Who was this woman mused the widow there? She did not know the name. She did not know Her eyes had seen this Elenor Murray once When Elenor Murray came with Gregory Wenner To dinner at his home to face the wife. For Elenor Murray in a mood of strength, After her confirmation and communion, Had said to Gregory Wenner: "Now the end Has come to this, our love, I think it best If she should ever learn I am the woman Who in New York spent summer days with you, And later in Chicago, in that summer, She will remember what my eyes will show When we stand face to face, and I give proof That I am changed, repentant." For the wife Had listened to a friend who came to tell She saw this Gregory Wenner in New York From day to day in gardens and cafes, And by the sea romancing with a girl. And later Mrs. Wenner found a book, Which Gregory Wenner cherished--with the words Beloved, and the date. And now she knew The hand that wrote the card here in this box, The hand that wrote the inscription in the book Were one--but still she did not know the woman. No doubt the woman of that summer's flame, Whom Gregory Wenner promised not to see When she brought out the book and told him all She learned of his philandering in New York. And Elenor Murray's body was decaying In darkness, under earth there at LeRoy While Mrs. Wenner read, and did not know The hand that wrote the card lay blue and green, Half hidden in the foldings of the shroud, And all that country stirred for Elenor Murray, Of which the widow absent in the east Had never heard. And Mrs. Wenner found Beside the box and lock of hair three letters, And sat and read them. Through her eyes and brain This meaning and this sound of blood and soul, Like an old record with a diamond needle. Passed music like:--