We meet in an evil land,
That is near to the gates of Hell —
I wait for thy command,
To serve, to speed, or withstand;
And thou sayest I do not well!

Oh, love, the flowers so red
Be only blossoms of flame,
The earth is full of the dead,
The new-killed, restless dead,
There is danger beneath and o’erhead;
And I guard at thy gates in fear
Of peril¹ and jeopardy²,
????Of words thou canst not hear,
Of signs thou canst not see —
And thou sayest ‘t is ill that I came?

— In Shadowland.

Tears stood again in Kate’s eyes as she uncoiled her hair before the mirror in the room Mrs. Estes had prepared against her coming — tears of vexation. It was an old story with her that the world wants nothing done for it, and visits with displeasure those who must prod³ up its lazy content. But in landing at Bombay she had supposed herself at the end of outside hindrances⁴ and obstacles; what was now to come would belong to the wholesome⁵ difficulties of real work. And here was Nick!

She had made the journey from Topaz in a long mood of exaltation. She was launched; it made her giddy and happy; like the boy’s first taste of the life of men. She was free at last. No one could stop her. Nothing could keep her from the life to which she had promised herself. A little moment and she might stretch forth⁶ her hand and lay it fast upon her work. A few days and she should stoop eye to eye above the pain that had called to her across seas. In her dreams piteous hands of women were raised in prayer to her, and dry, sick palms were laid in hers. The steady urge of the ship was too slow for her; she counted the throbs⁷ of the screw. Standing⁸ far in the

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