Softly he knocked against the casement, wide It flew, and a cracked voice his business there Demanded. The door opened, and inside Max stepped. He saw a candle held in air Above the head of a gray-bearded Jew. "Simeon Isaacs, Mynheer, can I serve You?" "Yes, I think you can. Do you keep arms? I want a pistol." Quick the old man grew Livid. "Mynheer, a pistol! Let me swerve You from your purpose. Life brings often false alarms--" 63 "Peace, good old Isaacs, why should you suppose My purpose deadly. In good truth I've been Blest above others. You have many rows Of pistols it would seem. Here, this shagreen Case holds one that I fancy. Silvered mounts Are to my taste. These letters `C. D. L.' Its former owner? Dead, you say. Poor Ghost! 'Twill serve my turn though--" Hastily he counts The florins down upon the table. "Well, Good-night, and wish me luck for your to-morrow's toast." 64 Into the night again he hurried, now Pale and in haste; and far beyond the town He set his goal. And then he wondered how Poor C. D. L. had come to die. "It's grown Handy in killing, maybe, this I've bought, And will work punctually." His sorrow fell Upon his senses, shutting out all else. Again he wept, and called, and blindly fought The heavy miles away. "Christine. I'm well. I'm coming. My Own Wife!" He lurched with failing pulse. 65 Along the dyke the keen air blew in gusts, And grasses bent and wailed before the wind. The Zuider Zee, which croons all night and thrusts Long stealthy fingers up some way to find And crumble down the stones, moaned baffled. Here The wide-armed windmills looked like gallows-trees. No lights were burning in the distant thorps. Max laid aside his coat. His mind, half-clear, Babbled "Christine!" A shot split through the breeze. The cold stars winked and glittered at his chilling corpse. Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way out beyond the sky. I am so little, it may be A task for you to harken me. O Lady Mary, I have bought A candle, as the good priest taught. I only had one penny, so Old Goody Jenkins let it go. It is a little bent, you see. But Oh, be merciful to me! I have not anything to give, Yet I so long for him to live. A year ago he sailed away And not a word unto today. I've strained my eyes from the sea-wall But never does he come at all. Other ships have entered port Their voyages finished, long or short, And other sailors have received Their welcomes, while I sat and grieved. My heart is bursting for his hail, O Virgin, let me spy his sail.