Between Friends

“If you wish, Drene.”

“Yes. I was not—very—well. I had been ill—very—a long while … And you are not to clean the automatic.... Only your own-soul.... Ask help.... You’ll get it..... I did.... And—all that is true—what we believed—as boys.... I know. I’ve seen. And it’s all true—all true—what we believed—as little boys.”

He looked up at Graylock, then closed his eyes with the shadow of a smile in them.

“Good-bye—Jack,” he whispered.

Graylock’s mouth quivered, his lips moved in speech; and perhaps Drene heard and understood, for he opened his eyes and looked once more at his boyhood friend.

“Somewhere—somebody will straighten out—all this,” he murmured, closing his eyes again: “We can’t; we can only try—to straighten out—ourselves.”

Graylock looked down at him in silence, then, tall and heavily erect, he turned away.

Cecile met him from the studio.

“Good night,” she said, offering her hand.... “And a happy Christmas.... I hope you will not be lonely.”

He took her hand, gravely, thanked her, and went his way forever.

For a few minutes she lingered in the doorway connecting Drene’s bedroom with the studio. She held a sprig of holly.

After a little while he opened his eyes and looked at her, and, smiling, she came forward to the bedside.

“It was a terrible dream,” he whispered—“all those years. But it was a dream.”

“You must dream no more.”

“No. Come nearer.”

She rested on the bed’s edge beside him and laid one hand on his. The other held the holly, but he did not notice it until she offered it.

“Dear,” she whispered, “it is Christmas night. And you did not even know it.”

Suddenly the tears he had not known for years burned in his eyes, and he closed them, trembling, awed by the mercy of God that had been vouchsafed to him at the eleventh hour, else he had slain his soul.

After a while he felt her lips touching his brow. And now silent in the spell of the dream that invaded her—the exquisite vision of wifehood—she sat motionless with childlike eyes lost in thought.

Once more he turned his head and looked at her. Then her slender neck bent, and he saw that her eyes were divinely blue—

“Cecile!”—he faltered—“Madonna inviolate!… The woman—between—friends—”

THE END