A Williams Anthology Part 14

"Yes, she is innocent, and you have the power of saving her life."

"Doctor McMurray, that woman robbed me of my husband--both of his love and of his memory." Mrs. Trent was in deadly earnest.

"But--she is innocent, and you can save her from a wretch's death,"

the old man repeated.

"Save her--her, who stands in my mind for all that I ought to hate?"

"Mrs. Trent," Doctor McMurray said in a low voice, "you ought to hate no-one, not even if he uses you as Mrs. Withey has used you. If we keep on hating the clouds will never lift."

Mrs. Trent rose heavily from her chair and labored from her window that she might look out across the valley toward the Peak. Her voice was hoa.r.s.e as she answered:

"Oh, I'm afraid the clouds will never lift. The hatred of that woman is like a fog which closes in upon my soul, and shuts off every beam of suns.h.i.+ne. I can't see through it, and the heaviness of it chokes me. The clouds will never lift."

The old minister came up beside her, and stood looking for a time out toward the Peak. The mist which all day had hung so low around the foot of the hills had risen appreciably, and now the Cleft itself was beginning to clear, revealing the dark base of the Peak itself. A single ray of suns.h.i.+ne shot out of the west and struck straight into the Cleft.

"Look, look, Mrs. Trent," exclaimed Doctor McMurray. "The Peak is beginning to show. Don't you think the weather will clear? Ah, it must clear, it must before they come, before the lawyers come. Tell me, do you not think it will?"

Mrs. Trent's face was very pale. Her eyes gleamed very large and feverishly bright from beneath her lashes, as they searched the opposite side of the valley. For some moments she kept silent, and for the second time that afternoon there was no sound in the room save the labored breathing of the man and woman. At last there became audible the slowly increasing creak of a carriage, and the splas.h.i.+ng of a horse's hoofs through the sea of mud in the roadway. Doctor McMurray heard, and he knew that Mrs. Trent heard also.

"Mrs. Trent," he said softly, "Mrs. Trent, are the clouds lifting? Can you see the Peak?"

Still the woman kept silent. The sounds of the wheels grew momentarily louder, the voices of men talking broke in upon them, and then the carriage stopped before the door.

"Mrs. Trent," pleaded the doctor for the last time, "tell me, can you see the Peak?"

He heard the men climb out of the carriage and come up to the door, then a loud knock.

Mrs. Trent at last broke her silence.

"Doctor McMurray," she said, speaking quite softly, "Doctor McMurray, do you see? The Peak is clear. All the clouds have lifted!"

_Literary Monthly_, 1905.

THE FROST KING

CHARLES HENRY BRADY '06

When the weary sun, his day's course run, Sinks into the western sea, And the mountains loom in the growing gloom With far-off mystery, When the shadows creep o'er plain and steep With stealthy tread and still, And the fettered stream to its icy dream Is left by the sleeping mill, From the frozen north I then lead forth My swiftly flying bands, In close array on the track of day, As she flees to other lands.

From the wintry zone where the forests groan 'Neath burdens of dazzling white, And the tempest's roar as it strikes the sh.o.r.e Turns daylight into night, My armies throng and we march along In the light of the peeping stars, Which smile with glee at our chivalry And the shock of our mimic wars.

For when earth and deep in a shroud of sleep Lie peaceful and still below, Supreme I reign in my airy domain, The monarch of ice and snow.

_Literary Monthly_, 1095.

UNTIL HE COMETH

GEORGE BURWELL DUTTON '07

THE CHARACTERS

AHASUERUS, the Wandering Jew.

ANSELM, a holy monk.

A band of travellers,--merchants, peasants, soldiers, who stop at the monastery over night.

Monks of the monastery.

The time is the twelfth century, a Christmas eve.

The place is the great hall of the monastery of St. Cuthbert. The room is a large one, with cold stone walls and a heavy-beamed ceiling, lighted by flaring torches. The rear wall is broken by a ma.s.sive oaken door leading to the courtyard of the monastery, and two rudely glazed windows. On the right an open doorway leads to the chapel and to one side of the doorway is a shrine to the Virgin and Child, before which some candles burn with wavering flames. On the opposite side of the room is a huge fireplace with a blazing log fire. The wind is roaring outside, and even blows through the rude hall in great, gusty draughts, while a fine powder of snow sifts in through crevices of windows and door.

SCENE I. [The travellers, with some of the monks of the monastery, are seated before the fire. The Jew, bent, gaunt and gray-bearded, stands to one side, unrecognized, muttering to himself indistinctly. He has evidently just entered, for the melted snow still gleams from his clothing. The company disregard him, conversing among themselves.]

A SOLDIER. Now, by Our Lady, 'tis a raw cold night-- I mind me when on such a night I lay Unsheltered in the trenches facing Mons In Flanders.

A MERCHANT. Hem! Sir Longbeard tells a tale.

List, all!

THE SOLDIER. By Holy ma.s.s--

THE MERCHANT. Ho! Hear the oaths!

They 're thick as--

THE SOLDIER. Hark ye! Hush thy meddling tongue!

A PEASANT. A quarrel! Mark them!

A MONK. Shame! On such a night When angels fill the air, and voices sweet, Mysterious, sing their golden songs of peace-- On this glad night to quarrel?

THE SOLDIER. Why, to-night--

THE MONK. On such a night was Christ, our Saviour, born, While all the earth was wrapped in sacred peace.

This is the holy eve, and on the morrow, With solemn chant we shall observe the birth Of that sweet Christ-child whom we wors.h.i.+p all.

THE SOLDIER. Then I'll not quarrel--my hand upon it. There.