the blank surface, with all but one purpose
banished from my mind.

I have eaten merely to live, slept only to repair my strength. Each
morsel of food has added to my bodily anguish, each falling asleep has
meant a horrible awakening to new, exquisite torture of the body. My
hands have become black by resting on the bare boards, my nails torn by
scratching over the covering of my mattress. My hair is matted. My
throat, dry with prayers, is almost voiceless, my lips are cracked like
old leather.

I do not tell you these things to gain your sympathy, but so that, if
you should want to come back to me, you will not be shocked to find me
horrible.

I must go on.

Five days ago my craving began to yield. The blessedness of the relief
is beyond description. Little by little the resistance to my will
weakened. Little by little my will gained mastery. It seemed a youthful
giant, learning its power. It seemed to fill the room, to seek to reach
beyond and find new labors for its strength. I felt the moment approach
when I, no longer a slave of myself, could indeed rise from thanks to
God and feel my triumph sure.

I dared three days ago to touch my drugs, to take them in my hand, to
mock them.

Yesterday I got up. I began to write this message.

I could hear martial music as I wrote and the tramp of a million feet.
It was the army of men and women who have fought against evil and
won,--they who have been masters of themselves. As they passed, they
cheered me, each one; they waved their hats and hands!

And afterward there came a little child and smiled and stretched his
arms out to me. He was glad.

For he is to be my own.

BOOK IX

BEHIND THE WALL

CHAPTER I

AN ANSWER TO MACMECHEM

Such was the message Julianna had sent her husband. I read it and,
without speaking, I arose and touched Estabrook on his shoulder.

"Doctor," said he pathetically.

"Come," said I.

We went up to her door. It was not locked; it opened. She was there.

She was there with a smile of greeting--a beautiful woman, pale with her
suffering, pale as the flower of a night-blooming cactus, but warm with
the vitality given to women who love. The pink light of dusk was on her
calm face.

She was leaning back against the wall. Her great eyes fixed themselves
upon Estabrook without seeing me at all. She di