orrible memory of his crime swept over him.

HIS mother--

HE seized the body and gazed at the staring eyes. Then this was the
remorse the older monks had told him--had been his father's--

AND he--her son--had plunged his sabre into her heart

HIS own was bursting.

AND this girl. He had not killed her--she had died--

WAS she--his sister--only of a different father--

* * * * *

WE are through--burn

A HARD line played on the lips of the commander

* * * * *

THE flames leapt from room to room--

IGOR--

THE smoke--it was overcoming him--

HIS mother--

HE had forgotten how to pray

AN unutterable abyss.

THE horror of war

THE fire blazed upward--smoke filled the room--

THERE'S the bell--he staggered to his feet--It is ringing

TELL Brother John to light the candles--he walked into the flames--

I am coming.

TWO HAD LIVED [_To M. D. R._]

I

PASSIONATELY musical--Janet Knott had been sent abroad to study.

HOMESICK and weary she wandered about in a strange city, knowing not
even the language.

THE gray sky--the grayer buildings. Was there not in this city a kindly
soul--one she could talk to--confide in--

IN a narrow street--suddenly the rich deep tones of an organ reached her
soul--

BUILT in among great buildings a small Church. There at least she could
find comfort--and the organ.

WAS it a Requiem--minor chords--the keys seemed to sob under the
pressure of withered hands.

JANET sobbed too. She was homesick. Lonely--

THE music stopped and the old organist came down and spoke with her. He
asked why she was crying.

YOUR music is so sad, she whispered--

AH, my child, that is life--I am told to compose a Requiem--

WHAT youth, filled with the joy of living, could play these minor
chords.

I TOO was young once--A student at the University. I loved life then--

I DANCED--composed only waltzes--sang love songs. But now--sorrow has
played on the chords of my heart--to teach me these deeper tones--to
teach me music for the Passion--for the Crucifixion.

YOU must learn, my child, that through sorrow men accomplish great
things.

WHEN they weep they send out tones into the world that men remember and
cherish.

BEETHOVEN lived and suffered--and has left to the world things of
immortal greatness.

BUT now--go--else I shall sadden you beyond your years----

SLOWLY Janet walked through the darken