Possessed | Page 3

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 see--brutal things?"
"Worse than that. In one dream I see him--Oh!" she shuddered and the agony in her eyes was more eloquent than words.
"My dear lady, you are naturally wrought up by these dreadful experiences, you need rest, quiet surroundings, good food, a little relaxation----"
"No, no, no," Mrs. Wells interrupted impatiently.
"Don't tell me those old things. I am a trained nurse. I know my case is entirely different."
"How is it different? We all have dreams. I have dreams myself. One night I dreamed that I was dissecting the janitor downstairs; sometimes I wish I had."
Penelope brushed aside this effort at humor. "You haven't dreamed that