use down, and perhaps myself with it, I
had written "finis" to my four-act play called _Judas_.

* * * * *

Hildreth and I had written faithfully to each other twice a day ... the
absurd, foolish, improper letters that lovers exchange ... I wrote most
of my letters in the cave-language that we had invented between us....

And we marked all the interspaces with secret symbols that meant
intimate caresses ... kisses ... everything....

The play brought to a successful end, I realised that for one day no
letters had come from Hildreth. And the next none came ... and the
next....

I besieged the post office five and six times a day in a panic, till the
postmaster first pitied me, then grew a bit put out....

A week, and not a single letter from the woman I loved....

The day before, Mrs. Suydam and her plumber affinity, for whom I felt
myself and Hildreth and Penton largely responsible, in the example we
had set--the day before these two young people had committed suicide.

As I walked about the cottage, alone, I had the uncanny feeling that the
place was haunted ... that maybe the ghosts of these two poor children
who had imitated us were down there haunting me ... why had not Hildreth
and I written that joint letter to them as I had suggested!

--only a little thing, but it might have given them courage to go
on!....

* * * * *

I was at the long-distance phone.

"Hildreth!" I cried, hearing her dear voice....

"Oh, how good, how sweet, my love, my life, it is to hear your voice
again ... tell me you still love me!"

"Hush, Johnnie, hush!" answered a far-away, strange voice ... "I'm
writing you a long letter ... somebody might be listening in."

"Did you see in the paper about Mrs. Suydam?"

"Yes, it was a terrible thing."

"--if we had only written to them!"

"--that was what I thought!"

"Shall I come to the city now? My book is finished. I'm a real author
now."

"The book is finished? That's fine, Johnnie ... but don't come to the
city now ... wait my letter."

* * * * *

When the bulky letter came, the roads rang like iron to my step. I
wouldn't allow myself to read it in the post office. I hugged the luxury
of the idea of reading it by the fire, slowly. I kissed the still
unopened envelope many times on the way home.

* * * * *

I broke the letter open ... it fell