty years old. 
 
 " I was barefooted and I had on my night 
 gown. I was a little bit of a thing. I re 
 member my mother was quarreling with my 
 father and, oh! I was sucking my thumb, 
 and I was standing at the door and they 
 didn t see me. It all comes back now. It s 
 very clear." 
 
 " Go on," he instructed me, beginning again 
 to pace the floor. 
 
 " I can hear my mother now screaming at 
 my father," I continued, and immediately, 
 struck by a new idea, I exclaimed: " That is
 
 MBS. MABDEN S OEDEAL 267 
 
 how my fearful impulse to scream aloud was 
 caused! " 
 
 " Of course," he agreed. " And you realize 
 now that there is no reason why you should 
 have such an impulse simply because you heard 
 your mother, an angry woman, do it twenty 
 years ago." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I see now." 
 
 " What else do you remember? " he brought 
 me back to the story with more than his usual 
 hurry. 
 
 "She was screaming at my father and up 
 braiding him about his attentions to another 
 woman a red-haired woman. She said he 
 had bought the woman a pin, a gold pin. 
 That s what brought up the scene in my mind, 
 the mention of the pin. And I can see myself 
 now, stamping my foot and being very angry 
 with my mother. I was sorry for my father. 
 I remember I cried when my father, unable to 
 endure her abuse any longer, left the room and 
 the house. I remember I stamped my foot 
 and screamed, He s gone out! He s gone 
 out! " 
 
 " That," D R injected quickly, " was what 
 you said that night, the night you came into 
 the library after finding Marjorie s body." 
 
 "Oh, did I?"
 
 258 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 He regarded me for a moment. 
 
 " Do you remember what you thought when 
 you witnessed this ill-treatment of your father 
 by your mother? " 
 
 Yes ; I wanted to strike her. I thought if 
 it was all right for her to fight with him, it 
 was all right for me to fight with her." 
 
 " How illuminating that is! " he said swiftly. 
 " How perfectly it accounts for the rebellious 
 ness, the impulse to fight back because of a 
 wrong, real or imaginary the impulse which 
 has troubled you so. 
 
 " Now, I can give you one meaning, the 
 superficial meaning, of the dream. You 
 know enough about dream symbolisms to real 
 ize that in all dreams the President, or a gov 
 ernor, or anybody in authority is symbolical of 
 your father so the President in this dream 
 was in reality your father." 
 
 " I see that, of course," I said readily. 
 
 " Now, your mother should have been at all 
 times to your father the impersonation of hap 
 piness and delight that is, the lark in the 
 dream. But the night she quarreled with 
 him she became the vulture and made him 
 suffer. 
 
 " When the vulture made your father the 
 President suffer, you, in your childish anger,
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 259 
 
 wanted to punish your mother. Don t you 
 see? Last night, by means of your dream, 
 when you killed the vulture, you carried out 
 the suppressed impulse you had had twenty 
 years ago. In reality, what you did in the 
 dream was to punish your mother." 
 
 "How wonderful that is!" I drew in my 
 breath sharply, realizing the unmistakable 
 truth of what he said. 
 
 " But the dream means a lot more," he took 
 up the inquiry. " Now, that beak like a pin 
 there must be something else in your mind 
 about a pin." 
 
 I started slightly. I could not tell why, but 
 somewhere, far back in my brain, there 
 sounded the drums of fear. Other important 
 revelations had caused the same effect upon me. 
 It was as if an unpleasant thought heralded its 
 approach, saying, " Prepare to meet me, since 
 you called! " 
 
 D R questioned me again. 
 
 What does the pin suggest to you? " 
 
 I was silent several moments. He sat down 
 opposite me. 
 
 " What was your thought then, Ruth? " 
 
 I still was silent. 
 
 " Remember, you promised to tell me every 
 thing."
 
 260 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Well," I complied with a reluctance I 
 could not understand, " a pin a pin I 
 lost." 
 
 " Where? Where did you lose a pin? " 
 
 " I suppose," I said, reluctance yet in my 
 voice, " I have lost a great many pins several 
 gold pins." 
 
 Then," he put in swiftly, " this particular 
 pin was a gold pin? " 
 
 " Yes a gold pin." 
 
 Well, where was it? " he asked, the shadow 
 of insistence in his manner. " Where did you 
 lose it? " 
 
 The unpleasant thought had come! 
 
 " I lost it the night the night I found Mar- 
 jorie in the conservatory," I replied in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " So the dream has in it something about 
 Marjorie? " 
 
 " I don t think so." 
 
 My answer was unconsciously nervous and 
 quick. 
 
 " But," he said authoritatively, " it reminded 
 you of the pin you lost that night? " 
 
 Yes," I agreed, strangely monosyllabic. 
 
 His questions became more rapid. 
 
 What else did it remind you of this 
 dream? "
 
 MBS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 261 
 
 " People with red hair," I said with nervous 
 spontaneity. You see, there was a red 
 headed bird, meaning of course a red-Jjeaded 
 woman, in the dream and my mother had 
 red hair." 
 
 " What people with red hair are you think 
 ing about now? " 
 
 " Red-haired people generally." 
 
 " Marjorie," he pursued the relentless quest, 
 " had red hair." 
 
 " No," I argued; " Marjorie didn t. Hers 
 was auburn hair." 
 
 " But," he suggested, " to all intents and 
 purposes, red." 
 
 " I suppose so," I answered quietly. 
 
 He rose and began to pace the floor 
 again. 
 
 " Ruth," he asked with rapid utterance, 
 " did you ever think did you ever wish Mar 
 jorie Nesbit dead? " He waved his hand, 
 deprecating the harshness of the idea. " I don t 
 mean that you ever laid a deliberate plan for 
 her death, but did such a fantasy ever cross 
 your mind? " 
 
 " No! " I said, astonished. 
 
 " Never? " 
 
 I reflected, and shivered, thinking for the 
 moment of Charlie.
 
 262 MBS. HARDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 " Oh, well," I explained, " if it did, it was 
 just something that flashed through my mind, 
 and I put it away from me." 
 
 " Of course," he assented, " but was this 
 fantasy ever strong enough to make you think 
 that you would be glad of her death that 
 you might not punish anybody who brought 
 it about? " 
 
 " Oh, no," I replied instantly. 
 
 " If it had been a strong mental picture, this 
 idea that Marjorie s death would benefit you, 
 it would have provided you with a motive for 
 forgetting, forgetting so that you might pro 
 tect anybody who actually harmed her or 
 even killed her. Do you see? " 
 
 Very clearly." 
 
 Then think; please. Does this dream of 
 your attacking a red-headed bird really a 
 red-headed woman who may have been Mar- 
 jorie does it bring into your mind anything 
 more about Marjorie? " 
 
 There is nothing more about Marjorie, 
 D R," I said confidently, " absolutely nothing 
 more." 
 
 " But there must fye," he held me to the sub 
 ject. 
 
 " Oh," I said with a touch of petulance, " I 
 just know that I hated Marjorie because I
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 263 
 
 thought George loved her. It was just like 
 a lot of the other ugly ideas I had. Don t you 
 see? Don t you see how my hatred of her was 
 wrapped up in all my life and came out in this 
 dream? " 
 
 "I see it quite plainly," he agreed, and 
 paused. " Ruth, are you trying to keep from 
 me anything about that night? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Are you trying to shield anybody by your 
 silence? " 
 
 " Shield anybody? " I asked in bewilder 
 ment. 
 
 " Corcoran, for instance." 
 
 " D R, you know I wouldn t keep from you 
 anything that s in my mind." 
 
 " But don t you see," he spoke gently but 
 with irresistible persuasiveness, " that, as you 
 punished your mother in the dream, you also 
 punished Marjorie? There are wrapped up 
 in the dream two red-haired women, your 
 mother and Marjorie. Now, think of this: is 
 it, or isn t it, possible that, in attacking Mar 
 jorie in the dream, you tacitly endorsed the act 
 of the person who really did punish her kill 
 her? " 
 
 " Of course," I said. 
 
 For the moment my mind was utterly blank,
 
 264 MES. MAEDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 as if a thousand ideas strove for the mastery of 
 it, and none could prevail. 
 
 What are you thinking about? " he de 
 manded sharply. 
 
 The vulture s beak, like a pin it was the 
 shape of the pin I lost that night, and it was 
 the shape of Charlie s fingers when he stood 
 there in the library, holding out his hands as 
 if he grasped her neck with his writhing fin 
 gers that idea of choking." 
 
 " Think! " he urged. " She was choked to 
 death." 
 
 The drums of fear thundered close upon me. 
 The silent spaces of my brain were in an up 
 roar that had no voice. 
 
 " Think! " he said again. " The red-haired 
 woman choked to death, the loss of your pin, 
 the shape of your pin, your rushing into the 
 library and saying, as you said twenty years 
 ago, He s gone out ! Tell me the first idea 
 that comes to you." 
 
 "Oh, Charlie!" 
 
 I sprang from my chair and stood erect, 
 facing him. I know panic twisted my face. 
 I know terror was in my eyes. 
 
 "Oh-h-h-h!" 
 
 It was as if the low moan had been drawn 
 from me by barbed hooks.
 
 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 265 
 
 I flung my arms upward, the fingers, each 
 wide from the other, writhing. 
 
 He caught my hands and, pulling them 
 down, held them in his own strong grasp. My 
 figure stiffened. I felt frozen, lifeless and 
 knew that fright flourished in my eyes. 
 
 " What is it, Ruth? " his cool, strong voice 
 struck upon my consciousness. 
 
 As suddenly as I had risen, I sank back into 
 the chair, taking my hands from his to cover 
 my face. 
 
 "Oh-h-h-h!" 
 
 I moaned again. 
 
 He put his hand on my shoulder and spoke 
 again in the same cool, low voice: " Tell me." 
 
 I wrung my hands one against the other, 
 my body swaying from side to side, my head 
 bowed. I did not look up to him. 
 
 " How how did I forget? " I asked, the 
 echo of the tortured moan still in my voice. 
 " How? " 
 
 " Tell me," he said inflexibly. 
 
 Why haven t I known all along all this 
 time? " I reproached myself for my own 
 misery. 
 
 " Known what? " he demanded imperiously. 
 
 " Oh-h-h-h! " Anguish would not give me 
 up. "Oh-h! Out of my own mouth!"
 
 266 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 He stepped back from me, like one relieved. 
 He thought the battle had been won. 
 
 " Say it, Ruth," he told me tenderly. 
 
 I rose from the chair and crouched back 
 against my desk. My hands came down slowly 
 and fell limply against the edge of the desk. 
 I cowered there fully a minute, trembling like 
 the stem of a rose that is bent by the wind. I 
 looked at him out of hopeless, dreary eyes. 
 
 You know ! " I whispered hoarsely. " I 
 did kill her!" 
 
 " You killed her! " he exclaimed. 
 
 His astonishment was boundless. I realize 
 now that he looked as if, for the first time in 
 all the years he had spent exploring the souls 
 of men and women, he had come upon a hidden 
 thing that swept him off his feet. It was as if, 
 in opening a door to liberate creatures which 
 he wished to go free, there had leaped past him 
 a monster too horrible for him to look at in 
 the light of day. 
 
 The drums crashed in my ears. I was being 
 trampled by huge, monstrous spirits and 
 shapes. It was like being whipped by hail, 
 bruised by great winds. 
 
 I besought him. " Oh, what made me kill 
 her? Why did I find her that night in the 
 conservatory? Why was it so terribly easy
 
 MRS. HARDEN S ORDEAL 267 
 
 for me to go up behind her and put out my 
 hands and crush the life out of her? " 
 
 He got control of himself. 
 
 " Don t be afraid, Ruth." 
 
 He drove his voice to its natural pitch as he 
 forced me into the chair again. 
 
 " Don t be afraid at all." 
 
 He knelt beside me and put his arm round 
 me. 
 
 " I ll tell you why," he said, trying with 
 words to keep me from going more to pieces 
 which was useless, for horror held me taut and 
 stiff, and dry-eyed. " It is what we ve already 
 learned the sins of the parents upon the chil 
 dren. Every child has a right to have its 
 little life started on the great voyage under 
 purple sail and with jeweled helm. But this 
 was denied you. And there had to come the 
 harvest home of the ugly scene that colored 
 your whole life. That is all. You must not 
 despise yourself. You must not abase your 
 self, must not surrender to fear." 
 
 " But Charlie! Why did I say he did it? " 
 
 That was a twist of your subconscious 
 mind. You had done something too horrible 
 to admit to your real, conscious self. It was 
 in terrific conflict with all your finer instincts 
 and ideals. So, unconsciously, in the wild
 
 268 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 whirl of your thoughts, you grasped at a way 
 of escape. In fact, the way had been pre 
 pared, for in your conscious moments you had 
 seen Corcoran go through the pantomime of 
 choking of doing what you did. Subcon 
 sciously you acquitted yourself by transferring 
 the guilt to him. After that and only after 
 that could you come back to possession of 
 your faculties. It is a mental mechanism that 
 frequently occurs." 
 
 Suddenly I wept. For the first time since 
 the tragedy I shed real tears. The thunderous 
 noise was still in my ears, the unearthly storm 
 still beat me down. I think I cried, just as a 
 child, caught in a hurricane, might lie down on 
 the ground in the mud and shriek with a terror 
 too vast and too nameless for it to understand. 
 
 " But you are guilty of nothing," D R s 
 voice came to me indistinctly. You didn t 
 even know anything about it. You are no 
 more responsible for the death of Marjorie 
 Nesbit understand me, Ruth you are no 
 more responsible for it than was your dead 
 mother." 
 
 That made no definite impression upon me. 
 I remember that no clear idea remained in my 
 mind. The great noises continued. And 
 across my mind there seemed to sweep huge
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 269 
 
 dark clouds, each one ugly with ruin, all of 
 them pressing me down with an immense 
 weight and I looked at the clouds, finding 
 them confused, benumbing, a moving manu 
 script of agony so universal and all-enveloping 
 that I could appreciate no one feature, no one 
 phase of it. 
 
 My gasping, frightened sobs lifted me up 
 and almost tore me from the circle of his arm. 
 
 What is to become of me? " I moaned at 
 last. " What shall I do? "
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 BUT he did not tell me what to do. I think 
 he knew that, in reality, I did not want 
 him to tell me. 
 
 He went to the fireplace and stood there, 
 silent a long time before he spoke. 
 
 " We all are fond of saving we are the 
 
 / c? 
 
 masters of our fates. We prate about free 
 will. And yet, how little we know of what we 
 say. For your own sake, for the sake of others, 
 you must appreciate this great truth: 
 
 " All of us come into the world endowed 
 with freedom of will, crowned with the glory 
 of doing as we choose. But this free will, this 
 divine independence, may be taken from us, 
 today, yesterday, or tomorrow. Although one 
 may burst upon life with the feet of one s soul 
 leaping for joy and the hands of one s soul 
 overflowing with flowers, ugliness can, and 
 does, put upon the feet the chains of futility, 
 upon the hands the manacles of weakness. 
 
 " And this is not the doctrine of blind sub-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 271 
 
 mission to circumstance. It is not to say that 
 we may surrender weakly, refuse to fight for 
 higher things. It is merely the emphasis of 
 our duty that we must struggle always, for 
 ever be on our guard to prevent ourselves 
 from being stripped of strength in the tumul 
 tuous business of living rightly." 
 
 I felt that he talked to me, not only to fortify 
 my courage, but also to give me time to con 
 sider my n<ew situation. I knew as well as he 
 did that, in coming upon that frightful scene 
 between my mother and father, we had un 
 earthed the thing that had distorted my char 
 acter, wounded my soul. 
 
 He said as much. 
 
 You learned the most tragic lesson that 
 can come to childhood : how to hate. And you 
 learned it from your mother, which, of itself, 
 persuaded you that hate must be permissible, 
 since you saw it in one who personified to you 
 all authority. Then, when the love instinct of 
 your adult years was outraged by your jeal 
 ousy of Marjorie, the wound of your childhood 
 joined forces with the wound of your woman 
 hood. That is all that simple proposition: 
 That a warped childhood is to contribute in 
 later years to a warped and tragic woman 
 hood."
 
 272 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 He paused. My sobs had ceased, but I said 
 nothing. 
 
 " One more thing," he added, as if he tried 
 to soothe with loving speech the pain of my 
 soul: " with love in your heart, you possess 
 the key to all the good things life has to give. 
 I want to tell you a little story which should 
 guide you throughout all the rest of your 
 life. 
 
 " It s an old Buddhist story. A robber 
 chief, the wickedest man who ever had lived in 
 the world, had spent eons in hell, and one day 
 he looked up to Buddha in heaven and begged 
 for release. Buddha asked him to think if he 
 could recollect having done one kind or lovely 
 thing in all his life. He thought for a thou 
 sand years, and at last remembered that one 
 day, while walking in the forest, he had seen a 
 spider in his path and had neglected to crush 
 out its life. 
 
 Very well, said Buddha, and he made the 
 spider spin a web and drop the end of it all 
 the way from heaven into hell, so that the 
 wicked man might climb on it up to heaven. 
 He climbed a great way, but, when he felt the 
 web quiver, he looked down and saw that many 
 other tortured souls were climbing out of hell 
 on the same web. Frightened for himself and
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 273 
 
 afraid the web might break and drop him back 
 into hell, he shouted to them to get off and 
 immediately the thread broke, and he himself 
 fell back into hell. 
 
 That is all you have to remember, Ruth. 
 Love of self is the suicide of the soul. Service, 
 the service of others, is the ladder by which we 
 may climb." 
 
 He was silent again. At last, the drums 
 thundered no longer in my ears, and the 
 clouded horror lifted somewhat from my mind. 
 
 I looked up to him and met his eyes. 
 
 " I suppose," I said, in almost my natural 
 voice, " I shall be arrested." 
 
 I was conscious of his ineffable sympathy. 
 It was like the laying on of hands. 
 
 What do you propose to do? " he asked. 
 
 I got to my feet quite steadily. 
 
 " Leave me by myself, D R," I said in a low 
 voice. " I want to think. I want to make 
 up my own mind about my own actions." 
 
 " It is the brave thing to do," he agreed 
 gently. 
 
 He took both my hands in his and held them 
 several moments before he went to the door. 
 As he turned the knob, he said, " Call me at 
 my office if you want me this afternoon." 
 
 " Thank you, D R," I answered simply.
 
 274 MES. MAKDEN S OBDEAL 
 
 " I think just now my business is only with 
 myself." 
 
 When he had gone, I sat very still, looking 
 into the fire. I had a sense of feeling very 
 alert, listening, to see whether Mildred would 
 come in. I did not want her to come in. I 
 resented the necessity of even telling her to go 
 away. Then I remembered that this was her 
 afternoon off, and I was immensely relieved. 
 I was greedy of the solitude and quiet. I felt 
 the overwhelming need of communing with 
 myself. 
 
 After a long time, I got up and moved to 
 the window. I could see the street, the asphalt 
 almost white in the clear, cold light of the 
 afternoon sun. A young girl on roller skates 
 flashed past my section of vision, and I thought 
 oddly that I had never before noticed how 
 graceful a young girl looks in the wavy, un 
 dulating motion of skating. 
 
 I thought of George, and all at once I was 
 consumed with longing to be near him, to have 
 him near me. I stood at the window and 
 whispered to myself things about George, 
 about his kindness to me, about his patience 
 with my whims. I remembered that he liked 
 red roses, that he had once told me the only 
 jewel I should ever wear was a big red rose
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OKDEAL 275 
 
 at my breast. No thought of Marjorie or 
 Mrs. Tarone came to me. I had no feeling of 
 resentment toward him only longing to put 
 my head on his shoulder. That image of my 
 self with my head on his shoulder persisted in 
 my mind. I wanted to fall asleep with my 
 head on his shoulder, his arm around me. 
 
 The bell-button was close by. I put out my 
 hand to touch it, to send for him, and I re 
 membered Marjorie. 
 
 I know now why a man condemned to the 
 scaffold calmly eats his morning meal on the 
 day of execution. I know now why he neither 
 laughs nor weeps. Neither laughing nor 
 weeping nor protestation will mean anything, 
 or accomplish anything, or change anything. 
 He has come at last face to face with the 
 illimitable cruelty of life. He can do nothing 
 but submit because in the narrow avenues of 
 his brain there live no agents strong enough or 
 tricky enough to cope with tragedy. He is 
 numb because he is at the end of all things. 
 
 I felt like that, just. I went back and sat 
 down in front of the fire, and I talked aloud to 
 myself, trying to form some idea of what I had 
 done. I remember I kept saying to myself, 
 sometimes hearing the words, sometimes re 
 peating them entirely mechanically:
 
 276 MRS. MAEDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 " I killed her. I am very sorry. I killed 
 her out of hate. I am sure I didn t mean to 
 kill her. I killed her. I am sure I didn t 
 mean to kill her." 
 
 No tears came to my eyes. No sobs rose 
 to my throat. I wondered why that was. 
 Then I decided that only cowardly natures 
 could devote hours to meaningless tears and 
 empty lamentations. It was the right thing, 
 I told myself, to face what I had done and to 
 decide what I had to do. 
 
 On the heels of that, a black, awful, un 
 mitigated remorse descended upon me. There 
 are no words to carry the weight of the sorrow 
 that beat me down, no phrases to convey a 
 picture of how I recoiled from myself, and 
 scourged myself. As with George, so with 
 her, there trooped through my brain memories 
 of pleasant hours we had spent together, years 
 at school, an evening at the theatre, an after 
 noon at golf. The special point of my suffer 
 ing was that I had enjoyed so much with her, 
 and finally had killed her killed her. 
 
 I went into my bedroom and walked slowly 
 to the dressing table, where I stood a long time, 
 fingering the various articles on it. My reflec 
 tion in the mirror looked quite natural. That 
 surprised me in a dull, unimportant way. I
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 277 
 
 left the bedroom and went back to the fire. I 
 desperately wanted to view my situation as a 
 whole, to take in all the details of the monstrous 
 catastrophe George, and Marjorie, and the 
 police. 
 
 A picture of prison flashed upon me, and 
 left me undisturbed. For the moment, I ac 
 cepted it quite as a matter of course that I must 
 suffer, suffer horribly, and give thanks for the 
 suffering. 
 
 " But," I said aloud, " I must tell George. 
 He will never love me. Men don t love women 
 who murder and go to prison. Women, if 
 they love, keep on loving their men when they 
 go to prison. A woman has no moral sense 
 where her man is involved. But men are dif 
 ferent, different." 
 
 After that, I was still for a long, long time. 
 When I roused myself, the room was dark. I 
 stirred the fire, and thought of Charlie. Until 
 then, I think, I had tried not to think of him 
 at all. 
 
 I sprang up and ran into the bedroom and 
 threw myself on the bed. I lay there, trem 
 bling a little, my wide eyes questioning the 
 dark. How little I was! How little we all 
 are! For weeks I had busied myself in an 
 absurd fashion, thinking highly of myself be?
 
 278 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 cause I was trying to remember the facts about 
 the murder, so that I might help Charlie. I 
 had even gone to the jail and paraded before 
 him my pride in trying to help him out of the 
 trouble to which I had brought him. 
 
 And all the time he knew I had killed Mar- 
 jorie! That is why he said nothing. It is 
 why he was so confident of his own acquittal. 
 It is why he compromised himself so foolishly 
 in giving the tramp the money. Charlie saw 
 me commit the murder. The stupendous 
 nature of his sacrifice, the gorgeous quality of 
 his service to me, made me cry aloud, over and 
 over: " How little I am! How little I am! " 
 
 From that, a feeling of unutterable humility 
 came upon me. It is still in my heart. I felt 
 that I could do only the right thing, the just 
 thing, the fair thing. But, if I confessed, 
 what of George? what of my indescribable 
 longing to possess once more his love? 
 
 Instead of answering that, I came back here 
 to my desk and began to write. I have been 
 writing for hours. It is very late, and I am 
 so exhausted that I can hardly hold the pen 
 between my fingers, exhausted emotionally as 
 well as physically. I can not think con 
 nectedly. That, I suppose, is well. I do not 
 want to think any more tonight. I am going
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 279 
 
 to sleep with the belief that tomorrow I shall 
 awake and follow the path that leads to ex 
 piation, it matters not at all how steep or how 
 crowded with thorns it may be. I shall follow 
 it to the end. 
 
 Through my window, with its curtains still 
 undrawn, I can look up and see the stars. 
 How far away they are how far! 
 
 And " one star differeth from another star 
 in glory." And one soul differeth from an 
 other soul in strength. I wish the world had 
 discovered that long ago. I wish my mother 
 had known it twenty years ago. 
 
 I am so tired, and tomorrow I must be so 
 strong!
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 SLEEP, however, did not come to me. In 
 stead, my mind was busy with two 
 thoughts: I had killed a human being, and I 
 had killed my husband s love. I could not 
 persuade myself that George would ever again 
 love me as he had done in the past. I could 
 not even invent with plausibility to myself 
 any reason why he should love me. 
 
 When the dawn came, I could lie still no 
 longer. I went to the window and, throwing 
 back the curtains, watched the changing lights 
 in the eastern sky, watched them until, far up 
 toward the north, there appeared above the 
 horizon a little streamer of brightness that 
 suddenly assumed a coppery, reddish hue. It 
 reminded me of Marjorie s hair, so that I 
 shuddered. I suppose any woman who has 
 done a terrible thing sees the color of her sin 
 everywhere. 
 
 At the end of my endurance at last, I re 
 solved to go to George. Up to that moment 
 I had had the idea if, indeed, I had been 
 capable of any clear idea at all that I should
 
 MKS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 281 
 
 not approach him until after I had in some 
 way done penance. I would put it off, I had 
 thought, until I had confessed my guilt to the 
 prosecuting attorney, so that I might return 
 to George and tell him I had not been afraid 
 to face the consequences. 
 
 But now that plan faded. My husband, he 
 alone, had the right to my first confidence. It 
 was his name that I had brought to disgrace. 
 Surely, his was the sorry privilege of advising 
 me as to the course he preferred me to take. 
 
 In a moment, clad in a dressing gown, stock 
 ings and slippers, with my hair one long braid 
 down my back, I rushed along the hall to his 
 room. At his door, I stopped, suddenly feel 
 ing all cold and weak. My wild thoughts took 
 on the guise of a reproach of myself. This 
 was not such a meeting as I should have 
 planned ! I would have preferred to have him 
 find me more beautiful than ever before. I 
 should have shown him a great radiance in my 
 eyes, smiles on my lips, an exquisite charm 
 wrapping me about. I should have been 
 dressed in white, with a great red rose at my 
 breast, and 
 
 All at once I was aware that a thin thread 
 of light came through the keyhole. He was 
 awake, then; out of bed at such an hour!
 
 282 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 Panic drove me to action. I knocked on the 
 door. 
 
 With amazing quickness, it was thrown 
 open, a flood of light half -blinded me, and my 
 husband stood before me. Slowly, like one in 
 a trance, I walked past him, into the room. I 
 heard the door click shut before I turned and 
 looked at him. He had on slippers and his 
 favorite, worn old dressing gown. In his left 
 hand was a crook-stemmed pipe from which 
 the smoke curled slowly, and he had the fore 
 finger of his right hand between the pages of 
 a book which he had been reading. 
 
 He stood near the door and studied me in 
 amazement for one fleeting moment. 
 
 You look so tired ! " he said, in a troubled, 
 perplexed voice, and did not move nearer 
 to me. 
 
 " Oh, George," I said, feeling choked and 
 weak, " may I talk to you? " 
 
 At that, he hurried forward and rolled a 
 chair to where I stood. 
 
 " If you only would," he answered, a little 
 catch in his voice. 
 
 I sank into the chair, and he would have 
 touched me, but I kept him away with a 
 gesture. 
 
 When I shivered, he seized the tongs with
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 283 
 
 the hand that held his pipe and made nervous, 
 ineffective jabs at the smouldering logs. 
 
 " I ve come to tell you the most awful 
 thing." 
 
 I felt the compelling need of warning him, 
 of preparing him to bear the blow. 
 
 He went to the table and laid down his book 
 and pipe. Mechanically, he marked his place 
 by putting the pipe between the pages. He 
 seemed extraordinarily moved, and stood wait 
 ing for me to speak. He cleared his throat 
 noisily. 
 
 "Tell me," he said finally. "Tell me, 
 please, anything." 
 
 He drew up a chair and sat down directly 
 facing me. His eyes looked heavy and dull. 
 
 You have a right to know," I temporized, 
 and then burst forth: " George, do you want 
 to hear it if it is the most terrible, quite the 
 most terrible, thing in all the world? " 
 
 " I want to hear anything you want to tell 
 me," he answered. 
 
 I could not tell whether he loved me or was 
 merely sorry for me, he was so grave, so care 
 ful in the choice of his words. 
 
 "I must tell you!" I exclaimed in a 
 tremulous voice, and at once tried to be calm. 
 " George, I killed Marjorie Nesbit."
 
 284 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 He looked at me while a little frown drew 
 his brows together and his eyes narrowed 
 slightly, as if he studied me and my words 
 with agonizing intentness. 
 
 " With my own hands," I added in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "You killed her!" 
 
 His words came from the back of his throat, 
 metallic, all of the same note, and his lips did 
 not move perceptibly. 
 
 I tried to say " yes " and could only nod 
 my head. 
 
 He brushed his hand swiftly across his eyes 
 once, and looked at me again with that specu 
 lative, puzzled frown. 
 
 " Do you know what you re saying? " he 
 asked at last, and I saw that his left hand, 
 which had lain curiously still and loose on his 
 knees, trembled. 
 
 " Perfectly D R knows it, too I ve re 
 membered at last." 
 
 He reached a standing posture very slowly 
 and came to my side, his feet uncertain and 
 awkward, like the steps of an automaton. 
 
 I felt his hand, very steady now, on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 " You poor child," he said in a low, tortured 
 voice. " You poor child. You poor child,"
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 285 
 
 I tried to speak and couldn t. I think he 
 did too. 
 
 Then he came around in front of me, his 
 feet moving with the same stiff awkwardness, 
 and, very deliberately and very slowly, he took 
 me in his arms and sat down in my chair with 
 me on his lap. 
 
 * You poor child. Poor Ruth," he kept 
 saying, his fingers stroking my hair in rapid, 
 jerky movements. " Poor Ruth poor Ruth." 
 
 I was afraid to look at him again. I knew 
 that, if I did, I would collapse utterly. 
 
 I sat up straight and looked at the fire while 
 I told him the whole story, how D R had at 
 last brought back to me my memory, how I 
 had spent the evening and night making up my 
 mind that I must face the punishment for what 
 I had done and that I must bring the story 
 to him. And from that I went on, in a 
 monotonous, strained voice that sounded 
 entirely foreign to me, how I had wronged 
 him, how I really loved him, how I had loved 
 him all the time, and how I knew that he could 
 no longer love me. 
 
 You couldn t, you see," I concluded, my 
 eyes still averted from his. " I m not at all 
 the sort of woman you thought I was." 
 
 " But I do," he said, patting my hand.
 
 286 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 I turned my head and looked at him, fear 
 and wonder and belief struggling with each 
 other in my mind. 
 
 " No matter what you have done or what is 
 done to you, I love you," he pronounced, as if 
 he dealt, unsurprised, with one of the immu 
 table facts of nature. 
 
 He seemed oddly constrained. I looked at 
 him wide-eyed, unable as yet to comprehend 
 clearly the significance of what he had told me. 
 
 He put his left hand on the back of my neck 
 and his right on my left arm. He leaned 
 toward me a little. 
 
 "Might I he began; and ended by 
 
 saying, " Kiss me, heart of my heart." 
 
 He kissed me again and again. 
 
 " It has been so long so long," he said 
 huskily. 
 
 I lay in his arms, weeping convulsively, my 
 tears so hot that they seemed to burn my face. 
 My feeling was not one of happiness. I 
 wished that he would hurt me, punish me 
 cruelly for all I had made him suffer. 
 
 It was a long time an hour, perhaps be 
 fore he forced himself to face the realities that 
 confronted me, that confronted both of us. 
 And he did it in a way that made me feel like
 
 MES. MAKDEN S OEDEAL 287 
 
 throwing myself at his feet and begging his 
 forgiveness over and over and over. 
 
 " Doctor Doyle spent the night in the house 
 here," he said. " Suppose we call him." 
 
 " D R was here, is here nowl " I exclaimed. 
 
 And I cried again, like a baby, weakly, not 
 trying to check the tears. They were so good 
 to me ! Everybody was. D R had kept him 
 self at my very elbow, so as to help me if I 
 needed him. 
 
 George rang for Jeffries and sent him to 
 tell D R to come. It was nearly eight o clock 
 now. 
 
 When D R entered the room, he found us 
 in our dressing gowns. George was throwing 
 a fresh log on the fire. 
 
 " Ah! " said DR. "I am so glad." 
 
 He pressed the hand I had put out toward 
 him. I was still crying. 
 
 " Doctor, I want your advice," said George. 
 We must decide what s to be done. This is 
 Sunday. Corcoran s trial comes up to 
 morrow." 
 
 Something in his tone brought back my 
 composure. As he stood there in front of the 
 fire, his hair disheveled, his dressing gown 
 bagging a little over the belt cord, he had very 
 plainly the bearing of a king.
 
 288 MRS. HARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 " It depends on Ruth," answered D R. 
 " How she feels, what she wishes, how much 
 she can endure she has been through so very 
 much." 
 
 " I want to get it over, D R," I said, " for 
 George s sake and for my own. If necessary, 
 let me make a statement to the judge, or the 
 police, or somebody. Let me give Charlie his 
 freedom, and let me know what my punish 
 ment is to be." 
 
 At that, George s lips twitched. I think I 
 knew just how he suffered. 
 
 " But," objected D R, " can you stand it? 
 Can you go through with it? I can have it all 
 postponed, you know a statement from me as 
 to your health." 
 
 " No ! No I " I cried. " Please, please, let 
 us face it all." 
 
 They talked it over for half an hour and 
 decided to retain Mr. Rittenhouse as my coun 
 sel. They would have their breakfast and go 
 to see him at once. 
 
 " In the meantime," D R commanded me, 
 " you must be put to bed and made to sleep." 
 
 George brought me back to my room, and 
 in a little while D R came in and gave me 
 morphine. He promised that George would 
 wake me as soon as he returned from the con-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 289 
 
 ference with the lawyer, and tell me what 
 decision they had reached. 
 
 I went to sleep, with Mildred sitting beside 
 my bed. The last thing I remember say 
 ing was: 
 
 " I was going to do so much and now my 
 husband is doing everything." 
 
 I was awake before George came back at 
 three this afternoon. His face was lined. He 
 looked as if he had not slept for days and days. 
 But his tenderness to me, his solicitude for 
 me, gave no hint of the tragedy in his soul. 
 
 This is what they had decided on: 
 
 Nothing was to be done today or tonight. 
 If I made a statement to any of the authorities 
 this evening, there might arise a question of 
 my arrest. They would make the statement 
 to Mr. Harrow, the prosecuting attorney, 
 early tomorrow morning. He could then have 
 an indictment prepared and handed down by 
 the grand jury in time for the case against 
 Charlie to be dismissed and for my trial to 
 begin by eleven o clock tomorrow. 
 
 There must be a jury trial," Mr. Ritten- 
 house had given it as his final opinion. The 
 case involves the matter of her mental con 
 dition. Therefore, the judge could not rule 
 on her plea of guilty or not guilty."
 
 290 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 And now, tonight, D R and George and Mr. 
 Rittenhouse, with his law partners, are in con 
 sultation, have been for several hours. I do 
 not understand what takes up so much time. 
 D R is to be a witness, and I am to take the 
 stand and tell my story. Surely, nothing else 
 will be required. 
 
 The outcome? 
 
 For myself, I do not care in the slightest. 
 No punishment that may be meted out to me 
 can compare in kind or in degree with what I 
 have suffered today. I have seen my own 
 husband crucified on the cross of my crime. 
 I have heard him and D R discuss in tense, 
 groping phrases ways and means to save not 
 my character and good name, for tomorrow 
 that part of me will be exposed to the gibes 
 and mockery of the world but to save my 
 body from imprisonment. 
 
 I have had all that added to my remorse for 
 Marjorie s death, remorse for that, and my in 
 comparable self-contempt because I have 
 learned my own unworthiness. I think, when 
 one recognizes one s unworthiness without ex 
 cuses and without hypocritical self-comfort, 
 there is no other punishment that can be utterly 
 unbearable. 
 
 But George when I glimpse what he
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 291 
 
 faces, in his clubs, among his business associ 
 ates, in his own heart, in every way, I can 
 neither write nor think. Terror seizes hold 
 of me and shakes me like a reed. 
 
 Ruth Harden goes to her punishment to 
 morrow. 
 
 George Marden goes to a punishment which, 
 though not his own, will be more bitter, more 
 intolerable than any criminal s.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 FOR five hours today two in the morning 
 and three in the afternoon I sat within 
 the counsel rail in the courtroom while hun 
 dreds of people sought morbid amusement in 
 reading my least change of expression and in 
 listening to dissections of my past thoughts 
 and emotions. To the public, I suppose, all 
 murder trials seem monotonously alike. It is 
 only the accused who knows with bitter cer 
 tainty that each ordeal is a special inferno, and 
 that to have one s privacy torn completely from 
 one is, in a sense, even more horrible than to 
 be tried for one s life. 
 
 Facts and opinions are written into a record 
 which can never be blotted out. Whatever 
 punishment may be dealt out to one, one finds 
 oneself, at the end of the trial, with a feeling 
 of having suffered an irremediable thing. It 
 is an emotion like that of the man who is pub 
 licly flogged. It can not be defined in words, 
 but it is woefully clear to the one who has 
 endured it. One feels ashamed, as if half- 
 naked. One realizes that one has done some-
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 293 
 
 thing which has taken away one s right to say to 
 the public, " Do not come too near; there are 
 secrets in my soul which you may not read." 
 
 To a woman, there could come no more 
 humiliating sensation than this. To be 
 pilloried physically is terrible. To have one s 
 emotions painted on the drab atmosphere of a 
 courtroom and to know that the mob ridicules 
 the picture, is even more terrible. 
 
 From the moment I stepped into the auto 
 mobile this morning with George and a police 
 man in plain clothes I could see the bright 
 metal star on his vest until the trial ended, 
 I maintained my composure. This was not 
 because I was brave. It was because I had 
 come to a keen realization of the fact that 
 neither tears nor bravado could affect the in 
 evitable, logical result. I was like one who, 
 having been tortured to the limit of endurance, 
 feels toward the future a cold contempt, a false 
 stoicism. 
 
 As I sat in the courtroom beside George, 
 with Mr. Rittenhouse in front of me and 
 Charlie a few seats away, I did not consciously 
 look at anybody, and yet I was aware that Mrs. 
 Mason was in the crowd on my right, and that 
 in the room were a great many other women 
 who knew me women, in fact, at whose tables
 
 294 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 I had dined, women who had always been glad 
 of invitations to my home. And I was dis 
 tressed by the ever-recurrent wish that every 
 body there had been a complete stranger to me. 
 
 I perceive it must be so in any great afflic 
 tion this painful conviction that, after all, 
 there are so few friends who are capable of the 
 holy rites of friendship. 
 
 The swift formality of the prosecuting attor 
 ney s withdrawing the case against Charlie and 
 having him discharged from custody, as had 
 been agreed with the judge beforehand, was 
 followed by my being put on trial. As it de 
 veloped that I, not Charlie, was the accused, 
 there was in the crowd back of me and around 
 me a subdued commotion, a shuffling of feet, 
 a rustling of skirts, a sibilance of sharp, low 
 whispering. It affected me like a material 
 thing, something which pressed upon me and 
 made me feel the need of added strength. 
 
 By agreement between Mr. Harrow and 
 Mr. Rittenhouse, I was called to the stand as 
 soon as the jury had been impaneled an hour 
 had been given up to that work, during which 
 I had sat motionless, my glance toward the 
 floor, my body stilled by strange inertia. 
 
 While I testified against myself, I was aware 
 of only two things, the faces of Harrow and
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 295 
 
 Rittenhouse. They seemed abnormally large, 
 and they loomed before me, attracting my gaze 
 irresistibly. The rest of the people were only 
 blurs. 
 
 When I spoke, my voice was very weak. It 
 had a thin, faded effect, and it was only by the 
 greatest muscular effort that I could keep it 
 to anything like an audible pitch. 
 
 I can not recall all I said. I do remember 
 saying this : 
 
 " That is true, I killed her. . . . 
 
 " I was jealous of her had been jealous of 
 her for a good many months about my hus 
 band. . . . 
 
 4 No; I had no real foundation for it. . . . 
 
 When my memory did return, the whole 
 scene came back to me. I had gone into the 
 conservatory without any idea of finding her. 
 But, when I saw her sitting there with her back 
 to me, I was seized by the blind, irresistible de 
 sire to be rid of her, to to kill her. I grasped 
 her throat before she knew I was anywhere 
 near. . . . 
 
 Yes. I choked her to death. . 
 
 ; I remembered it only the night before 
 last. . . . 
 
 " No; I never had any idea of trying to con 
 ceal it. ."
 
 296 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 Charlie followed me on the stand. D R 
 and Mr. Rittenhouse had seen him earlier in 
 the morning and persuaded him I wanted him 
 to tell what he knew. He did it with great 
 reluctance, and his story was drawn from him 
 practically in monosyllables by the many ques 
 tions of Mr. Harrow. 
 
 From the veranda, he had seen me in the 
 conservatory, and, realizing that something 
 serious had happened, had rushed in and asked 
 me what I had done, and I had told him I had 
 killed her. It was then that he remembered 
 having seen the tramp Riggles, and, hoping to 
 shut up the affair and not believing Marjorie 
 was dead, he had first gotten rid of Riggles. 
 It had not occurred to him, he said, that his 
 action was a covering up of evidence that the 
 State should have had. 
 
 After that, came the recess so that the 
 justice machine might lunch. George was 
 permitted to be with me in a little room, or cell, 
 in the basement of the building. Neither he 
 nor I talked. I think we both had the idea 
 that we must conserve our strength. Only 
 once he asked me how I felt, and I assured 
 him that I felt certain of myself, of my 
 endurance. 
 
 The afternoon was given up to the testimony
 
 MES. HABDEN S OEDEAL 297 
 
 of D R and two other sanity experts. My fate 
 hinged on whether I was insane at the time of 
 the murder and whether I was sane now. The 
 fact, that is the establishment of my having 
 committed the crime, was proved, unques 
 tioned. It remained only to say whether I had 
 been responsible in a legal sense for the act 
 when it was done. 
 
 In giving his opinion in my favor, D R 
 talked continuously for forty minutes. What 
 he said was a repetition of what he had taught 
 me during the weeks of my analysis. To me, 
 it seemed neither novel nor particularly strik 
 ing, but it made such a sensation that re 
 porters got verbatim copies of it, stating 
 that their papers would print it tomorrow 
 as a distinct contribution to medico-legal 
 science. 
 
 Before he had finished explaining how I had 
 been totally irresponsible and how many peo 
 ple s acts are the results of what has happened 
 to them in childhood, two of the jurors were in 
 tears. 
 
 Doctor Donald, the alienist from New York, 
 testified to nothing that contradicted D R s 
 claim of my irresponsibility, nor did the other, 
 Doctor Richards. 
 
 Although what D R had said had made no
 
 298 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 special impression upon me, I was sure, when 
 he finished, that I would be acquitted. I think 
 everybody in the courtroom felt the same way. 
 It was in the atmosphere. It is curious how 
 one feels at times the force of others thoughts. 
 I felt that as plainly as if it had been written 
 on the wall in front of me. 
 
 When the acquittal actually did come, fol 
 lowing the very brief speeches of the lawyers, 
 I was not surprised. I felt no strong emotion 
 one way or the other. And, for some reason, 
 the spectators evinced neither disapproval 
 nor emphatic pleasure. As I made my way 
 with George through a side door, there was 
 almost complete silence about me. I had the 
 odd sense that the people kept their seats so 
 as to lose no possible sight of me before I dis 
 appeared through the doorway, or that pathos 
 still gripped them. 
 
 I have tried to set down here everything I 
 remember about the trial. I believe I have 
 done that. To the person on trial, I think 
 there comes no opportunity for sensing the 
 dramatic and the important in what happens 
 things rush upon the mind like clouds, vague, 
 confusing; nothing is clear-cut. The accused, 
 the guilty, is overwhelmed by a sense of small- 
 ness, of futility. To be a prisoner is to realize
 
 MES. MAKDEN S OEDEAL 299 
 
 that the strength of organized society is irre 
 sistible when it is set in motion. 
 
 I had that feeling. I knew that all I could 
 do was to sit still and let the machinery go on. 
 To me, details were valueless for the time 
 being. 
 
 But what I do remember I write down here 
 because I know now that every detail of my 
 experience and only that which impresses it 
 self on the mind is experience in connection 
 with the tragedy of Marjorie s death must 
 some day be of tremendous value to me. I 
 know that I shall return to all the details, and 
 that I must learn useful things from them. I 
 can not do it immediately. I seem now to 
 have exhausted my strength, my capacity for 
 estimating anything. 
 
 But later I must reshape my life, and my 
 sufferings must be taken and molded by me 
 into the very foundation of the structure. 
 
 George is sitting beside me as I write this. 
 Of his emotions, of his undeserved punishment, 
 I have not had the courage to write. Perhaps 
 it is as well for, out of his suffering, he has 
 fashioned already a new and more glorious 
 nobility for himself. The Greathearts of the 
 world are like that. And what can I say?
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 SINCE my trial, two months have passed. 
 During this time, I believe, I have learned 
 the two great lessons which I had to learn be 
 fore life could mean anything to me at all. 
 One of these is that, no matter what people 
 have been saying to the contrary for centuries, 
 one may take one s embittered, crippled past 
 and so regard it and so study it as to draw from 
 it useful and beneficent teachings. Even a 
 woman, toward whose past the world is always 
 revengeful, can do that. 
 
 The other is that, if one has outraged an 
 other s love, one may revivify it, may make it 
 more glorious, through that generous, in 
 cessant, whole-hearted labor of love about 
 which D R talked to me during his analysis of 
 me. Indeed, one may reglorify one s own 
 capacity for loving at the same time that one 
 makes oneself more lovable to another. 
 
 To any individual who has taken a human 
 life, suffering pays visits that are frequent, 
 visits that are long. The only possible way to 
 rise above that suffering, or to prevent one s
 
 MES. MAEDE^ S OEDEAL 301 
 
 self-reproaches from reducing one to abject 
 terror, is to determine that, for the future, one 
 will be superior to adverse circumstance and 
 that the business of expiation admits of neither 
 purposeless lamentation nor consciousness of 
 permanent defeat. And one may do that only 
 through an unchanging, I might almost say a 
 fierce, desire to make oneself worthy of love, of 
 somebody s love. 
 
 To all of this, George has helped me with a 
 devotion which I can not describe, a devotion, 
 in fact, so unswerving and so perfect that I 
 can not find the words even to intimate its 
 sweetness and its unfailing strength. 
 
 Two days after my acquittal he brought me 
 down here to the mountains of North Carolina. 
 We have a little house on the edge of Asheville. 
 The place is indescribably lovely and healing 
 here one, by the mere act of breathing the 
 clear, clean air and by watching the loveliness 
 of the mountains and the sunshine, is given 
 new vigor for the tired body, a mysterious 
 balm for the tired spirit. 
 
 At first, I was weary, almost apathetic, I 
 had been through such an awful strain. D R 
 is amazed to this day that I did not collapse 
 physically. But, in a little while, strength 
 came back to me, and I could study all the
 
 302 MRS. MARDEN S ORDEAL 
 
 things that had affected me and would affect 
 me. 
 
 I know now that, for a few years at least, 
 I can not resume my old place in the world. 
 The very idea of my going back to Washington 
 now and trying to take up the round of my 
 former duties and occupations is grotesque. 
 It would be no less grotesque to others if I 
 tried it. My very appearance there would be 
 the signal for flurries, doubts, open antago 
 nisms, on the part of those women who, such a 
 short time ago, were my acquaintances and 
 friends. People do not " receive " one who 
 has killed a human being. 
 
 I understand that perfectly. I think I am 
 glad of it. My present business is with my 
 husband and myself. Later on in several 
 years, perhaps I shall go back and receive, 
 and be received by, the people who really count. 
 Men and women, as a rule, forget easily; and 
 when one, even if one has offended horribly, 
 makes reparation in one s daily life, one finally 
 is accorded forgiveness, forgiveness in some 
 degree or other, through the innate kindness 
 of humanity. However, that lies in the rather 
 distant future, and I shall not worry about it 
 now. 
 
 Today I am breathless with gratitude as I
 
 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 303 
 
 contemplate the fact that George loves me and 
 is boyishly happy in his realization that I love 
 him as I do. That he does love me, proves 
 forever the truth of what D R told me: a 
 neurotic woman builds up tragedy for herself 
 out of trifles. And how, in my discontented, 
 unreasonable, fevered moods, I did exaggerate 
 trifles into real griefs, these two months have 
 shown me with unmistakable clearness. 
 
 Most important of all, there are to be chil 
 dren. At first, I recoiled from that, thinking 
 that a woman disgraced as I was by my trial 
 and by my crime, had no right to bring into 
 the world others who might share, in some 
 sense, the results of her offences. But, contra 
 dicting that, came my firm conviction that, be 
 cause I had failed in one respect, was no excuse 
 for my failing to carry out the highest duty 
 possible for any woman. 
 
 Besides, it is only by having children that I 
 may make amends for what I did and what 
 was done to me. There is only one way in 
 which I can prevent my ignominy from doing 
 me good. That would be by failing to take 
 advantage of the lessons it has taught me. I 
 know how little children, the men and women 
 of tomorrow, may be made inefficient, un 
 happy, wretchedly inadequate. By the same
 
 304 MES. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 token, I think I know how love and under 
 standing, beautiful ideals and lovely purposes, 
 must inevitably guide them from an un 
 troubled childhood into careers of usefulness 
 and content. 
 
 From my mother s mistakes as well as from 
 my own, there has come to me I will not 
 say wisdom but sufficient appreciation and 
 knowledge to keep the fetters and manacles 
 from " the feet of their souls and the hands of 
 their souls." Surely, if I succeed in that, my 
 mistakes and offences will not have been in 
 vain. I will have justified my right to live, 
 my right to expect for the rest of my days a 
 great peace and a holy happiness. 
 
 All this reminds me of what Charlie Cor 
 coran said when I saw him the day before 
 George and I left Washington. 
 
 I had sent for him so that I might thank him 
 for what he had done for me. When he came 
 into the room, I knew that it was as impossible 
 for me to find expression for my gratitude as 
 it would be now for me to describe in words 
 the majesty of these mountains or the golden 
 glory of these sunsets. Magnificent actions 
 are like flowers. Although they may flood the 
 world with sweetness and charm a million eyes 
 with their loveliness, they defy adequate
 
 MES. BCABDEHT8 OEDEAL 305 
 
 description, elude the compass of language 
 altogether. 
 
 " I can t tell you," I said brokenly. " I can t 
 say - Oh, there is nothing to express " 
 
 Then I stood up in front of him while two 
 tears gathered in my eyes and ran down my 
 cheeks. 
 
 He seemed greatly confused. 
 
 " Good Lord, Ruth! " he begged. " Don t 
 cry. There s nothing to cry about really." 
 
 I uttered a little whimpering moan. 
 
 " Thanks- I began, and finally said: 
 
 You understand how lovely I know it was 
 in you to - 
 
 He became very serious. 
 
 " Listen, Ruth. This is the last time this 
 will ever be mentioned between us. I did you 
 a favor, you seem to think. Well and good. 
 You, you know, you saved me from the Gil- 
 more woman. So we re quits." 
 
 He turned toward the table and lit a ciga 
 rette. 
 
 " I just wanted to say this," he told me in 
 a curious, hurried voice, " I came here to say it: 
 you are the bravest woman I ever knew. You, 
 more than anybody I ever knew, have the right 
 to years of happiness, wonderful happiness. 
 You ve earned it. You ve undone your own
 
 306 MRS. MAEDEN S OEDEAL 
 
 mistakes and the mistakes of others through 
 your courage, your stupendous courage. By 
 comparison, what I did was nothing." 
 
 He laughed lightly, as if he sought to hide 
 an embarrassment he had caused himself by 
 his unwonted solemnity. 
 
 After that, he talked about other things, the 
 plans for my trip, his own plans for entering 
 the aviation corps. 
 
 Since then, I have liked to think that what 
 he said was true: that I really " have the right 
 to years of wonderful happiness." 
 
 And the words of D R, which gave me my 
 first comfort when we were working to regain 
 my lost memory, come back to me: 
 
 "I do not find it hard to believe that 
 Benedict Arnold was a traitor because in his 
 childhood he heard, through some half-open 
 door, his father saying strange, ugly things 
 for money or that Judas bartered away his 
 soul because, as a little boy, he saw his own 
 mother sell her scarlet lips for gold." 
 
 Surely, such knowledge as that, a knowledge 
 written on the tablets of my soul by my own 
 experience, will enable me to find within my 
 self a great love for all people, an inexhaustible 
 forbearance, unsuspected sweetness of char 
 acter, and an unalterable conviction that
 
 MES. MAEDEM OEDEAL 307 
 
 everybody deserves, in some way or another, 
 the love and compassion of the world. 
 
 To the casual observer, my life seems ruined, 
 blasted beyond all hope. But to me, as long 
 as I am capable of loving and as long as I have 
 the love of even one person, it seems chastened, 
 purified, endowed with even greater oppor 
 tunities, more gorgeous duties, than I, a little 
 while ago, thought humanly possible. 
 
 The future? 
 
 It is full of my husband s content. It has 
 in it already the music of children s happy 
 laughter. It is a field in which I shall find 
 many flowers blooming flowers for others as 
 well as for myself.
 
 By the author of "The Crumble" 
 
 THE HOPE CHEST 
 
 By MARK LEE LUTHER 
 
 Frontispiece by James Montgomery Flagg. 12m. Cloth 
 $1.50 net 
 
 Tom Ballantine, whose father was a millionaire candy 
 manufacturer, maintaining a chain of candy stores notable 
 for the youth and beauty of their clerks, went the rounds of 
 the stores on an inspection trip. He decided Sheila Moore 
 was the prize beauty and secretly married her after a tem 
 pestuous courtship of two weeks. Thereupon began the "ro 
 mantic adventures of the millionaire and the shop girl" which 
 are decidedly not of the usual melodramatic sort. When the 
 marriage was disclosed Tom s father immediately took an 
 active hand in affairs with the result that young Tom was 
 packed off to finish his course at Harvard, and Sheila was sent 
 to a fashionable finishing school as Miss Moore a ward of 
 the senior Ballantine. But there are complications to follow 
 so that the reader is engrossed to the very end. Mr. Luther 
 has taken full advantage of all the possibilities presented, 
 and "The Hope Chest" is a social comedy of a high order. 
 Characters, background, incidents all are cleverly con 
 ceived and deftly handled. 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS 
 34 BEACOK STREET, BOSTON
 
 A Romance of Business 
 
 THE BIOGRAPHY OF A 
 MILLION DOLLARS 
 
 By GEORGE KIBBE TURNER 
 
 Illustrated. 12mo. Decorated cloth. $1.50 net 
 
 William Morgan is a machinist with no capital except his 
 remarkable energy and shrewdness, while Pascal Thomas is 
 a dreamy inventor who has perfected a new carburetor for a 
 motor cycle; the two form a partnership with practically no 
 capital, and encounter great financial difficulties until Proctor 
 Billings, a local banker, intent on increasing his own fortune, 
 comes Lo their rescue. They proceed to make money, but as 
 the business expands Billings secures more control, and 
 crowds out Thomas. Morgan s natural interest for business 
 urges him on until he becomes fairly obsessed with his work. 
 His wife protests in vain. Thomas extravagant wife in the 
 meantime spends money freely, and she is not always fortunate 
 in the selection of her friends. Morgan continues to strive 
 for his goal one million dollars, but always he is fearful that 
 the cold, canny Billings will outwit him. Like the motor 
 cycle which he manufactures, he is geared for high speed, 
 and when the million is in sight he but the ending of the 
 story must be read to be appreciated. It is all told with 
 dramatic intensity, comparable with Morgan s own driving 
 force. 
 
 "The Biography of a Million Dollars" is the big business 
 story of the decade. Nothing like it has appeared in recent 
 years. It is a story of speed, of greed, of love and hate, of 
 ambition and distrust, a narrative that grips the reader and 
 holds him enthralled to the satisfactory finale. 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN & CO., PUBLISHERS 
 
 34 BEACON STREET, BOSTON
 
 A 000 821 443 9 
 
 Modern 
 
 Circulating Libr / 
 
 T *7 7 1^1 J 47th /wenua- ^ lu^ 
 OAKLAND 
 
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