is all-sufficient, even for thee.
All we are weak and sinful, He is strong.
Oh, call upon His name, and He will come.

[There is silence for a moment, save for the plaintive notes of the
organ. Suddenly AHASUERUS rises, tears coursing down his cheeks.]

AHASUERUS. At last, O God, at last, my hard heart breaks.
I thank thee for these tears; the burden lifts--
Sing unto God, O brother, and rejoice!
The darkness disappears, and lo, the light--
Behold, the Light!

[As he speaks, a miraculous radiance fills the room; AHASUERUS slowly
sinks down upon the floor, ever gazing heavenward in mute adoration,
while the monk falls before the Virgin's shrine in prayer. There is a
sound of many feet from without, and the company of the earlier
evening enter noisily, but drop on their knees in awe as they behold
the miracle. AHASUERUS murmurs in a low voice hardly to be
understood.]

AHASUERUS. Lord, comest thou--to me?

[Then dimly, like a distant strain of music, a wondrous Voice is
heard, and by some understood.]

THE VOICE. I come, Ahasuerus; lo, I come. Behold, I stand at the door,
and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will
come in to him ... Behold, I come quickly.

[AHASUERUS falls back, and a look of deep peace overspreads his
countenance. The radiance fades away, and there remains only the
flickering light of the torches, which are almost extinguished in the
great gusts of wind that sweep through the room. Far above, the joyous
chimes are pealing a welcome to the new day.]

_Literary Monthly_, 1905.

THE MASK OF ADELITA

GERALD MYGATT '08

To think that it all happened within a rifle shot of the greatest city
in America, in the very outskirts of New York--this was strange. A
romance of old Spain, tingling with the memory of times when men
fought single-handed for the toss of a rose or the gleam from under
the black lashes of a _senorita_, or bled and died for the sake of a
yellow silken scarf! That such a thing should have happened as it did
seems preposterous, and yet, on second thought, it occurred so
naturally that at the time there was no idea of its being in the least
out of place in this prosaic New World. It was like a dream of the
past--and yet it was no dream.

It was our Saturday half-holiday and Henderson and I were driving the
stagnation of a week's confinement out of our lungs by a long walk
into the country. We were just starting back in