me--my liberty.

"Last Wednesday he came back, such a miserable wreck of a man, so
utterly broken in every way that it would have moved a heart of stone.
Inside of me is a sorrow too deep for expression, but somehow a peace
also. Now I am sure that my bondage will never cease. But I couldn't
refuse to take Julian back when I saw what a state he was in. His
spiritual abasement was such an awful thing that I could not shame him
by even letting him know that I understood it."

* * * * *

_Monday._

I walked for hours beside the ocean, watching the waves, the sky, the
soaring gulls,--trying to tire myself out, searching into my heart for
the truth about my life--about my illness. I cannot find the truth. I
have done what Dr. Owen told me to do as well as I can and--I do not see
that any good has come of it. I have stirred up ghosts of the
past--leering ghosts, and I hate them. I am sick of ignoble memories. I
want to close forever the door on those unhappy years. I want to be
well, to live a sane life, to have a little pleasure; but....

* * * * *

_Thursday._

I am tired of Atlantic City. I am going back to New York tomorrow. No
doubt I have benefited by these days of rest and change. My bad dreams
are gone and I have only heard the Voices once. Dr. Owen will say that
his prescription has been efficacious, but that is not true. I know
_They_ are waiting for me in the city, waiting to torture me. Then why
do I go back? Because it is my fate. I am driven on by some power beyond
my control--driven on!

_Penelope will cross the ocean. Her husband will die very soon. There
will be war soon. She will go to the war and honors will be conferred
upon her on the battlefields. Then she will go down to horror--to
terror!_

How that prophecy of Seraphine haunts me! All of it has come true except
the very last. Horror! Terror! These two are ever before me. These two
already encompass me. These two will presently overwhelm me
unless--unless--I don't know what.

Seraphine is in New York, I have meant to go to see her, but--I am
afraid, I am afraid of what she will tell me!

_New York, Saturday._

I must set down here--to ease my tortured brain--some of the things that
have happened to me since I last wrote in this book, my confessional.

When I got back to town I found an invitation to go to a Bohemian ball,
and I decided to accept. _Vive la joie!_ So I put o