Possessed | Page 3

body Penelope Wells at thirty-three was the kind of woman men look at
twice and remember. She was dressed in black.
When Dr. William Owen entered the front room of his Ninth Street
office he greeted her with the rough kindliness that a big man in his
profession, a big-hearted man, shows to a young woman whose case
interests him and whose personality is attractive.
"I got your note, Mrs. Wells," he began, "and I had a letter about you
from my young friend, Captain Herrick. I needn't say that I had already
read about your bravery in the newspapers. The whole country has been
sounding your praises. When did you get back to New York?"
"About a week ago, doctor. I came on a troop ship with several other
nurses. I--I wish I had never come."
There was a note of pathetic, ominous sadness in her voice. Even in his
first study of this lovely face, the doctor's experienced eye told him that
here was a case of complicated nervous breakdown. He wondered if
she could have had a slight touch of shell shock. What a ghastly thing
for a high spirited, sensitive young woman to be out on those battle
fields in France!
"You mustn't say that, Mrs. Wells. We are all very proud of you. Think
of having the croix de guerre pinned on your dress by the commanding

general before a whole regiment! Pretty fine for an American woman!"
Penelope Wells sat quite still, playing with the flexible serpent ring on
her thumb, and looked at the doctor out of her wonderful deep eyes that
seemed to burn with a mysterious fire. Could there be something
Oriental about her--or--or Indian, the physician wondered.
"Doctor," she said, in a low tone, "I have come to tell you the truth
about myself, and the truth is that I deserve no credit for what I did that
day, because I--I did not want to live. I wanted them to kill me, I took
every chance so that they would kill me; but God willed it differently,
the shells and bullets swept all around me, cut through my dress,
through my hair, but did not harm me."
"Tell me a little more about it, just quietly. How did you happen to go
out there? Was it because you heard that Captain Herrick was wounded?
That's the way the papers cabled the story. Was that true?" Then, seeing
her face darken, he added: "Perhaps I ought not to ask that question?"
"Oh, yes, I want you to. I want you to know everything about
me--everything. That's why I am here. Captain Herrick says you are a
great specialist in nervous troubles, and I have a feeling that unless you
can help me nobody can."
"Well, I have helped some people who felt pretty blue about
life--perhaps I can help you. Now, then, what is the immediate trouble?
Any aches or pains? I must say you seem to be in splendid health," he
smiled at her with cheery admiration.
"It isn't my body. I have no physical suffering. I eat well enough, I
sleep well, except--my dreams. I have horrible, torturing dreams, doctor.
I'm afraid to go to sleep. I have the same dreams over and over again,
especially two dreams that haunt me."
"How long have you had these dreams?"
"Ever since I went out that dreadful day from Montidier--when the
Germans almost broke through. They told me Captain Herrick was

lying there helpless, out beyond our lines. So I went to him. I don't
know how I got there, but--I found him. He was wounded in the thigh
and a German beast was standing over him when I came up. He was
going to run him through with a bayonet. And somehow, I--I don't
know how I did it, but I caught up a pistol from a dead soldier and I
shot the German."
"Good Lord! You don't say! They didn't have that in the papers! What a
woman! No wonder you've had bad dreams!"
Penelope passed a slender hand over her eyes as if to brush away evil
memories, then she said wearily: "It isn't that, they are not ordinary
dreams."
"Well, what kind of dreams are they? You say there are two dreams?"
"There are two that I have had over and over again, but there are others,
all part of a sequence with the same person in them."
The doctor looked at her sharply. "The same person? A person that you
recognize?"
"Yes."
"A person you have really seen? A man?"
"Yes, the man I killed."
"Oh!"
"I told you he was a beast. I saw that in his face, but I know it now
because I dream of things that he did as a conqueror--in the villages."
"I