ven him an audience.

Was I free? Was I happy? I was not free. I was not happy. My life seemed
cribbed. Dorothy was an invalid. I went to her from watching the
election bulletins. I sat on the side of the bed, took her in my arms.
"Let us go to Italy," she said. "I am dying here." She pressed her frail
hands around my neck. "Oh let us go--let us go."

CHAPTER LI

We sailed on the _Persia_, 376 feet long, 45 feet of beam, gross tonnage
3300, horsepower 4000, speed 14 knots an hour. As Dorothy knew nothing
of ocean sailing craft she was unable to share in my wonder at all the
splendor and comfort of this wonderful steamer.

From the first Dorothy was ill. Our boy Reverdy too became seasick. As I
was not affected in the least I had the care of both of them. A part of
the time the sea was very rough.

One night when we had been on the water three days Dorothy called to me.
She had been greatly nauseated during the afternoon. A sudden return of
the discomfort had seized her. I arose quickly and made a light. The
boat was rocking. A stiff breeze was blowing. We were headed through a
great darkness. Dorothy was deathly pale. She was unable to bring up
anything more and was convulsed with retching and coughing.

She grew suddenly quiet, her eyes closing, her lips parting. "Dear," she
murmured. I waited for what she would say. She had become at once limp
in my arms. I shook her gently, pressed my ear to her breast. I could
hear no heart beat. I called her, laid her down, wetted a towel, and
applied it to her head. She did not rouse. I went from the stateroom to
find the physician. He came hurriedly. But Dorothy was dead. That word
of endearment was her last.

Without, the sea and the sky were as black as a sunless cave. The water
rolled around us, pitching the boat forward and sideways. The timbers
creaked, lamps jiggled, the hallways seemed to undulate like snakes. But
the heart of the _Persia_ pumped with rhythmic regularity. The
passengers were asleep, or in various festivities, in cabins or in the
dining room. Nothing was stayed for this tragedy which had come to me.
On we went through the darkness! Dorothy was lying where I had placed
her, her head turned to one side, her face pale in the last sleep. I
aroused little Reverdy. He looked at his mother, kneeled by the berth,
and sobbed. The physician took us out of the cabin, locked the door, and
put us in another. I tucked little Reverdy in bed again; then I we