Part 62 (1/2)

”Have pity, Jerry,” she whimpered.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Have pity, Jerry,' she whimpered.”]

”Pity, yes,” he laughed wildly. ”Kiss me. You want to be kissed. I'll kill you with kissing. Death like this--such a death--!”

She struggled more furiously, struck, kissed and struck again. But Jerry's madness triumphed--her own.

At this point Jerry hid his face in his hands, trembling violently.

”I was out of my head, Roger. Tell me that I was, for the love of G.o.d.

I must have been. It was horrible. I did not know. I can scarcely remember now. Death would have been better--for her, for me--than that. My G.o.d! If only you had told me, something. I could have gone away, I think--before--But to have knowledge come like that, engulfing, flooding, drowning with its terrible bitterness. And Marcia--” He raised his head piteously, ”I asked her to marry me, Roger--at once. But she only looked at me with strange eyes.

”'Marriage!' she said, 'My G.o.d!' It was almost as though I had uttered a sacrilege.

”I pleaded with her gently, but she shook me off. A fearful change had come over her. She drew away and looked at me with alien eyes.

”'Marriage!' she repeated. '_You!_'

”'Marry me tomorrow, Marcia--'

”She thrust her naked arms in front of her, their tatters flying, the rags of her honor.

”'Oh, G.o.d! How I loathe you!'

”'Marcia!'

”'Go away from me. Go!'

”She put her arm before her eyes as though to shut out the sight of me.

”'For G.o.d's sake, go,' she repeated, with words that cut like knives.

'Leave me alone, alone.'

”'I must see you--tomorrow.'

”She turned on me furiously.

”'No, no, no,' she screamed, 'not tomorrow--or ever. It would kill me to see you. Kill me. Go away--never comeback. Do you hear? Never!

Never!'

”She was in a harrowing condition now, mad where I was quite sane.

There was nothing left for me to do. I turned as in a daze into the woods and wandered around as though only half-awake, stupidly trying to plan. At last I went back to the spring. Marcia had gone--gone out of my life--

”That's all, Roger. I wrote to her from New York, from Manitoba, from the ranch in Colorado, repeating my offer of marriage, but she has never answered me. You know the rest--” a slow and rather bitter smile crossed his features. ”She goes about--with Lloyd--and others.

She is gay. Her picture is in the papers and magazines--at hunt-meets--bazaars. She has forgotten--and I--No, I can never forget.

She will dwell with me all the days I live. I can't forget or forgive--myself. Why, Roger, the Mission--the place that I'm giving money to support--to keep those women. You understand--I know now.