Page:Poet Lore, volume 34, 1923.djvu/537

 Burris.—Dead!?

Bara.—How else, at this time?

Burris (With gesture of despair, sinking to the lounge. He covers his face with his hands and weeps.)

Bara.—I must look in on the other side again. Don’t take it so to heart, my lord. If you had heard the names she called you! Such screaming and swearing! Her mother all over again! She too, knew how to warm it up for the late colonel.

Bara (As Burris does not respond).—Miss Lena is there alone with the nurse. (Goes out.)

( sits quiet a moment, then rises, sits at the table, yielding to his grief. He plainly shows that his wound is painful at times. He rises again, and paces the room. Makes as tf to open the door, takes two or three steps across the threshold, pauses, and returns.)

Burris (In a tone charged with agony).—“Bohmischer Lummel Hund.”

(At the memory of ''abuse, he grows quiet again, only a deep sigh now and then shaking his breast. He stops walking, sits, and fixes his eyes wnto one spot. His eyes begin to bulge out as afin memory of some horrible experience. His eyes turn to the pistol on the wall, and then rest on the bullet on the table. Picking it up he taps the desk uith it as tf ina palsy. He lets it lie and walks. Some resolve is shaping in his mind. Presently he begins to act with decision. He pauses before the decorations on the wall, then quickly takes down the flint lock. Taking it to the desk, he tries the bullet to the bore. It fits. He blows into the barrel to see if it is through. He is satisfied. The trigger, too, he finds in working order. He opens the pouch and takes out several instruments. Takes the powder horn down, and pours some powvder into the barrel, wadding it with a ramrod. He sees that the powder is through the touch hole. He puts in the bullet and primes it. While he is thus engaged, he hears a familiar tapping at the door. He hastens to bolt it, but is too late. has entered.'')

Lena (Struck by a sound she remembers from the first night when the gun was dropped).—Mr. Karl, what’s the matter?

Burris—I? I am dead! I am more dead than alive!

Lena (Feeling about for a chair).—Please Mr. Karl, are you here?

(Burris finally comes to himself sufficiently to take her by the hand and lead her to a chair.)

Lena.—We ladies of poor eyesight make a strong demand on a man’s gallantry. But it seems that you are very ill; your hand