Margarita's Soul: The Romantic Recollections of a Man of Fifty. Josephine Daskam Bacon

href="#ulink_3e72f4e9-516e-56f5-8498-41f9fcc4aaf0">Scooped Hundreds—Perhaps Thousands—Out of a Chest to Flee at Dawn 43 The Tall, Gaunt, Silent Woman … Striding Through the Pastures 49 I Seem to See … a Beautiful Woman in a Blue Dress Sitting Under a Fruit Tree 105 Persons Born in That Month of That Year Will Never Be Otherwise Than Far Out of the Ordinary 132 Margarita Stopped and Stared at It Several Minutes 144 For Hours and Hours I Walked, Muttering and Cursing 163 Her Weekly Check, Plus a Draft for a Hundred Pounds 174 She Spins Her Hemp and Weaves Osiers into Baskets and Changes Them for Goats' Hams 204 The Gloomy, Faded Glories of the Musty Palace 208 Ah, Faithful Caliban, What Hours of Terrible Tuition Made Thy Task Clear to Thee! 233 He Sketched Her in Charcoal, Dressed (He Would Have It) in Black 240 It Was After the Garden Love-Scene That She Won Her Recalls 250 They Are Still as Death, Tranced in Those Liquid Bell-Tones 270 I Leaned Over the Bank and Cried That I Was There, But She Never Stopped—It Was Terrible 281 It Is a Favourite Claim of Ours Who Are Bidden to That Home That It Is an Enchanted Isle 296

PART ONE

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IN WHICH YOU SEE A SECRET SPRING

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      O I have seen a fair mermaid,

       That sang beside a lonely sea,

       And now her long black hair she'll braid,

       And be my own good wife to me.

      

      O woe's the day you saw the maid,

       And woe's the song she sang the sea,

       In hell her long black hair she'll braid,

       For ne'er a soul at all has she!

      Sir Hugh and the Mermaiden.

MARGARITA'S SOUL

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CHAPTER I

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FATE WALKS BROADWAY

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      Roger Bradley was walking up Broadway. This fact calls sharply for comment, for he had not done it in years; the thoroughfare was intolerable to him. But one of its impingements upon a less blatant avenue had caught him napping and he found himself entangled in a mesh of theatre dribblings, pool-room loungers, wine-touts and homeward bent women of the middle, shopping class. Being there, he scorned to avail himself of the regularly recurring cross streets, but strode along, his straight, trim bulk, his keen, judicial profile—a profile that spoke strong of the best traditions of American blood—marking him for what he was among a crowd not to be matched, in its way, upon the Western Continent.

      At the second slanting of the great, tawdry lane he bent with it and encountered suddenly a little knot of flustered women just descended from the elevated way that doubled the din and blare of the shrieking city. They were bundle-filled, voluble, dressed by any standards save those of their native city, far beyond their probable means and undoubted station. As they stopped unexpectedly and hesitated, damming the flood of hurrying citizens, Roger halted of necessity and stepped backward, but in avoiding them he bumped heavily against the person behind him. A startled gasp, something soft against his shoulder, the sharp edge of a projecting hat, told him that this person was a woman, and stepping sidewise into the shelter of a neighbouring news-stall, he raised his hat with a courtesy alien to the place and hour.

      "I beg your pardon, madam," he said, "I trust I have not hurt you?"

      "No," said the woman, who wore a heavy grey veil, and as that is literally all she said and as her method of saying it was as convincing as it was simple, one would suppose the incident closed and look to see Roger complete his journey to his club without further adventure.

      Do I wish he had? God knows. It was undoubtedly the turning-point in his life and he was forty. Had he gone on to the club where I was waiting for him; had we dined, played out our rubber, dropped in at the occasional chamber concert that was our usual and almost our only dissipation in those days, I should not now be ransacking old letters and diaries from which to make this book, nor would Margarita's picture—her loveliest, as Juliet—lean toward me from the wall. She is smiling; not as one smiles in photographs, but as a flesh-and-blood woman droops over the man she loves and smiles her heart into his lips, reaching over his