THE CONVENT
Elenor Murray stole away from Nice Before her furlough ended, tense to see Something of Italy, and planned to go To Genoa, explore the ancient town Of Christopher Columbus, if she might Elude the regulation, as she did, In leaving Nice for Italy. But for her Always the dream, and always the defeat Of what she dreamed.
She found herself in Florence And saw the city. But the weariness Of labor and her illness came again At intervals, and on such days she lay And heard the hours toll, wished for death and wept, Being alone and sorrowful.
On a morning She rose and looked for galleries, came at last Into the Via Gino Capponi And saw a little church and entered in, And saw amid the darkness of the church A woman kneeling, knelt beside the woman, And put her hand upon the woman's forehead To find that it was wrinkled, strange to say A scar upon the forehead, like a cross.... Elenor Murray rose and walked away, Sobs gathering in her throat, her body weak, And reeled against the wall, for so it seemed, Against which hung thick curtains, velvet, red, A little grimed and worn. And as she leaned Against the curtains, clung to them, she felt A giving, parted them, and found a door, Pushed on the door which yielded, opened it And saw a yard before her.
It was walled. A garden of old urns and ancient growths, Some flowering plants around the wall.
Before her And in the garden's center stood a statue, With outstretched arms, the Virgin without the child. And suddenly on Elenor Murray came Great sorrow like a madness, seeing there The pitying Virgin, stretching arms to her. And so she ran along the pebbly walk, Fell fainting at the Virgin's feet and lay Unconscious in the garden.
When she woke Two nuns were standing by, and one was dressed In purest white, and held within her hands A tray of gold, and on the tray of gold There was a glass of wine, and in a cup Some broth of beef, and on a plate of gold A wafer.
And the other nun was dressed In purest white, but over her shoulders lay A cape of blue, blue as the sky of Florence Above the garden wall.
Then as she saw The nuns before her, in the interval Of gathering thought, re-limning life again From wonder if she had not died, and these Were guides or ministrants of another world, The nun with cape of blue to Elenor Said: "Drink this wine, this broth;" and Elenor Drank and arose, being lifted up by them, And taken through the convent door and given A little room as white and clean as light, And a bed of snowy linen.
Then they said: "This is the Convent where we send up prayers, Prayers for the souls who do not pray for self-- Rest, child, and be at peace; and if there be Friends you would tell that you are here, then we Will send the word for you, sleep now and rest." And listening to their voices Elenor slept. And when she woke a nurse was at her side, And food was served her, broths and fruit. Each day A doctor came to tell her all was well, And health would soon return.
So for a month Elenor Murray lay and heard the bells, And breathed the fragrance of the flowering city That floated through her window, in the stillness Of the convent dreamed, and said to self: This place Is good to die in, who is there to tell That I am here? There was no one. To them She gave her name, but said: "Till I am well Let me remain, and if I die, some place Must be for me for burial, put me there. And if I live to go again to France And join my unit, let me have a writing That I did not desert, was stricken here And could not leave. For while I stole away From Nice to get a glimpse of Italy, I might have done so in my furlough time, And not stayed over it." And to Elenor The nuns said: "We will help you, but for now Rest and put by anxieties."
On a day Elenor Murray made confessional. And to the nuns told bit by bit her life, Her childhood, schooling, travels, work in the war, What fate had followed her, what sufferings. And Sister Mary, she who saw her first, And held the tray of gold with wine and broth, Sat often with her, read to her, and said: "Letters will go ahead of you to clear Your absence over time--be not afraid, All will be well."
And so when Elenor Murray Arose to leave she found all things prepared: A cab to take her to the train, compartments Reserved for her from place to place, her fare And tickets paid for, till at last she came To Brest and joined her unit, in three days Looked at the rolling waters as the ship Drove to America--such a coming home! To what and whom?
* * * * *
Loveridge Chase returned and brought the letters To Coroner Merival from New York. That day The chemical analysis was finished, showed No ricin and no poison. Elenor Murray Died how? What were the circumstances? Then When Coroner Merival broke the seals of wax, And cut the twine that bound the package, found The man was Barrett Bays who wrote the letters-- There were a hundred--then he cast about To lay his hands on Barrett Bays, and found That Barrett Bays lived in Chicago, taught, Was a professor, aged some forty years. Why did this Barrett Bays emerge not, speak, Come forward? Was it simply to conceal A passion written in these letters here For his sake or his wife's? Or was it guilt For some complicity in Elenor's death? And on this day the coroner had a letter From Margery Camp which said: "Where's Barrett Bays? Why have you not arrested him? He knows Something, perhaps about the death of Elenor." So Coroner Merival sent process forth To bring in Barrett Bays, _non est inventus_. He had not visited his place of teaching, Been seen in haunts accustomed for some days-- Not since the death of Elenor Murray, none Knew where to find him, and none seemed to know What lay between this man and Elenor Murray. This was the more suspicious. Then the _Times_ Made headlines of the letters, published some Wherein this Barrett Bays had written Elenor: "You are my hope in life, my morning star, My love at last, my all." From coast to coast The word was flashed about this Barrett Bays; And Mrs. Bays at Martha's Vineyard read, Turned up her nose, continued on the round Of gaieties, but to a chum relieved Her loathing with these words: "Another woman, He's soiled himself at last."
And Barrett Bays, Who roughed it in the Adirondacks, hoped The inquest's end would leave him undisclosed In Elenor Murray's life, though wracked with fear About the letters in the vault, some day To be unearthed, or taken, it might be, By Margery Camp for uses sinister-- He reading that the letters had been given To Coroner Merival, and seeing his name Printed in every sheet, saw no escape In any nook of earth, returned and walked In Merival's office: trembling, white as snow.
So Barrett Bays was sworn, before the jury Sat and replied to questions, said he knew Elenor Murray in the fall before She went to France, saw much of her for weeks; Had written her these letters before she left. Had followed her in the war, and gone to France, Had seen her for some days in Paris when She had a furlough. Had come back and parted With Elenor Murray, broken with her, found A cause for crushing out his love for her. Came back to win forgetfulness, had written No word to her since leaving Paris--let Her letters lie unanswered; brought her letters, And gave them to the coroner. Then he told Of the day before her death, and how she came By motor to Chicago with her aunt, Named Irma Leese, and telephoned him, begged An hour for talk. "Come meet me by the river," She had said. And so went to meet her. Then he told Why he relented, after he had left her In Paris with no word beside this one: "This is the end." Now he was curious To know what she would say, what could be said Beyond what she had written--so he went Out of a curious but hardened heart.