And as the Coroner folded the letter out A letter from this Arielle fell, which read: "We have an aunt in common, Cynthia. I know her better than you do, I think, And love her better too. You men go off With wandering and business, leave these aunts, And precious kindred to be found by souls Who are more kindred, maybe. I have heard Most everything about you, of your youth Your schooling, shall I say your sorrow too? Admire your life, have studied Elenor, As I have had the chance or got the word. And what your aunt writes in advice I like, Approve of and commend to you. You see I leap right over social rules to write, And speak my mind. So many friends I've made By searching out and asking. Why delay? Time slips away like moving clouds, but Life Says to the wise make haste. Is there a soul You'd like to know? Then signal it. I light From every peak a beacon fire, my peaks Are new found heights of vision, reaching them I either see a beacon light, or flash A beacon light. And thus it was I found Your Cynthia and mine, and now I write. I have a book to send you, show that way How much I value your good citizenship, Your work as coroner. I had the thought Of coroners as something like horse doctors-- Your aunt says you're as polished as a surgeon. When I was ripe for Shakespeare some one brought His books to me; when I was ripe for Kant, I found him through a friend. I know about you, I sense you too, and I believe you need The spiritual uplifting of the Gita. You haven't read it, have you? No! you haven't. I wish that Elenor Murray might have read it. I grieve about that girl, you can't imagine How much I grieve. Nov write me, coroner, What is your final judgment of the girl." "I have so many friends who love me, always New friends come by to give me wisdom--you Can teach me, I believe, a man like you So versed in life. You must have learned new things Exploring in the life of Elenor Murray. I was about to write you several times. I loved that girl from all I heard of her. She must have had some faculty or fault That thwarted her, and left her, so to speak, Just looking into promised lands, but never Possessing or enjoying them--poor girl! And here she flung her spirit in the war And wrecked herself--it makes me sorrowful. I went to Europe through a prize I won, And saw the notable places--but this girl Who hungered just as much as I, saw nothing Or little, gave her time to labor, nursing-- It is most pitiful, if you'll believe me I've wept about your Eleanor. Write me now What is your final judgment of the girl?"... So Merival read these letters, fell asleep. Next day was weaker, had a fever too, And took to bed at last. He had to fight Six weeks or more for life. When he was up And strong enough he called the jury in And at his house they talked the case and supped. THE JURY DELIBERATES