III
Meanwhile a little mountain house was murmurousWith his own name—evil, could he but hear it.Darius had discovered his sweet daughter’sSwelling, and had pressed her for the cause;And yesterday, in terror, Dora yielded.Now Bruce was there, with the old badger watchingHow sick one word could make him. So it was spoken—“Daniel.” And the kill was on.A soldier,Footing it home from Canada, stood byWith a gourd dipper, dripping as he drank.He listened, lounging, and his bushy eyesBurned at the accusation. When Bruce faltered—And he did falter, for his hate of Daniel,Less than the sore so sudden in his breast,So hopeless, so beyond all thought of cure,Was a weak thing at first—this brawny witnessShone like a savior in the old one’s eyes,The little old one, dancing in his furyAs he repeated “Daniel”; and made doublySure that Dora’s corner room was bolted.Afterwards, remembering how the knuckledSoldier had spat curses on that name,“Daniel,” and had spun a scheme for them—Perfection, he declared it, of revenge—Darius called him blessed. “You’d have failed me,Bruce, you would have wobbled like a calfAnd licked this devil’s hand, but for that sergeant.Who sent him here, I wonder?”“I don’t know,”Said Bruce, his mind on Dora’s room. “Is she—”“Yes, she’s in there. And stays there till we’ve finished.When do we go and do it? Think of that—Think only of that thing, my boy, that needfulThing.” Darius nudged him, and they droppedTheir voices.Dora, listening, heard little,Crouched by her door. Bruce—he mustn’t do it.Bruce—he was the only thing she wantedIn the poor world. A poor one too for Daniel;But she shut out the thought. Bruce mustn’t do it,Whatever it was. She beat on the thick woodAnd cried to him; but only heard DariusCoaxing him outdoors; then only silence.“When shall it be, my boy? What dark of the moonDoes best for our good purpose—damn his bones!Two shotguns—that’s enough—then home, then here—That’s it, and neither knows of it next day.We’ll even shed a hot tear, being told!When do we do it, boy?”But Bruce was slow:Angry and sick, but slow. And once when DoraFound him, deep in the woods between their cabins,He almost lost his purpose as she held him,Wetting his face with tears.“Listen!” she whispered.“I have been down to Doctor, and his new nurseKnows—I can’t guess how—knows everything.A beautiful, tall woman, and her friendThe teacher—she is like her. Colder, though,With different, with grey eyes. The new nurse says—”“What, Dora, what does she say?”“Oh, no, I can’t—I’ll never, never tell you.”As she ranHe followed, farther into the still woods;Then stopped as she did, startled. For those two—It must be those two new ones, those tall women—Pondered the carcass of a fawn, a spottedThree-months fawn that dogs had torn at the throat.It was the nurse that knelt, lifting brown eyesIn sorrow, scarcely knowing Dora there.The other one bent down to her.“Stand up.They both are here. The boy, too.”Level voiced,The teacher touched her friend’s hair.“Stand up, stand up.The fawn is dead. These others—”“Yes, I know.I heard, I saw them. But consider death.Consider this young death awhile, and say—But softly—of what it is the paradigm.Do not disdain one death, one single death;And when we can, prevent.”The grey eyes cooled,Consenting. So the sorrowful one arose.“Come here,” she said to Dora, and to BruceBehind her. “We were walking in the woods,My visitor and I; we saw this sight.”But Bruce and Dora stared at only her,So beautiful, so tall, and at the otherStrange one by her side.“We had been talking,Children, of you two. No matter if DanielLoves you, little girl of the dark eyes—”“He doesn’t!” Dora shuddered. “If he could,He’d have it that I never lived on earth.He hates it, having to remember me.And that’s all right. I want it so. But Bruce—”“Will be, my dear, the father of your—listen,Listen! You start away.”For both had brokenBreath, as if with running, and only the handsOf the grey-eyed, the firm one, held them there.“I mean,” and the tall beautiful one blinked,Twitching the green selvage of her skirt,“The foster father. He is young for that;Yet he is to be, my child, the chosen oneWho saves you, and saves it—the life you carry.Your husband. Nothing less. And not in dream.”Bruce turned his head in fear that old DariusListened—was it he among the hemlocks,Stepping so lightly?But the foliage openedFor a fair, smiling face, and the broad shoulders,Burdened with straps, of one who tramped these hillsBy summer, following signs. A brilliance round him,Caused by no sun, for none came through the branches,Struck silence from all four; until the nurse,Nodding as if she knew him, said: “Due north,Pilgrim, is there. Your compass—have you lost it?Well, north is that way”—pointing—“but stand hereIn patience for some seconds; then we twoWill guide you back to town for better bearing.Can you be patient?”“Thank you, yes.” The giantSmiled at her once again.“You see, my small one,Bruce there by your side would break and run,Fearing his sweet fate. He even wondersWhether some partner, deep in another plan,Listens and chides him.”Staring, the boy blushed.Then, fearful, he looked up and met her eyes,The nurse’s distant eyes, that fixed him gently.“My friend here—she will tell you more than I canOf the black folly born of feud. Attend her.”But the still teacher only parted wideHer capable cool lids, and let him seeAgreement flash between them.“Someone’s death”—She forced the words at last—“is cheap to buy.A minute of man’s time, and breathing stops.The cost is in the echo; for to ceaseMakes sound. So you will hear it coming home,The rumor of that death. My friend is right.Marry the maiden.”But the words came strangely,Out of some older earth, and even sheThe speaker knew their failure; for she frowned.Bruce turned his head again, fearing the hemlockHeard. Yet no one listened there; no fourth oneFollowed this lofty fellow who in patienceFolded his arms and smiled—as if he tooHad knowledge, and agreed with the grey eyes.As Dora did, said Bruce. And yet Darius—He paled at the grim image, and remembered,Suddenly, that soldier; whose disgustIf the dear purpose foundered was itselfA death, along with Dora’s yesterday.Daniel. Who but Daniel was the fatherOf a whole world’s confusion?And his anger,Running before him, took him from this place,This glade where three, left thoughtful, were as figuresMolded of shadow. Dora was gone with Bruce,Gasping and crying “Wait!”But the three tall onesListened to nothing human. Hermes came.
Meanwhile a little mountain house was murmurousWith his own name—evil, could he but hear it.Darius had discovered his sweet daughter’sSwelling, and had pressed her for the cause;And yesterday, in terror, Dora yielded.Now Bruce was there, with the old badger watchingHow sick one word could make him. So it was spoken—“Daniel.” And the kill was on.A soldier,Footing it home from Canada, stood byWith a gourd dipper, dripping as he drank.He listened, lounging, and his bushy eyesBurned at the accusation. When Bruce faltered—And he did falter, for his hate of Daniel,Less than the sore so sudden in his breast,So hopeless, so beyond all thought of cure,Was a weak thing at first—this brawny witnessShone like a savior in the old one’s eyes,The little old one, dancing in his furyAs he repeated “Daniel”; and made doublySure that Dora’s corner room was bolted.Afterwards, remembering how the knuckledSoldier had spat curses on that name,“Daniel,” and had spun a scheme for them—Perfection, he declared it, of revenge—Darius called him blessed. “You’d have failed me,Bruce, you would have wobbled like a calfAnd licked this devil’s hand, but for that sergeant.Who sent him here, I wonder?”“I don’t know,”Said Bruce, his mind on Dora’s room. “Is she—”“Yes, she’s in there. And stays there till we’ve finished.When do we go and do it? Think of that—Think only of that thing, my boy, that needfulThing.” Darius nudged him, and they droppedTheir voices.Dora, listening, heard little,Crouched by her door. Bruce—he mustn’t do it.Bruce—he was the only thing she wantedIn the poor world. A poor one too for Daniel;But she shut out the thought. Bruce mustn’t do it,Whatever it was. She beat on the thick woodAnd cried to him; but only heard DariusCoaxing him outdoors; then only silence.“When shall it be, my boy? What dark of the moonDoes best for our good purpose—damn his bones!Two shotguns—that’s enough—then home, then here—That’s it, and neither knows of it next day.We’ll even shed a hot tear, being told!When do we do it, boy?”But Bruce was slow:Angry and sick, but slow. And once when DoraFound him, deep in the woods between their cabins,He almost lost his purpose as she held him,Wetting his face with tears.“Listen!” she whispered.“I have been down to Doctor, and his new nurseKnows—I can’t guess how—knows everything.A beautiful, tall woman, and her friendThe teacher—she is like her. Colder, though,With different, with grey eyes. The new nurse says—”“What, Dora, what does she say?”“Oh, no, I can’t—I’ll never, never tell you.”As she ranHe followed, farther into the still woods;Then stopped as she did, startled. For those two—It must be those two new ones, those tall women—Pondered the carcass of a fawn, a spottedThree-months fawn that dogs had torn at the throat.It was the nurse that knelt, lifting brown eyesIn sorrow, scarcely knowing Dora there.The other one bent down to her.“Stand up.They both are here. The boy, too.”Level voiced,The teacher touched her friend’s hair.“Stand up, stand up.The fawn is dead. These others—”“Yes, I know.I heard, I saw them. But consider death.Consider this young death awhile, and say—But softly—of what it is the paradigm.Do not disdain one death, one single death;And when we can, prevent.”The grey eyes cooled,Consenting. So the sorrowful one arose.“Come here,” she said to Dora, and to BruceBehind her. “We were walking in the woods,My visitor and I; we saw this sight.”But Bruce and Dora stared at only her,So beautiful, so tall, and at the otherStrange one by her side.“We had been talking,Children, of you two. No matter if DanielLoves you, little girl of the dark eyes—”“He doesn’t!” Dora shuddered. “If he could,He’d have it that I never lived on earth.He hates it, having to remember me.And that’s all right. I want it so. But Bruce—”“Will be, my dear, the father of your—listen,Listen! You start away.”For both had brokenBreath, as if with running, and only the handsOf the grey-eyed, the firm one, held them there.“I mean,” and the tall beautiful one blinked,Twitching the green selvage of her skirt,“The foster father. He is young for that;Yet he is to be, my child, the chosen oneWho saves you, and saves it—the life you carry.Your husband. Nothing less. And not in dream.”Bruce turned his head in fear that old DariusListened—was it he among the hemlocks,Stepping so lightly?But the foliage openedFor a fair, smiling face, and the broad shoulders,Burdened with straps, of one who tramped these hillsBy summer, following signs. A brilliance round him,Caused by no sun, for none came through the branches,Struck silence from all four; until the nurse,Nodding as if she knew him, said: “Due north,Pilgrim, is there. Your compass—have you lost it?Well, north is that way”—pointing—“but stand hereIn patience for some seconds; then we twoWill guide you back to town for better bearing.Can you be patient?”“Thank you, yes.” The giantSmiled at her once again.“You see, my small one,Bruce there by your side would break and run,Fearing his sweet fate. He even wondersWhether some partner, deep in another plan,Listens and chides him.”Staring, the boy blushed.Then, fearful, he looked up and met her eyes,The nurse’s distant eyes, that fixed him gently.“My friend here—she will tell you more than I canOf the black folly born of feud. Attend her.”But the still teacher only parted wideHer capable cool lids, and let him seeAgreement flash between them.“Someone’s death”—She forced the words at last—“is cheap to buy.A minute of man’s time, and breathing stops.The cost is in the echo; for to ceaseMakes sound. So you will hear it coming home,The rumor of that death. My friend is right.Marry the maiden.”But the words came strangely,Out of some older earth, and even sheThe speaker knew their failure; for she frowned.Bruce turned his head again, fearing the hemlockHeard. Yet no one listened there; no fourth oneFollowed this lofty fellow who in patienceFolded his arms and smiled—as if he tooHad knowledge, and agreed with the grey eyes.As Dora did, said Bruce. And yet Darius—He paled at the grim image, and remembered,Suddenly, that soldier; whose disgustIf the dear purpose foundered was itselfA death, along with Dora’s yesterday.Daniel. Who but Daniel was the fatherOf a whole world’s confusion?And his anger,Running before him, took him from this place,This glade where three, left thoughtful, were as figuresMolded of shadow. Dora was gone with Bruce,Gasping and crying “Wait!”But the three tall onesListened to nothing human. Hermes came.
Meanwhile a little mountain house was murmurousWith his own name—evil, could he but hear it.Darius had discovered his sweet daughter’sSwelling, and had pressed her for the cause;And yesterday, in terror, Dora yielded.Now Bruce was there, with the old badger watchingHow sick one word could make him. So it was spoken—“Daniel.” And the kill was on.A soldier,Footing it home from Canada, stood byWith a gourd dipper, dripping as he drank.He listened, lounging, and his bushy eyesBurned at the accusation. When Bruce faltered—And he did falter, for his hate of Daniel,Less than the sore so sudden in his breast,So hopeless, so beyond all thought of cure,Was a weak thing at first—this brawny witnessShone like a savior in the old one’s eyes,The little old one, dancing in his furyAs he repeated “Daniel”; and made doublySure that Dora’s corner room was bolted.Afterwards, remembering how the knuckledSoldier had spat curses on that name,“Daniel,” and had spun a scheme for them—Perfection, he declared it, of revenge—Darius called him blessed. “You’d have failed me,Bruce, you would have wobbled like a calfAnd licked this devil’s hand, but for that sergeant.Who sent him here, I wonder?”“I don’t know,”Said Bruce, his mind on Dora’s room. “Is she—”“Yes, she’s in there. And stays there till we’ve finished.When do we go and do it? Think of that—Think only of that thing, my boy, that needfulThing.” Darius nudged him, and they droppedTheir voices.Dora, listening, heard little,Crouched by her door. Bruce—he mustn’t do it.Bruce—he was the only thing she wantedIn the poor world. A poor one too for Daniel;But she shut out the thought. Bruce mustn’t do it,Whatever it was. She beat on the thick woodAnd cried to him; but only heard DariusCoaxing him outdoors; then only silence.
Meanwhile a little mountain house was murmurous
With his own name—evil, could he but hear it.
Darius had discovered his sweet daughter’s
Swelling, and had pressed her for the cause;
And yesterday, in terror, Dora yielded.
Now Bruce was there, with the old badger watching
How sick one word could make him. So it was spoken—
“Daniel.” And the kill was on.
A soldier,
Footing it home from Canada, stood by
With a gourd dipper, dripping as he drank.
He listened, lounging, and his bushy eyes
Burned at the accusation. When Bruce faltered—
And he did falter, for his hate of Daniel,
Less than the sore so sudden in his breast,
So hopeless, so beyond all thought of cure,
Was a weak thing at first—this brawny witness
Shone like a savior in the old one’s eyes,
The little old one, dancing in his fury
As he repeated “Daniel”; and made doubly
Sure that Dora’s corner room was bolted.
Afterwards, remembering how the knuckled
Soldier had spat curses on that name,
“Daniel,” and had spun a scheme for them—
Perfection, he declared it, of revenge—
Darius called him blessed. “You’d have failed me,
Bruce, you would have wobbled like a calf
And licked this devil’s hand, but for that sergeant.
Who sent him here, I wonder?”
“I don’t know,”
Said Bruce, his mind on Dora’s room. “Is she—”
“Yes, she’s in there. And stays there till we’ve finished.
When do we go and do it? Think of that—
Think only of that thing, my boy, that needful
Thing.” Darius nudged him, and they dropped
Their voices.
Dora, listening, heard little,
Crouched by her door. Bruce—he mustn’t do it.
Bruce—he was the only thing she wanted
In the poor world. A poor one too for Daniel;
But she shut out the thought. Bruce mustn’t do it,
Whatever it was. She beat on the thick wood
And cried to him; but only heard Darius
Coaxing him outdoors; then only silence.
“When shall it be, my boy? What dark of the moonDoes best for our good purpose—damn his bones!Two shotguns—that’s enough—then home, then here—That’s it, and neither knows of it next day.We’ll even shed a hot tear, being told!When do we do it, boy?”But Bruce was slow:Angry and sick, but slow. And once when DoraFound him, deep in the woods between their cabins,He almost lost his purpose as she held him,Wetting his face with tears.“Listen!” she whispered.“I have been down to Doctor, and his new nurseKnows—I can’t guess how—knows everything.A beautiful, tall woman, and her friendThe teacher—she is like her. Colder, though,With different, with grey eyes. The new nurse says—”“What, Dora, what does she say?”“Oh, no, I can’t—I’ll never, never tell you.”As she ranHe followed, farther into the still woods;Then stopped as she did, startled. For those two—It must be those two new ones, those tall women—Pondered the carcass of a fawn, a spottedThree-months fawn that dogs had torn at the throat.
“When shall it be, my boy? What dark of the moon
Does best for our good purpose—damn his bones!
Two shotguns—that’s enough—then home, then here—
That’s it, and neither knows of it next day.
We’ll even shed a hot tear, being told!
When do we do it, boy?”
But Bruce was slow:
Angry and sick, but slow. And once when Dora
Found him, deep in the woods between their cabins,
He almost lost his purpose as she held him,
Wetting his face with tears.
“Listen!” she whispered.
“I have been down to Doctor, and his new nurse
Knows—I can’t guess how—knows everything.
A beautiful, tall woman, and her friend
The teacher—she is like her. Colder, though,
With different, with grey eyes. The new nurse says—”
“What, Dora, what does she say?”
“Oh, no, I can’t—
I’ll never, never tell you.”
As she ran
He followed, farther into the still woods;
Then stopped as she did, startled. For those two—
It must be those two new ones, those tall women—
Pondered the carcass of a fawn, a spotted
Three-months fawn that dogs had torn at the throat.
It was the nurse that knelt, lifting brown eyesIn sorrow, scarcely knowing Dora there.The other one bent down to her.“Stand up.They both are here. The boy, too.”Level voiced,The teacher touched her friend’s hair.“Stand up, stand up.The fawn is dead. These others—”“Yes, I know.I heard, I saw them. But consider death.Consider this young death awhile, and say—But softly—of what it is the paradigm.Do not disdain one death, one single death;And when we can, prevent.”The grey eyes cooled,Consenting. So the sorrowful one arose.“Come here,” she said to Dora, and to BruceBehind her. “We were walking in the woods,My visitor and I; we saw this sight.”
It was the nurse that knelt, lifting brown eyes
In sorrow, scarcely knowing Dora there.
The other one bent down to her.
“Stand up.
They both are here. The boy, too.”
Level voiced,
The teacher touched her friend’s hair.
“Stand up, stand up.
The fawn is dead. These others—”
“Yes, I know.
I heard, I saw them. But consider death.
Consider this young death awhile, and say—
But softly—of what it is the paradigm.
Do not disdain one death, one single death;
And when we can, prevent.”
The grey eyes cooled,
Consenting. So the sorrowful one arose.
“Come here,” she said to Dora, and to Bruce
Behind her. “We were walking in the woods,
My visitor and I; we saw this sight.”
But Bruce and Dora stared at only her,So beautiful, so tall, and at the otherStrange one by her side.“We had been talking,Children, of you two. No matter if DanielLoves you, little girl of the dark eyes—”
But Bruce and Dora stared at only her,
So beautiful, so tall, and at the other
Strange one by her side.
“We had been talking,
Children, of you two. No matter if Daniel
Loves you, little girl of the dark eyes—”
“He doesn’t!” Dora shuddered. “If he could,He’d have it that I never lived on earth.He hates it, having to remember me.And that’s all right. I want it so. But Bruce—”
“He doesn’t!” Dora shuddered. “If he could,
He’d have it that I never lived on earth.
He hates it, having to remember me.
And that’s all right. I want it so. But Bruce—”
“Will be, my dear, the father of your—listen,Listen! You start away.”For both had brokenBreath, as if with running, and only the handsOf the grey-eyed, the firm one, held them there.“I mean,” and the tall beautiful one blinked,Twitching the green selvage of her skirt,“The foster father. He is young for that;Yet he is to be, my child, the chosen oneWho saves you, and saves it—the life you carry.Your husband. Nothing less. And not in dream.”
“Will be, my dear, the father of your—listen,
Listen! You start away.”
For both had broken
Breath, as if with running, and only the hands
Of the grey-eyed, the firm one, held them there.
“I mean,” and the tall beautiful one blinked,
Twitching the green selvage of her skirt,
“The foster father. He is young for that;
Yet he is to be, my child, the chosen one
Who saves you, and saves it—the life you carry.
Your husband. Nothing less. And not in dream.”
Bruce turned his head in fear that old DariusListened—was it he among the hemlocks,Stepping so lightly?But the foliage openedFor a fair, smiling face, and the broad shoulders,Burdened with straps, of one who tramped these hillsBy summer, following signs. A brilliance round him,Caused by no sun, for none came through the branches,Struck silence from all four; until the nurse,Nodding as if she knew him, said: “Due north,Pilgrim, is there. Your compass—have you lost it?Well, north is that way”—pointing—“but stand hereIn patience for some seconds; then we twoWill guide you back to town for better bearing.Can you be patient?”“Thank you, yes.” The giantSmiled at her once again.“You see, my small one,Bruce there by your side would break and run,Fearing his sweet fate. He even wondersWhether some partner, deep in another plan,Listens and chides him.”Staring, the boy blushed.Then, fearful, he looked up and met her eyes,The nurse’s distant eyes, that fixed him gently.“My friend here—she will tell you more than I canOf the black folly born of feud. Attend her.”
Bruce turned his head in fear that old Darius
Listened—was it he among the hemlocks,
Stepping so lightly?
But the foliage opened
For a fair, smiling face, and the broad shoulders,
Burdened with straps, of one who tramped these hills
By summer, following signs. A brilliance round him,
Caused by no sun, for none came through the branches,
Struck silence from all four; until the nurse,
Nodding as if she knew him, said: “Due north,
Pilgrim, is there. Your compass—have you lost it?
Well, north is that way”—pointing—“but stand here
In patience for some seconds; then we two
Will guide you back to town for better bearing.
Can you be patient?”
“Thank you, yes.” The giant
Smiled at her once again.
“You see, my small one,
Bruce there by your side would break and run,
Fearing his sweet fate. He even wonders
Whether some partner, deep in another plan,
Listens and chides him.”
Staring, the boy blushed.
Then, fearful, he looked up and met her eyes,
The nurse’s distant eyes, that fixed him gently.
“My friend here—she will tell you more than I can
Of the black folly born of feud. Attend her.”
But the still teacher only parted wideHer capable cool lids, and let him seeAgreement flash between them.“Someone’s death”—She forced the words at last—“is cheap to buy.A minute of man’s time, and breathing stops.The cost is in the echo; for to ceaseMakes sound. So you will hear it coming home,The rumor of that death. My friend is right.Marry the maiden.”But the words came strangely,Out of some older earth, and even sheThe speaker knew their failure; for she frowned.Bruce turned his head again, fearing the hemlockHeard. Yet no one listened there; no fourth oneFollowed this lofty fellow who in patienceFolded his arms and smiled—as if he tooHad knowledge, and agreed with the grey eyes.As Dora did, said Bruce. And yet Darius—He paled at the grim image, and remembered,Suddenly, that soldier; whose disgustIf the dear purpose foundered was itselfA death, along with Dora’s yesterday.Daniel. Who but Daniel was the fatherOf a whole world’s confusion?And his anger,Running before him, took him from this place,This glade where three, left thoughtful, were as figuresMolded of shadow. Dora was gone with Bruce,Gasping and crying “Wait!”But the three tall onesListened to nothing human. Hermes came.
But the still teacher only parted wide
Her capable cool lids, and let him see
Agreement flash between them.
“Someone’s death”—
She forced the words at last—“is cheap to buy.
A minute of man’s time, and breathing stops.
The cost is in the echo; for to cease
Makes sound. So you will hear it coming home,
The rumor of that death. My friend is right.
Marry the maiden.”
But the words came strangely,
Out of some older earth, and even she
The speaker knew their failure; for she frowned.
Bruce turned his head again, fearing the hemlock
Heard. Yet no one listened there; no fourth one
Followed this lofty fellow who in patience
Folded his arms and smiled—as if he too
Had knowledge, and agreed with the grey eyes.
As Dora did, said Bruce. And yet Darius—
He paled at the grim image, and remembered,
Suddenly, that soldier; whose disgust
If the dear purpose foundered was itself
A death, along with Dora’s yesterday.
Daniel. Who but Daniel was the father
Of a whole world’s confusion?
And his anger,
Running before him, took him from this place,
This glade where three, left thoughtful, were as figures
Molded of shadow. Dora was gone with Bruce,
Gasping and crying “Wait!”
But the three tall ones
Listened to nothing human. Hermes came.