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Updated: June 13, 2025
Is there a Mary Callen dead, and a Mary Callen livin'? and did both of them love a man that went from Farcalladen Rise one wild night long ago? "'There's but one Mary Callen, said I, 'but the heart of me is dead, until I hear news that brings it to life again? "'And no man calls you wife? he asked.
This temple is 64 cubytes of wydenesse, and als manye in lengthe; and of heighte it is 120 cubites: and it is with inne, alle aboute, made with pyleres of marble: and in the myddel place of the temple ben manye highe stages, of 14 degrees of heighte, made with gode pyleres alle aboute: and this place the Jewes callen Sancta Sanctorum; that is to seye, holy of halewes.
And alle Asie the lesse is y cleped Turkye. And therefore somme men seyn, that he dyed noughte, but that he restethe there till the day of doom. And some men seyn, that in the ile of Lango is zit the doughtre of Ypocras, in forme and lykeness of a gret dragoun, that is a hundred fadme of lengthe, as men seyn: for I have not seen hire. And thei of the isles callen hire, lady of the lond.
And there is an arm of the see Hellespont: and sum men callen it the mouthe of Costantynoble; and sum men callen it the brace of Seynt George: and that arm closethe the two partes of the cytee.
Mary Callen rose from her seat with a cry in which was timidity, pity, and something of horror; for it was Pretty Pierre. She recoiled, but seeing how he swayed with weakness, and that his clothes had blood upon them, she helped him to a chair. He looked up at her with an enigmatical smile, but he did not speak. "Oh," she whispered, "you are wounded!" He nodded; but still he did not speak.
The morning was half gone when Shon McGann and Mary Callen stood beside their horses, ready to mount and go; for Mary had persisted that she could travel joy makes such marvellous healing. When the moment of parting came, Pierre was not there. Mary whispered to her lover concerning this. The priest went to the door of the but and called him. He came out slowly.
The woman believing, at a painful time, that he who came back was about to take Shon's life, fired at him, and wounded him, and then killed herself." Mary Callen raised herself upon her elbow, and looked at the priest in piteous bewilderment. "It is dreadful," she said. . . . "Poor woman! . . . And he had forgotten forgotten me. I was dead to him, and am dead to him now.
There's been credit given and debts paid by both of us since the hour when we first met; and it needs thinking to tell which is the debtor now, for deeds are hard to reckon; but, before God, I believe it's meself;" and he turned and looked fondly at Mary Callen.
And whanne that a man ys oute of that ylke hylles, men passen thenne thorewe a cytee, that ys called Maryoche and Arteyse, whare that ys a grete brygge upon a ryvere of Ferne, that men clepen Fassar: and hyt ys a grete ryvere, berynge schyppes. And by syde the cytee of Damas, ys a ryvere that cometh from the mounteyne of Lybane, that men hyt callen Albane.
During these words Shon's face ran white, then red; and now he stepped inside the door like one in a dream, and the girl's face was lifted to his as though he had called her. "Mary Mary Callen!" he cried.
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