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8/6/2019 Famous Modern Ghost Stories, By Various, Edited by Emily Dorothy Scar Borough
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TheProjectGutenbergeBook,FamousModernGhostStories,byVarious,EditedbyEmilyDorothy
Scarborough
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Title:FamousModernGhostStories
Author:Various
ReleaseDate:February22,2005[eBook#15143]
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FAMOUS MODERN GHOST STORIES
Selected,WithAnIntroduction
By
DorothyScarborough,Ph.D.
LecturerInEnglish,ColumbiaUniversity
AuthorOfTheSupernaturalInModernEnglishFiction,FugitiveVerses,FromASouthernPorch,Etc.
CompilerOfHumorousGhostStories
G.P.Putnam’sSons
NewYorkAndLondon
TheKnickerbockerPress
1921
PrintedInTheUnitedStatesOfAmerica
To
AshleyHoraceThorndike,Litt.D.ProfessorofEnglish,ColumbiaUniversity
whoguidedmyearlierstudiesinthesupernatural
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CONTENTS
Introduction:TheImperishableGhost
The WillowsByAlgernonBlackwood
The Shadows on the WallByMaryE.WilkinsFreeman
The MessangerByRobertW.Chambers
LazarusByLeonidAndreyev
The Beast with Five Fingers
ByW.F.HarveyThe Mass of ShadowsByAnatoleFrance
What Was It?ByFitz-JamesO’Brien
The Middle Toe of the Right FootByAmbroseBierce
The Shell of SenseByOliviaHowardDunbar
The Woman at Seven BrothersByWilburDanielSteele
At the GateByMylaJoClosser
LigeiaByEdgarAllanPoe
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The Haunted OrchardByRichardLeGallienne
The BowmenByArthurMachen
A Ghost
ByGuydeMaupassantTheImperishableGhost
INTRODUCTION
Ghostsarethetrueimmortals,andthedeadgrowmorealiveallthetime.Wraithshaveagreatervitalityto-daythan
everbefore.Theyarefarmorenumerousthanatanytimeinthepast,andpeoplearemoreinterestedinthem.There
arepersonsthatclaimtobeacquaintedwithspecicspirits,tospeakwiththem,tocarryoncorrespondencewith
them,andevensomewhoinsistthattheyareprivatesecretariestothedead.Othersofusmortals,morereserved,arecontenttokeepsuchdistanceaswemayfromeventheshadowofashade.Butthere’snogettingawayfrom
ghostsnowadays,forevenifyoushutyoureyestotheminactuallife,youstumbleovertheminthebooksyouread,
youseethemonthestageandonthescreen,andyouhearthemonthelectureplatform.EvenaLodgeinanyvast
wildernesswouldhavethecompanyofspirits.Man’sloveforthesupernatural,whichisoneofthemostnaturalthings
abouthim,wasnevermoremarkedthanatpresent.Youmaygoa-ghostinginanycompanyto-day,andallaspectsof
literature,novels,shortstories,poetry,anddramaalike,reecttheshadelessspirit.Thelatestcensusofthehaunting
worldshowsavastincreaseinpopulation,whichmightbeexplainedonvariousgrounds.
Lifeissoinconvenientlycomplexnowadays,whatwithincometaxesandothervisitationsofgovernment,thatitis
hardforustohavetheaddedriskofwraiths,butthere’snoescaping.Manypersonsofto-dayareinthesamemental
stateasoneMr.Boggs,toldofinamagazinestory,aruralgentlemanwhowasagitatedoverspectralvisitants.He
hadoncetalkedataséancewithaspeakerwhoclaimedtobethespiritofhisbrother,WesleyBoggs,butwhocon-
versedonlyonbluesuspenders,asubjectnotofvitalinteresttoWesleyintheesh.“Still,”Mr.Boggsreected,“I’m
notsodarnsure!”Inanswertoasuggestionregardingsubliminalconsciousnessanddualpersonalityasexplanation
ofthestrangethingsthatcomeboltingintolife,hesaid,“It’scrawlyanywayyoulookatit.Ghostsinsideyouareas
badasghostsoutsideyou.”Thereareothersto-daywhoare“notsodarnsure!”
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Onemayconjecturediversreasonsforthismultitudeofghostsinlateliterature.Perhapsspooksarelikesmallboys
thatrushtores,unwillingtomissanything,andcravingnewsensations.Andwemortalsreadaboutthemtoget
vicariousthrillsthroughthesafemediumofction.Thewarmadesensationalistsofusall,andthedrabeverydayness
ofmortallifeboresus.Man’simagination,alwaysbiggerthanhisenvironment,overleapsthebarriersoftimeand
spaceandclaimsallworldsaseminentdomain,sothatliterature,whichhehasthepowertocreate,ashecannotcre-
atehismaterialsurroundings,possessesadramaticintensity,anepicsweep,unknowninactuality.Inthelastanaly-sis,manisasgreatashisdaydreams—orhisnightmares!
Ghostshavealwayshauntedliterature,anddoubtlessalwayswill.Spectersseemnevertowearoutortodie,butre-
newtheirtissuebothofpersonandofraiment,inmarvelousfashion,sothattheirnumberincreaseswithaMalthusian
relentlessness.Weofto-dayhavetheghoststhathauntedourancestors,aswellasourownmodernrevenants,and
there’snoearthlyusetryingtobanishorexorcisethembysuchasimplethingasdisbeliefinthem.Schopenhauer
assertsthatabeliefinghostsisbornwithman,thatitisfoundinallagesandinalllands,andthatnooneisfreefrom
it.Sinceaccountsvary,andourearliestantecedentswerepoordiarists,itisdifculttoestablishtheapostolicsucces-sionofspooksinactuallife,butinliterature,thelinereachesbackasfarastheprimevalpicturewriting.Astudyof
animisminprimitivecultureshowsmanyinterestinglinksbetweenthepastandthepresentinthismatter.Andany-
how,sincemanknowsthatwhetherornothehasseenaghost,presentlyhe’llbeone,he’sfascinatedwiththesub-
ject.Andhecreatesghosts,notmerelyinhisownimage,butaccordingtohisdreamsofpower.
Themoremanknowsofnaturallaws,thekeenerheisaboutthesupernatural.Hemayclaimtohavelaidasidesu-
perstition,butheisn’ttobebelievedinthat.Thoughhehasdiscardedwitchcraftandalchemy,itisonlythathemay
havemoretimeforpsychicalresearch;true,henolongerdabbleswithancientmagic,butthatisbecausethemodern
types,astheouijaboard,entertainhimmore.Hedearlylovestotrafcwiththatotherworldofwhichheknowssolittle
andconcerningwhichheissocurious.
Perhapsthewar,orpossiblyanincreaseinclassconsciousness,orunionizationofspirits,orwhatever,hasgreatly
energizedtheghostinourdayandgivenhimbothambitionandstrengthtodomorethingsthanever.Maybe“pep
tablets”havebeendiscoveredontheothersideaswell!Nolongeristheghostcontenttobeseenandnotheard,to
slinkaroundinshadowycornersasapologeticallyaspoorrelations.Wraithsnowhavearambunctiousvitalityand
self-assurancethatareastonishing.Eventheghostsoffolksdeadsolongtheyhaveforgottenaboutthemselvesare
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yawning,stretchingtheirskeletons,andstartingouttodoalittlehaunting.Spookycreaturesinsuchawidediversity
areabroadto-daythatoneissometimesatalosstoknowwhattodo“ginabodymeetabody.”Ghostsareentering
allsortsofactivitiesnow,sothatmortalshadbetterlookalive,elsethey’llbecrowdedoutoftheirplaceintheshade.
Thedeadaretoomuchwithus!
Modernghostsarelesssimpleandprimitivethantheirancestors,andaredevelopingcomplexesofvariouskinds.
Theyaremoredemocraticthanofold,andhavemoreofadiversityofinterests,sothatmortalshavescarcelytheghostofachancewiththem.Theyemployalltheagenciesandmechanismsknowntomortals,andhaveinaddition
theirownmethodsoftransitandcommunication.Whereasinthepastaghosthadtostalkorglidetohishaunts,now
helimousinesorairplanes,sothatnaturallyhecangetinmoreworkthanbefore.Heusesthewirelesstosendhis
messages,andisexpertinallmannerofscienticlines.
Infact,hisinfernalefciencyandknowledgeofscienceconstitutetheworstterrorofthecurrentspecter.Whocan
combataghostthatknowsallaboutachemicallaboratory,thatcanaddelectricitytohisothershocks,andcanem-
ployallmortalandimmortalagenciesashisown?Scienceitselfissupernatural,asweseewhenwelookatitprop-erly.
Modernliterature,especiallythemostrecent,showsarevivalofoldtypesofghosts,togetherwiththeinnovationsof
thenew.Therearespectersthattakearealpartintheplotcomplication,andthosethatmerelycastthreateninglooks
attheliving,oratleast,arecontenttospeakapieceanddepart.Somespiritsaredumb,whileothersarehighlyelo-
cutionary.
Ghostsvaryinmanyrespects.Somearelikethepallidshadesofthepast,altogetherunlikethelivingandwithan
unmistakablespectralform—orlackofit.Theysweeplikemistthroughtheair,orutterlikedeadleavesinthegale—a
galealwaysaccompanyingthemaspartofthestockfurnishings.Ontheotherhand,somerevenantsaresosuccess-
fullymadeupthatonedoesn’tbelievethemwhentheypridefullyannouncethattheyarewraiths.Someofthemare,
infact,soalivethattheydon’tthemselvesknowthey’redead.It’sgoingtobeagreatshocktosomeofthemoneof
thesedaystowakeupandndoutthey’redemised!
Ghostsaremoregregariousthaninthepast.Formerlyashadeslunkoffbyhimself,asifashamedofhisprofession,
asifawareofthelackofcordialitywithwhichhewouldbereceived,knowingthatmortalsshunnedandfearedhim,
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andcharyevenofassociatingwithhisfellow-shades.Hewraithedallbyhimself.Thespectersofthepast—savein
scenesofthelowerworld,—wereusuallysolitarycreatures,driventohauntmortalsfromverylonesomeness.Nowwe
haveachancetostudythemobpsychologyofghosts,fortheycomeinmaddingcrowdswhenevertheylike.
Ghostsatpresentareshowinganactiveinterestnotonlyinpublicaffairs,butintheartsaswell.Atleast,wenow
havepicturesandwritingattributedtothem.Perhapsannoyedbysomeoftheinaccuraciespublishedconcerning
them—forauthorshaveinthepasttakenadvantageofthebeliefthatghostscouldn’twriteback—theyhaverecentlyde-velopeditchingpens.Theyuseallmannerofutensilsforexpressionnow.There’sthemagictypewriterthatspooksfor
JohnKendrickBangs,theboardwalkthatPatienceWorthexecutesforMrs.Curran,andinnumerableotherspecters
thatcommandeerfountainpensandpencilsandbrushestogivetheirversionsofinnity.There’sapassiononthe
partofghostsforbeinginterviewedjustnow.Atpresentbook-reviewers,forinstance,hadbetterbecareful,lestthe
wraithstaketheirownmethodofansweringcriticism.Itisn’tsafetospeakorwritewithanythingbutrespectofghosts
now.Demortuisnilnisibonum,indeed!Oneshouldnevermakelightofashade.
Modernghostshaveamorepronouncedpersonalitythanthespectersofthepast.Theyhavemorestrength,ofmindaswellasofbody,thanthecolorlessrevenantsofearlierliterature,andtheyproduceamorevivideffectonthebe-
holderandthereader.Theyknowmoresurelywhattheywishtodo,andtheyadvancerelentlesslyandwitheconomy
ofefforttotheeffectingoftheirpurpose,whetheritbeofpurehorror,ofbeauty,orpathosofhumor.Wehavenow
manyspiritsinctionthatarepatheticwithoutfrightfulness,manythatmoveuswithasenseofpoeticbeautyrather
thanofcurdlinghorror,whotouchtheheartaswellasthespineofthereader.Andthehumorousghostisadistinctive
shadeofto-day,withhisquipsandpranksandhauntinggrin.Whateveramodernghostwishestodoortobe,heisor
does,withcondenceandsuccess.
Thespiritofto-dayisterrifyinglyvisibleorinvisibleatwill.Thedreadfulpresenceofaghostthatonecannotseeis
moreunbearablethanthespecterthatonecanlocateandattempttoescapefrom.Theinvisiblehauntingisrepre-
sentedinthisvolumebyFitz-JamesO’Brien’sWhatWasIt?oneoftheverybestofthetype,andonethathasstrong-
lyinuencedothers.O’Brien’sstoryprecededGuydeMaupassant’sLeHorlabyseveralyears,andmustsurelyhave
suggestedtoMaupassantastoBierce,inhisTheDamnedThing,thepowerofevilthatcanbefeltbutnotseen.
Thewraithofthepresentcarrieswithhimmorevitalenergythanhispredecessors,ismoreathleticinhisstruggles
withtheunluckywightshevisits,andcancoercemortalstodohiswillbythelayingonofhandsaswellasbythe
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lookorword.Hespeakswithmoreemphasisandauthority,aswellaswithmorehumannaturalness,thantheear-
lierghosts.Hehasnotonlyalltheforcehepossessedinlife,butinmanyinstanceshasanaccessofpower,which
makesmanapoorprotagonistforhim.AlgernonBlackwood’sspiritsofevil,forexample,haveamoreawfulpoten-
tialitythananylivingpersoncouldhave,andtheirwilltoharmhasbeenincreasedimmeasurablybytheaccident
ofdeath.Ifthefactsbearoutthefearthatsuchisthecaseinlifeasinction,someofoursocialcustomswillbere-
versed.Amanwillstrivebyallmeanstokeephisdeadlyenemyalive,lestdeathmayendowhimwithtenfoldpower
tohurt.Darkdiscarnatepassions,disembodiedhates,workevilwhereasimpleghostmightbehelplessandabashed. AlgernonBlackwoodhascommandoverthespiritsofairandreandwave,sothathispagesthrillwithbeautyand
terror.Hehashandledalmostallknownaspectsofthesupernatural,andfromhismanystorieshehasselectedfor
thisvolumeTheWillowsasthebestexampleofhisghostlyart.
Apparitionsaremorereadilyrecognizableatpresentthaninthepast,fortheycarryintoeternityallthedisgure-
mentsorphysicalpeculiaritiesthatthelivingbodiespossessed—afactdiscouragingtoallpersonsnotconspicuous
forgoodlooks.Frecklesandwarts,longnosesandmissinglimbsdistinguishtheghostsandaidincrucialidentica-
tion.ThethrillofhorrorinAmbroseBierce’sstory,TheMiddleToeoftheRightFoot,isintensiedbythefactthatthedeadwomanwhocomesbackinrevengetohaunthermurderer,hasonetoelackingasinlife.Andinarecentstory
asurgeonwhosedesiretoexperimenthascausedhimneedlesslytosacriceaman’slifeontheoperatingtable,is
hauntedtodeathbythedismemberedarm.Fictionshowsusvariousghostswithhalffaces,andatleastonenotable
spookthatcomesinhalf.Suchability,itwillbegranted,mustnecessarilyincreasethehauntingpower,forifaghost
maysendafootoranarmoralegtoharryoneperson,hecandispatchhisback-boneorhisliverorhishearttoupset
otherhumanbeingssimultaneouslyinasectionalhauntingatonceeconomicallyefcientandterrifying.
TheBeastwithFiveFingers,forinstance,hasaloathsomehorrorthatacompleteskeletonorconventionally
equippedwraithcouldnotachieve.Whocandoubtthatabodilesshandleapingaroundonitserrandsofevilhasa
menacethatacompletesix-footframecouldnotduplicate?Yet,inQuiller-Couch’sAPairofHands,whatpathosand
beautyinthethoughtofthechildhandscomingbacktoserveothersinhomelytasks!Surelynohousewifeinthese
helplessdayswouldobjecttobeinghauntedinsuchdelicatefashion.
Ghostsofto-dayhaveanoriginalitythatantiquespecterslacked.Forinstance,whatstoryofthepasthastheawful
thrillinAndreyev’sLazarus,thatstoryofthemanwhocamebackfromthegrave,living,yetdead,withthehorrorof
theunknownsomanifestinhisfacethatthosewholookedintohisdeepeyesmettheirdoom?Present-daywriters
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skillfullycombinevariouselementsofawewiththesupernatural,asmadnesswiththeghostly,addingtothechillof
fearwhicheachconceptgives.WilburDanielSteele’sTheWomanatSevenBrothersisaninstanceofthatmethod.
Poe’sLigeia,oneofthebeststoriesinanylanguage,revealstheunrelentingwillofthedeadtoeffectitsdesire,—the
deadwifetriumphantlycomingbacktolifethroughthesecondwife’sbody.OliviaHowardDunbar’sTheShellof
Senseisanotherinstanceofjealousyreachingbeyondthegrave.TheMessenger,oneofRobertW.Chambers’s
earlystoriesandanadmirableexampleofthesupernatural,hasvariousthrills,withitsriverofblood,itsdeath’sheadmoth,andtheancientbutveryactiveskulloftheBlackPriestwhowasshotasatraitortohiscountry,butlivedonas
anenergeticandcursefulghost.
TheShadowsontheWall,byMaryE.WilkinsFreeman,—whichoneprominentlibrarianconsidersthebestghoststory
everwritten,—isoriginalinthemethodofitshorricmanifestation.Isn’titmoredevastatingtoone’ssanitytoseethe
shadowofarevengeghostcastonthewall,—toknowthatavindictivespiritisbesideonebutinvisible—thantoseethe
specterhimself?Undersuchcircumstances,thesightofaskeletonorasheetedphantomwouldbedownrightcom-
forting.
TheMassofShadows,byAnatoleFrance,isanexampleofthemoderntendencytoshowphantomsingroups,as
contrastedwiththesolitaryhabitsofancientspecters.Herethespiritsofthosewhohadsinnedforlovecouldmeet
andcelebratemasstogetherinoneeveningoftheyear.
ThedelicatebeautyofmanyofthemodernghostlystoriesisapparentinTheHauntedOrchard,byRichardLeGalli-
enne,forthisprosepoemhasanappealoftendernessratherthanofterror.Andeverybodywhohashadaffectionfor
adogwillappreciatethepathosofthelittlesketch,byMylaJ.Closser,AttheGate.Thedogappearsmorefrequently
asaghostthandoesanyotheranimal,perhapsbecausemanfeelsthatheisnearerthehuman,—thoughthehorseisasintelligentandasmuchbeloved.Thereisaninnatepathosaboutadogsomehow,thatmakeshisappearance
inghostlyformmorecredibleandsympathetic,whiletheghostofanyotheranimalwouldtendtohaveacomiccon-
notation.Otheranimalsinctionhavepowerofmagic—notablythecat—buttheydon’tappearasspirits.Butthedogis
seenasapatheticsymboloffaithfulness,asatragicsufferer,orasaterriblerevengeghost.Dogsmaycomesinglyor
ingroups—EdithWhartonhasveofdifferentsortsinKerfol—orinpacks,asinEdenPhillpotts’sAnotherLittleHeath
Hound.
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AnilluminatinginstanceofthepowerofctionoverhumanfaithisfurnishedbythecaseofArthurMachen’sTheBow-
men,includedhere.Thisstoryitiswhichstartedthewholetissueoflegendryconcerningsupernaturalaidgiventhe
alliedarmiesduringthewar.ThispurelyctitiousaccountofanangelarmythatsavedthedayatMonswassovivid
thatitsreadersaccepteditastruthandobstinatelyclungtothatideainthefaceofMr.Machen’spersistentandbe-
wilderedexplanationsthathehadinventedthewholething.Editorswroteleadingarticlesaboutit,ministerspreached
sermonsonit,andthegeneralpublicpreferredtobelieveintheMonsangelsratherthaninArthurMachen.Mr.Ma-
chenhasshownhimselfanartistinthesupernatural,onewhomhisgenerationhasnotbeendiscerningenoughtoappreciate.Someofhismaterialispainfullymorbid,buthispenismagicandhisinkwellholdsmanydarksecrets.
InthiscollectionIhaveattemptedtoincludespecimensofafewofthedistinctivetypesofmodernghosts,aswellas
toshowtheartofindividualstories.Examplesofthehumorousghostsareomittedhere,asanumberofthemwillbe
broughttogetherinHumorousGhostStories,thecompanionvolumetothis.Theghostloverwhoreadsthesepages
willthinkofothersthathewouldliketoseeincluded—forIbelievethatreadersaremorepassionatelyattachedtotheir
ownfavoriteghosttalesthantoanyotherformofliterature.Butcriticswilladmitthemanifestimpossibilityofbringing
togetherinonevolumeallthefamousexamplesoftheart.Someofthewell-knowntales,particularlytheolderonesonwhichcopyrighthasexpired,havebeenreprintedsooftenastobealmosthackneyed,whileothershavebeenof
necessityomittedbecauseofthelimitationsofspace.
D.S.
NewYork,
March,1921.
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The Willows
ByAlgernonBlackwood
FromTheListener,byAlgernonBlackwood.PublishedinAmericabyE.P.Dutton,andinEnglandbyEverleighNash,Ltd.BypermissionofthepublishersandAlgernonBlackwood.
I
AfterleavingVienna,andlongbeforeyoucometoBuda-Pesth,theDanubeentersaregionofsingularloneliness
anddesolation,whereitswatersspreadawayonallsidesregardlessofamainchannel,andthecountrybecomesa
swampformilesuponmiles,coveredbyavastseaoflowwillow-bushes.Onthebigmapsthisdesertedareaispaint-
edinauffyblue,growingfainterincolorasitleavesthebanks,andacrossitmaybeseeninlargestragglingletters
thewordSümpfe,meaningmarshes.
Inhighoodthisgreatacreageofsand,shingle-beds,andwillow-grownislandsisalmosttoppedbythewater,butin
normalseasonsthebushesbendandrustleinthefreewinds,showingtheirsilverleavestothesunshineinanever-
movingplainofbewilderingbeauty.Thesewillowsneverattaintothedignityoftrees;theyhavenorigidtrunks;they
remainhumblebushes,withroundedtopsandsoftoutline,swayingonslenderstemsthatanswertotheleastpres-
sureofthewind;suppleasgrasses,andsocontinuallyshiftingthattheysomehowgivetheimpressionthattheentire
plainismovingandalive.Forthewindsendswavesrisingandfallingoverthewholesurface,wavesofleavesinstead
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ofwavesofwater,greenswellslikethesea,too,untilthebranchesturnandlift,andthensilverywhiteastheirunder-
sideturnstothesun.
Happytoslipbeyondthecontrolofsternbanks,theDanubeherewandersaboutatwillamongtheintricatenetworkof
channelsintersectingtheislandseverywherewithbroadavenuesdownwhichthewaterspourwithashoutingsound;
makingwhirlpools,eddies,andfoamingrapids;tearingatthesandybanks;carryingawaymassesofshoreandwil-
low-clumps;andformingnewislandsinnumerablewhichshiftdailyinsizeandshapeandpossessatbestanimper-manentlife,sincetheood-timeobliteratestheirveryexistence.
Properlyspeaking,thisfascinatingpartoftheriver’slifebeginssoonafterleavingPressburg,andwe,inourCana-
diancanoe,withgipsytentandfrying-panonboard,reacheditonthecrestofarisingoodaboutmid-July.Thatvery
samemorning,whentheskywasreddeningbeforesunrise,wehadslippedswiftlythroughstill-sleepingVienna,leav-
ingitacoupleofhourslateramerepatchofsmokeagainstthebluehillsoftheWienerwaldonthehorizon;wehad
breakfastedbelowFischeramendunderagroveofbirchtreesroaringinthewind;andhadthensweptonthetear-
ingcurrentpastOrth,Hainburg,Petronell(theoldRomanCarnuntumofMarcusAurelius),andsounderthefrown-ingheightsofThebenonaspuroftheCarpathians,wheretheMarchstealsinquietlyfromtheleftandthefrontieris
crossedbetweenAustriaandHungary.
RacingalongattwelvekilometersanhoursoontookuswellintoHungary,andthemuddywaters—suresignofood—
sentusagroundonmanyashingle-bed,andtwisteduslikeacorkinmanyasuddenbelchingwhirlpoolbeforethe
towersofPressburg(Hungarian,Poszóny)showedagainstthesky;andthenthecanoe,leapinglikeaspiritedhorse,
ewattopspeedunderthegraywalls,negotiatedsafelythesunkenchainoftheFliegendeBrückeferry,turnedthe
cornersharplytotheleft,andplungedonyellowfoamintothewildernessofislands,sand-banks,andswamp-land
beyond—thelandofthewillows.
Thechangecamesuddenly,aswhenaseriesofbioscopepicturessnapsdownonthestreetsofatownandshifts
withoutwarningintothesceneryoflakeandforest.Weenteredthelandofdesolationonwings,andinlessthanhalf
anhourtherewasneitherboatnorshing-hutnorredroof,noranysinglesignofhumanhabitationandcivilization
withinsight.Thesenseofremotenessfromtheworldofhumankind,theutterisolation,thefascinationofthissingular
worldofwillows,winds,andwaters,instantlylaiditsspelluponusboth,sothatweallowedlaughinglytooneanother
thatweoughtbyrightstohaveheldsomespecialkindofpassporttoadmitus,andthatwehad,somewhatauda-
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ciously,comewithoutaskingleaveintoaseparatelittlekingdomofwonderandmagic—akingdomthatwasreserved
fortheuseofotherswhohadarighttoit,witheverywhereunwrittenwarningstotrespassersforthosewhohadthe
imaginationtodiscoverthem.
Thoughstillearlyintheafternoon,theceaselessbuffetingsofamosttempestuouswindmadeusfeelweary,andwe
atoncebegancastingaboutforasuitablecamping-groundforthenight.Butthebewilderingcharacteroftheislands
madelandingdifcult;theswirlingoodcarriedusin-shoreandthensweptusoutagain;thewillowbranchestoreourhandsasweseizedthemtostopthecanoe,andwepulledmanyayardofsandybankintothewaterbeforeatlength
weshotwithagreatsidewaysblowfromthewindintoabackwaterandmanagedtobeachthebowsinacloudof
spray.Thenwelaypantingandlaughingafterourexertionsonhotyellowsand,shelteredfromthewind,andinthe
fullblazeofascorchingsun,acloudlessblueskyabove,andanimmensearmyofdancing,shoutingwillowbushes,
closinginfromallsides,shiningwithsprayandclappingtheirthousandlittlehandsasthoughtoapplaudthesuccess
ofourefforts.
“Whatariver!”Isaidtomycompanion,thinkingofallthewaywehadtraveledfromthesourceintheBlackForest,andhowwehadoftenbeenobligedtowadeandpushintheuppershallowsatthebeginningofJune.
“Won’tstandmuchnonsensenow,willit?”hesaid,pullingthecanoealittlefartherintosafetyupthesand,andthen
composinghimselfforanap.
Ilaybyhisside,happyandpeacefulinthebathoftheelements—water,wind,sand,andthegreatreofthesun—
thinkingofthelongjourneythatlaybehindus,andofthegreatstretchbeforeustotheBlackSea,andhowluckyI
wastohavesuchadelightfulandcharmingtravelingcompanionasmyfriend,theSwede.
Wehadmademanysimilarjourneystogether,buttheDanube,morethananyotherriverIknew,impressedusfrom
theverybeginningwithitsaliveness.Fromitstinybubblingentryintotheworldamongthepinewoodgardensof
Donaueschingen,untilthismomentwhenitbegantoplaythegreatriver-gameoflosingitselfamongthedeserted
swamps,unobserved,unrestrained,ithadseemedtouslikefollowingthegrowthofsomelivingcreature.Sleepyat
rst,butlaterdevelopingviolentdesiresasitbecameconsciousofitsdeepsoul,itrolled,likesomehugeuidbeing,
throughallthecountrieswehadpassed,holdingourlittlecraftonitsmightyshoulders,playingroughlywithussome-
times,yetalwaysfriendlyandwell-meaning,tillatlengthwehadcomeinevitablytoregarditasaGreatPersonage.
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How,indeed,coulditbeotherwise,sinceittoldussomuchofitssecretlife?Atnightwehearditsingingtothemoon
aswelayinourtent,utteringthatoddsibilantnotepeculiartoitselfandsaidtobecausedbytherapidtearingofthe
pebblesalongitsbed,sogreatisitshurryingspeed.Weknew,too,thevoiceofitsgurglingwhirlpools,suddenlybub-
blinguponasurfacepreviouslyquitecalm;theroarofitsshallowsandswiftrapids;itsconstantsteadythundering
belowallmeresurfacesounds;andthatceaselesstearingofitsicywatersatthebanks.Howitstoodupandshouted
whentherainsfellatuponitsface!Andhowitslaughterroaredoutwhenthewindblewupstreamandtriedtostopitsgrowingspeed!Weknewallitssoundsandvoices,itstumblingsandfoamings,itsunnecessarysplashingagainst
thebridges;thatself-consciouschatterwhentherewerehillstolookon;theaffecteddignityofitsspeechwhenit
passedthroughthelittletowns,fartooimportanttolaugh;andallthesefaint,sweetwhisperingswhenthesuncaught
itfairlyinsomeslowcurveandpoureddownuponittillthesteamrose.
Itwasfulloftricks,too,initsearlylifebeforethegreatworldknewit.Therewereplacesintheupperreachesamong
theSwabianforests,whenyettherstwhispersofitsdestinyhadnotreachedit,whereitelectedtodisappear
throughholesintheground,toappearagainontheothersideoftheporouslimestonehillsandstartanewriverwithanothername;leaving,too,solittlewaterinitsownbedthatwehadtoclimboutandwadeandpushthecanoe
throughmilesofshallows!
Andachiefpleasure,inthoseearlydaysofitsirresponsibleyouth,wastolielow,likeBrerFox,justbeforethelittle
turbulenttributariescametojoinitfromtheAlps,andtorefusetoacknowledgethemwhenin,buttorunformilesside
byside,thedividinglinewellmarked,theverylevelsdifferent,theDanubeutterlydecliningtorecognizethenew-com-
er.BelowPassau,however,itgaveupthisparticulartrick,fortheretheInncomesinwithathunderingpowerimpos-
sibletoignore,andsopushesandincommodestheparentriverthatthereishardlyroomfortheminthelongtwisting
gorgethatfollows,andtheDanubeisshovedthiswayandthatagainstthecliffs,andforcedtohurryitselfwithgreatwavesandmuchdashingtoandfroinordertogetthroughintime.Andduringtheghtourcanoeslippeddownfrom
itsshouldertoitsbreast,andhadthetimeofitslifeamongthestrugglingwaves.ButtheInntaughttheoldriverales-
son,andafterPassauitnolongerpretendedtoignorenewarrivals.
Thiswasmanydaysback,ofcourse,andsincethenwehadcometoknowotheraspectsofthegreatcreature,and
acrosstheBavarianwheatplainofStraubingshewanderedsoslowlyundertheblazingJunesunthatwecouldwell
imagineonlythesurfaceincheswerewater,whilebelowtheremoved,concealedasbyasilkenmantle,awholearmy
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ofUndines,passingsilentlyandunseendowntothesea,andveryleisurelytoo,lesttheybediscovered.
Much,too,weforgaveherbecauseofherfriendlinesstothebirdsandanimalsthathauntedtheshores.Cormorants
linedthebanksinlonelyplacesinrowslikeshortblackpalings;graycrowscrowdedtheshingle-beds;storksstood
shinginthevistasofshallowerwaterthatopenedupbetweentheislands,andhawks,swans,andmarshbirdsofall
sortslledtheairwithglintingwingsandsinging,petulantcries.Itwasimpossibletofeelannoyedwiththeriver’sva-
gariesafterseeingadeerleapwithasplashintothewateratsunriseandswimpastthebowsofthecanoe;andoftenwesawfawnspeeringatusfromtheunderbrush,orlookedstraightintothebrowneyesofastagaswechargedfull
tiltroundacornerandenteredanotherreachoftheriver.Foxes,too,everywherehauntedthebanks,trippingdaintily
amongthedriftwoodanddisappearingsosuddenlythatitwasimpossibletoseehowtheymanagedit.
Butnow,afterleavingPressburg,everythingchangedalittle,andtheDanubebecamemoreserious.Itceasedtriing.
ItwashalfwaytotheBlackSea,withinscentingdistancealmostofother,strangercountrieswherenotrickswouldbe
permittedorunderstood.Itbecamesuddenlygrown-up,andclaimedourrespectandevenourawe.Itbrokeoutinto
threearms,foronething,thatonlymetagainahundredkilometersfartherdown,andforacanoetherewerenoindi-cationswhichonewasintendedtobefollowed.
“Ifyoutakeasidechannel,”saidtheHungarianofcerwemetinthePressburgshopwhilebuyingprovisions,“you
mayndyourselves,whentheoodsubsides,fortymilesfromanywhere,highanddry,andyoumayeasilystarve.
Therearenopeople,nofarms,noshermen.Iwarnyounottocontinue.Theriver,too,isstillrising,andthiswindwill
increase.”
Therisingriverdidnotalarmusintheleast,butthematterofbeinglefthighanddrybyasuddensubsidenceof
thewatersmightbeserious,andwehadconsequentlylaidinanextrastockofprovisions.Fortherest,theofcer’sprophecyheldtrue,andthewind,blowingdownaperfectlyclearsky,increasedsteadilytillitreachedthedignityofa
westerlygale.
Itwasearlierthanusualwhenwecamped,forthesunwasagoodhourortwofromthehorizon,andleavingmyfriend
stillasleeponthehotsand,Iwanderedaboutindesultoryexaminationofourhotel.Theisland,Ifound,wasless
thananacreinextent,ameresandybankstandingsometwoorthreefeetabovetheleveloftheriver.Thefarend,
pointingintothesunset,wascoveredwithyingspraywhichthetremendouswinddroveoffthecrestsofthebroken
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waves.Itwastriangularinshape,withtheapexupstream.
Istoodthereforseveralminutes,watchingtheimpetuouscrimsonoodbearingdownwithashoutingroar,dashingin
wavesagainstthebankasthoughtosweepitbodilyaway,andthenswirlingbyintwofoamingstreamsoneitherside.
Thegroundseemedtoshakewiththeshockandrushwhilethefuriousmovementofthewillowbushesasthewind
pouredoverthemincreasedthecuriousillusionthattheislanditselfactuallymoved.Above,foramileortwo,Icould
seethegreatriverdescendinguponme:itwaslikelookinguptheslopeofaslidinghill,whitewithfoam,andleapingupeverywheretoshowitselftothesun.
Therestoftheislandwastoothicklygrownwithwillowstomakewalkingpleasant,butImadethetour,nevertheless.
Fromthelowerendthelight,ofcourse,changed,andtheriverlookeddarkandangry.Onlythebacksoftheying
waveswerevisible,streakedwithfoam,andpushedforciblybythegreatpuffsofwindthatfelluponthemfrombe-
hind.Forashortmileitwasvisible,pouringinandoutamongtheislands,andthendisappearingwithahugesweep
intothewillows,whichclosedaboutitlikeaherdofmonstrousantediluviancreaturescrowdingdowntodrink.They
mademethinkofgiganticsponge-likegrowthsthatsuckedtheriverupintothemselves.Theycausedittovanishfromsight.Theyherdedtheretogetherinsuchoverpoweringnumbers.
Altogetheritwasanimpressivescene,withitsutterloneliness,itsbizarresuggestion;andasIgazed,longandcuri-
ously,asingularemotionbeganstirsomewhereinthedepthsofme.Midwayinmydelightofthewildbeauty,there
creptunbiddenandunexplained,acuriousfeelingofdisquietude,almostofalarm.
Arisingriver,perhaps,alwayssuggestssomethingoftheominous:manyofthelittleislandsIsawbeforemewould
probablyhavebeensweptawaybythemorning;thisresistless,thunderingoodofwatertouchedthesenseofawe.
YetIwasawarethatmyuneasinesslaydeeperfarthantheemotionsofaweandwonder.ItwasnotthatIfelt.Norhaditdirectlytodowiththepowerofthedrivingwind—thisshoutinghurricanethatmightalmostcarryupafewacres
ofwillowsintotheairandscatterthemlikesomuchchaffoverthelandscape.Thewindwassimplyenjoyingitself,for
nothingroseoutoftheatlandscapetostopit,andIwasconsciousofsharingitsgreatgamewithakindofpleasur-
ableexcitement.Yetthisnovelemotionhadnothingtodowiththewind.Indeed,sovaguewasthesenseofdistressI
experienced,thatitwasimpossibletotraceittoitssourceanddealwithitaccordingly,thoughIwasawaresomehow
thatithadtodowithmyrealizationofourutterinsignicancebeforethisunrestrainedpoweroftheelementsabout
me.Thehuge-grownriverhadsomethingtodowithittoo—avague,unpleasantideathatwehadsomehowtriedwith
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thesegreatelementalforcesinwhosepowerwelayhelplesseveryhourofthedayandnight.Forhere,indeed,they
weregiganticallyatplaytogether,andthesightappealedtotheimagination.
Butmyemotion,sofarasIcouldunderstandit,seemedtoattachitselfmoreparticularlytothewillowbushes,tothese
acresandacresofwillows,crowding,sothicklygrowingthere,swarmingeverywheretheeyecouldreach,pressing
upontheriverasthoughtosuffocateit,standingindensearraymileaftermilebeneaththesky,watching,waiting,
listening.And,apartquitefromtheelements,thewillowsconnectedthemselvessubtlywithmymalaise,attackingthemindinsidiouslysomehowbyreasonoftheirvastnumbers,andcontrivinginsomewayorothertorepresenttothe
imaginationanewandmightypower,apower,moreover,notaltogetherfriendlytous.
Greatrevelationsofnature,ofcourse,neverfailtoimpressinonewayoranother,andIwasnostrangertomoodsof
thekind.Mountainsoveraweandoceansterrify,whilethemysteryofgreatforestsexercisesaspellpeculiarlyitsown.
Butallthese,atonepointoranother,somewherelinkonintimatelywithhumanlifeandhumanexperience.Theystir
comprehensible,evenifalarming,emotions.Theytendonthewholetoexalt.
Withthismultitudeofwillows,however,itwassomethingfardifferent,Ifelt.Someessenceemanatedfromthemthat
besiegedtheheart.Asenseofaweawakened,true,butofawetouchedsomewherebyavagueterror.Theirserried
ranksgrowingeverywheredarkeraboutmeastheshadowsdeepened,movingfuriouslyyetsoftlyinthewind,woke
inmethecuriousandunwelcomesuggestionthatwehadtrespassedhereuponthebordersofanalienworld,aworld
wherewewereintruders,aworldwherewewerenotwantedorinvitedtoremain—wherewerangraverisksperhaps!
Thefeeling,however,thoughitrefusedtoyielditsmeaningentirelytoanalysis,didnotatthetimetroublemebypass-
ingintomenace.Yetitneverleftmequite,evenduringtheverypracticalbusinessofputtingupthetentinahurricane
ofwindandbuildingareforthestew-pot.Itremained,justenoughtobotherandperplex,andtorobamostdelightfulcamping-groundofagoodportionofitscharm.Tomycompanion,however,Isaidnothing,forhewasamanIconsid-
ereddevoidofimagination.Intherstplace,IcouldneverhaveexplainedtohimwhatImeant,andinthesecond,he
wouldhavelaughedstupidlyatmeifIhad.
Therewasaslightdepressioninthecenteroftheisland,andherewepitchedthetent.Thesurroundingwillowsbroke
thewindabit.
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“Apoorcamp,”observedtheimperturbableSwedewhenatlastthetentstoodupright;“nostonesandpreciouslittle
rewood.I’mformovingonearlyto-morrow—eh?Thissandwon’tholdanything.”
Buttheexperienceofacollapsingtentatmidnighthadtaughtusmanydevices,andwemadethecosygipsyhouse
assafeaspossible,andthensetaboutcollectingastoreofwoodtolasttillbedtime.Willowbushesdropnobranch-
es,anddriftwoodwasouronlysourceofsupply.Wehuntedtheshoresprettythoroughly.Everywherethebankswere
crumblingastherisingoodtoreatthemandcarriedawaygreatportionswithasplashandagurgle.
“Theisland’smuchsmallerthanwhenwelanded,”saidtheaccurateSwede.“Itwon’tlastlongatthisrate.We’dbetter
dragthecanoeclosetothetent,andbereadytostartatamoment’snotice.Ishallsleepinmyclothes.”
Hewasalittledistanceoff,climbingalongthebank,andIheardhisratherjollylaughashespoke.
“ByJove!”Iheardhimcall,amomentlater,andturnedtoseewhathadcausedhisexclamation;butforthemoment
hewashiddenbythewillows,andIcouldnotndhim.
“Whatintheworld’sthis?”Iheardhimcryagain,andthistimehisvoicehadbecomeserious.
Iranupquicklyandjoinedhimonthebank.Hewaslookingovertheriver,pointingatsomethinginthewater.
“GoodHeavens,it’saman’sbody!”hecriedexcitedly.“Look!”
Ablackthing,turningoverandoverinthefoamingwaves,sweptrapidlypast.Itkeptdisappearingandcomingupto
thesurfaceagain.Itwasabouttwentyfeetfromtheshore,andjustasitwasoppositetowherewestooditlurchedroundandlookedstraightatus.Wesawitseyesreectingthesunset,andgleaminganoddyellowasthebody
turnedover.Thenitgaveaswift,gulpingplunge,anddivedoutofsightinaash.
“Anotter,bygad!”weexclaimedinthesamebreath,laughing.
Itwasanotter,alive,andoutonthehunt;yetithadlookedexactlylikethebodyofadrownedmanturninghelplessly
inthecurrent.Farbelowitcametothesurfaceonceagain,andwesawitsblackskin,wetandshininginthesunlight.
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Then,too,justasweturnedback,ourarmsfullofdriftwood,anotherthinghappenedtorecallustotheriverbank.
Thistimeitreallywasaman,andwhatwasmore,amaninaboat.NowasmallboatontheDanubewasanunusual
sightatanytime,buthereinthisdesertedregion,andatoodtime,itwassounexpectedastoconstitutearealevent.
Westoodandstared.
Whetheritwasduetotheslantingsunlight,ortherefractionfromthewonderfullyilluminedwater,Icannotsay,but,whateverthecause,Ifounditdifculttofocusmysightproperlyupontheyingapparition.Itseemed,however,tobe
amanstandinguprightinasortofat-bottomedboat,steeringwithalongoar,andbeingcarrieddowntheopposite
shoreatatremendouspace.Heapparentlywaslookingacrossinourdirection,butthedistancewastoogreatand
thelighttoouncertainforustomakeoutveryplainlywhathewasabout.Itseemedtomethathewasgesticulating
andmakingsignsatus.Hisvoicecameacrossthewatertousshoutingsomethingfuriouslybutthewinddrowned
itsothatnosinglewordwasaudible.Therewassomethingcuriousaboutthewholeappearance—man,boat,signs,
voice—thatmadeanimpressiononmeoutofallproportiontoitscause.
“He’scrossinghimself!”Icried.“Look,he’smakingthesignofthecross!”
“Ibelieveyou’reright,”theSwedesaid,shadinghiseyeswithhishandandwatchingthemanoutofsight.Heseemed
tobegoneinamoment,meltingawaydownthereintotheseaofwillowswherethesuncaughttheminthebendof
theriverandturnedthemintoagreatcrimsonwallofbeauty.Mist,too,hadbeguntorise,sothattheairwashazy.
“Butwhatintheworldishedoingatnightfallonthisoodedriver?”Isaid,halftomyself.“Whereishegoingatsucha
time,andwhatdidhemeanbyhissignsandshouting?D’youthinkhewishedtowarnusaboutsomething?”
“Hesawoursmoke,andthoughtwewerespiritsprobably,”laughedmycompanion.“TheseHungariansbelieveinall
sortsofrubbish:youremembertheshopwomanatPressburgwarningusthatnooneeverlandedherebecauseitbe-
longedtosomesortofbeingsoutsideman’sworld!Isupposetheybelieveinfairiesandelementals,possiblydemons
too.Thatpeasantintheboatsawpeopleontheislandsforthersttimeinhislife,”headded,afteraslightpause,
“anditscaredhim,that’sall.”TheSwede’stoneofvoicewasnotconvincing,andhismannerlackedsomethingthat
wasusuallythere.Inotedthechangeinstantlywhilehetalked,thoughwithoutbeingabletolabelitprecisely.
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“Iftheyhadenoughimagination,”Ilaughedloudly—IremembertryingtomakeasmuchnoiseasIcould—”theymight
wellpeopleaplacelikethiswiththeoldgodsofantiquity.TheRomansmusthavehauntedallthisregionmoreorless
withtheirshrinesandsacredgrovesandelementaldeities.”
Thesubjectdroppedandwereturnedtoourstew-pot,formyfriendwasnotgiventoimaginativeconversationasa
rule.Moreover,justthenIrememberfeelingdistinctlygladthathewasnotimaginative;hisstolid,practicalnature
suddenlyseemedtomewelcomeandcomforting.Itwasanadmirabletemperament,Ifelt:hecouldsteerdownrapidslikearedIndian,shootdangerousbridgesandwhirlpoolsbetterthananywhitemanIeversawinacanoe.Hewasa
grandfellowforanadventuroustrip,atowerofstrengthwhenuntowardthingshappened.Ilookedathisstrongface
andlightcurlyhairashestaggeredalongunderhispileofdriftwood(twicethesizeofmine!),andIexperienceda
feelingofrelief.Yes,IwasdistinctlygladjustthenthattheSwedewas—whathewas,andthathenevermaderemarks
thatsuggestedmorethantheysaid.
“Theriver’sstillrising,though,”headded,asiffollowingoutsomethoughtsofhisown,anddroppinghisloadwitha
gasp.“Thisislandwillbeunderwaterintwodaysifitgoeson.”
“Iwishthewindwouldgodown,”Isaid.“Idon’tcareagfortheriver.”
Theood,indeed,hadnoterrorsforus;wecouldgetoffattenminutes’notice,andthemorewaterthebetterweliked
it.Itmeantanincreasingcurrentandtheobliterationofthetreacherousshingle-bedsthatsooftenthreatenedtotear
thebottomoutofourcanoe.
Contrarytoourexpectations,thewinddidnotgodownwiththesun.Itseemedtoincreasewiththedarkness,howling
overheadandshakingthewillowsrounduslikestraws.Curioussoundsaccompanieditsometimes,liketheexplosionofheavyguns,anditfelluponthewaterandtheislandingreatatblowsofimmensepower.Itmademethinkofthe
soundsaplanetmustmake,couldweonlyhearit,drivingalongthroughspace.
Buttheskykeptwhollyclearofclouds,andsoonaftersupperthefullmoonroseupintheeastandcoveredtheriver
andtheplainofshoutingwillowswithalightliketheday.
Welayonthesandypatchbesidethere,smoking,listeningtothenoisesofthenightroundus,andtalkinghap-
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pilyofthejourneywehadalreadymade,andofourplansahead.Themaplayspreadinthedoorofthetent,butthe
highwindmadeithardtostudy,andpresentlyweloweredthecurtainandextinguishedthelantern.Therelightwas
enoughtosmokeandseeeachother’sfacesby,andthesparksewaboutoverheadlikereworks.Afewyardsbe-
yond,therivergurgledandhissed,andfromtimetotimeaheavysplashannouncedthefallingawayoffurtherpor-
tionsofthebank.
Ourtalk,Inoticed,hadtodowiththefar-awayscenesandincidentsofourrstcampsintheBlackForest,orofothersubjectsaltogetherremotefromthepresentsetting,forneitherofusspokeoftheactualmomentmorethanwasnec-
essary—almostasthoughwehadagreedtacitlytoavoiddiscussionofthecampanditsincidents.Neithertheotternor
theboatman,forinstance,receivedthehonorofasinglemention,thoughordinarilythesewouldhavefurnisheddis-
cussionforthegreaterpartoftheevening.Theywere,ofcourse,distincteventsinsuchaplace.
Thescarcityofwoodmadeitabusinesstokeeptheregoing,forthewind,thatdrovethesmokeinourfaceswher-
everwesat,helpedatthesametimetomakeaforceddraught.Wetookitinturntomakeforagingexpeditionsinto
thedarkness,andthequantitytheSwedebroughtbackalwaysmademefeelthathetookanabsurdlylongtimend-ingit;forthefactwasIdidnotcaremuchaboutbeingleftalone,andyetitalwaysseemedtobemyturntogrubabout
amongthebushesorscramblealongtheslipperybanksinthemoonlight.Thelongday’sbattlewithwindandwater—
suchwindandsuchwater!—hadtiredusboth,andanearlybedwastheobviousprogram.Yetneitherofusmadethe
moveforthetent.Welaythere,tendingthere,talkingindesultoryfashion,peeringaboutusintothedensewillow
bushes,andlisteningtothethunderofwindandriver.Thelonelinessoftheplacehadenteredourverybones,andsi-
lenceseemednatural,forafterabitthesoundofourvoicesbecameatrieunrealandforced;whisperingwouldhave
beenthettingmodeofcommunication,Ifelt,andthehumanvoice,alwaysratherabsurdamidtheroaroftheele-
ments,nowcarriedwithitsomethingalmostillegitimate.Itwasliketalkingoutloudinchurch,orinsomeplacewhere
itwasnotlawful,perhapsnotquitesafe,tobeoverheard.
Theeerinessofthislonelyisland,setamongamillionwillows,sweptbyahurricane,andsurroundedbyhurrying
deepwaters,touchedusboth,Ifancy.Untroddenbyman,almostunknowntoman,itlaytherebeneaththemoon,
remotefromhumaninuence,onthefrontierofanotherworld,analienworld,aworldtenantedbywillowsonlyand
thesoulsofwillows.Andwe,inourrashness,haddaredtoinvadeit,eventomakeuseofit!Somethingmorethanthe
powerofitsmysterystirredinmeasIlayonthesand,feettore,andpeeredupthroughtheleavesatthestars.For
thelasttimeIrosetogetrewood.
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“Whenthishasburntup,”Isaidrmly,“Ishallturnin,”andmycompanionwatchedmelazilyasImovedoffintothe
surroundingshadows.
ForanunimaginativemanIthoughtheseemedunusuallyreceptivethatnight,unusuallyopentosuggestionofthings
otherthansensory.Hetoowastouchedbythebeautyandlonelinessoftheplace.Iwasnotaltogetherpleased,Ire-
member,torecognizethisslightchangeinhim,andinsteadofimmediatelycollectingsticks,Imademywaytothefarpointoftheislandwherethemoonlightonplainandrivercouldbeseentobetteradvantage.Thedesiretobealone
hadcomesuddenlyuponme;myformerdreadreturnedinforce;therewasavaguefeelinginmeIwishedtofaceand
probetothebottom.
WhenIreachedthepointofsandjuttingoutamongthewaves,thespelloftheplacedescendeduponmewithaposi-
tiveshock.Nomere“scenery”couldhaveproducedsuchaneffect.Therewassomethingmorehere,somethingto
alarm.
Igazedacrossthewasteofwildwaters;Iwatchedthewhisperingwillows;Iheardtheceaselessbeatingofthetire-
lesswind;and,oneandall,eachinitsownway,stirredinmethissensationofastrangedistress.Butthewillowses-
pecially:forevertheywentonchatteringandtalkingamongthemselves,laughingalittle,shrillycryingout,sometimes
sighing—butwhatitwastheymadesomuchto-doaboutbelongedtothesecretlifeofthegreatplaintheyinhabited.
AnditwasutterlyalientotheworldIknew,ortothatofthewildyetkindlyelements.Theymademethinkofahostof
beingsfromanotherplaneoflife,anotherevolutionaltogether,perhaps,alldiscussingamysteryknownonlytothem-
selves.Iwatchedthemmovingbusilytogether,oddlyshakingtheirbigbushyheads,twirlingtheirmyriadleaveseven
whentherewasnowind.Theymovedoftheirownwillasthoughalive,andtheytouched,bysomeincalculablemeth-
od,myownkeensenseofthehorrible.
Theretheystoodinthemoonlight,likeavastarmysurroundingourcamp,shakingtheirinnumerablesilverspears
deantly,formedallreadyforanattack.
Thepsychologyofplaces,forsomeimaginationsatleast,isveryvivid;forthewanderer,especially,campshavetheir
“note”eitherofwelcomeorrejection.Atrstitmaynotalwaysbeapparent,becausethebusypreparationsoftent
andcookingprevent,butwiththerstpause—aftersupperusually—itcomesandannouncesitself.Andthenoteofthis
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willow-campnowbecameunmistakablyplaintome:wewereinterlopers,trespassers,wewerenotwelcomed.The
senseofunfamiliaritygrewuponmeasIstoodtherewatching.Wetouchedthefrontierofaregionwhereourpres-
encewasresented.Foranight’slodgingwemightperhapsbetolerated;butforaprolongedandinquisitivestay—No!
byallthegodsofthetreesandthewilderness,no!Wewerethersthumaninuencesuponthisisland,andwewere
notwanted.Thewillowswereagainstus.
Strangethoughtslikethese,bizarrefancies,borneIknownotwhence,foundlodgmentinmymindasIstoodlisten-ing.What,Ithought,if,afterall,thesecrouchingwillowsprovedtobealive;ifsuddenlytheyshouldriseup,likea
swarmoflivingcreatures,marshaledbythegodswhoseterritorywehadinvaded,sweeptowardsusoffthevast
swamps,boomingoverheadinthenight—andthensettledown!AsIlookeditwassoeasytoimaginetheyactually
moved,creptnearer,retreatedalittle,huddledtogetherinmasses,hostile,waitingforthegreatwindthatshouldnal-
lystartthema-running.Icouldhavesworntheiraspectchangedalittle,andtheirranksdeepenedandpressedmore
closelytogether.
Themelancholyshrillcryofanightbirdsoundedoverhead,andsuddenlyInearlylostmybalanceasthepieceof
bankIstooduponfellwithagreatsplashintotheriver,underminedbytheood.Isteppedbackjustintime,andwent
onhuntingforrewoodagain,halflaughingattheoddfanciesthatcrowdedsothicklyintomymindandcasttheir
spelluponme.IrecalltheSwede’sremarkaboutmovingonnextday,andIwasjustthinkingthatIfullyagreedwith
him,whenIturnedwithastartandsawthesubjectofmythoughtsstandingimmediatelyinfrontofme.Hewasquite
close.Theroaroftheelementshadcoveredhisapproach.
“You’vebeengonesolong,”heshoutedabovethewind,“Ithoughtsomethingmusthavehappenedtoyou.”
Buttherewasthatinhistone,andacertainlookinhisfaceaswell,thatconveyedtomemorethanhisactualwords,andinaashIunderstoodtherealreasonforhiscoming.Itwasbecausethespelloftheplacehadenteredhissoul
too,andhedidnotlikebeingalone.
“Riverstillrising,”hecried,pointingtotheoodinthemoonlight,“andthewind’ssimplyawful.”
Healwayssaidthesamethings,butitwasthecryforcompanionshipthatgavetherealimportancetohiswords.
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“Lucky,”Icriedback,“ourtent’sinthehollow.Ithinkit’llholdallright.”Iaddedsomethingaboutthedifcultyofnding
wood,inordertoexplainmyabsence,butthewindcaughtmywordsandungthemacrosstheriver,sothathedid
nothear,butjustlookedatmethroughthebranches,noddinghishead.
“Luckyifwegetawaywithoutdisaster!”heshouted,orwordstothateffect;andIrememberfeelinghalfangrywith
himforputtingthethoughtintowords,foritwasexactlywhatIfeltmyself.Therewasdisasterimpendingsomewhere,
andthesenseofpresentimentlayunpleasantlyuponme.
Wewentbacktothereandmadeanalblaze,pokingitupwithourfeet.Wetookalastlookround.Butforthewind
theheatwouldhavebeenunpleasant.Iputthisthoughtintowords,andIremembermyfriend’sreplystruckmeoddly:
thathewouldratherhavetheheat,theordinaryJulyweather,thanthis“diabolicalwind.”
Everythingwassnugforthenight;thecanoelyingturnedoverbesidethetent,withbothyellowpaddlesbeneathher;
theprovisionsackhangingfromawillowstem,andthewashed-updishesremovedtoasafedistancefromthere,all
readyforthemorningmeal.
Wesmotheredtheembersoftherewithsand,andthenturnedin.Theapofthetentdoorwasup,andIsawthe
branchesandthestarsandthewhitemoonlight.Theshakingwillowsandtheheavybuffetingsofthewindagainst
ourtautlittlehousewerethelastthingsIrememberedassleepcamedownandcoveredallwithitssoftanddelicious
forgetfulness.
II
SuddenlyIfoundmyselflyingawake,peeringfrommysandymattressthroughthedoorofthetent.Ilookedatmywatchpinnedagainstthecanvas,andsawbythebrightmoonlightthatitwaspasttwelveo’clock—thethresholdof
anewday—andIhadthereforesleptacoupleofhours.TheSwedewasasleepstillbesideme;thewindhowledas
beforesomethingpluckedatmyheartandmademefeelafraid.Therewasasenseofdisturbanceinmyimmediate
neighborhood.
Isatupquicklyandlookedout.Thetreeswereswayingviolentlytoandfroasthegustssmotethem,butourlittlebit
ofgreencanvaslaysnuglysafeinthehollow,forthewindpassedoveritwithoutmeetingenoughresistancetomake
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itvicious.Thefeelingofdisquietudedidnotpasshowever,andIcrawledquietlyoutofthetenttoseeifourbelong-
ingsweresafe.Imovedcarefullysoasnottowakenmycompanion.Acuriousexcitementwasonme.
Iwashalfwayout,kneelingonallfours,whenmyeyersttookinthatthetopsofthebushesopposite,withtheirmov-
ingtraceryofleaves,madeshapesagainstthesky.Isatbackonmyhaunchesandstared.Itwasincredible,surely,
butthere,oppositeandslightlyaboveme,wereshapesofsomeindeterminatesortamongthewillows,andasthe
branchesswayedinthewindtheyseemedtogroupthemselvesabouttheseshapes,formingaseriesofmonstrousoutlinesthatshiftedrapidlybeneaththemoon.Close,aboutftyfeetinfrontofme,Isawthesethings.
Myrstinstinctwastowakenmycompanionthathetoomightseethem,butsomethingmademehesitate—thesud-
denrealization,probably,thatIshouldnotwelcomecorroboration;andmeanwhileIcrouchedtherestaringinamaze-
mentwithsmartingeyes.Iwaswideawake.IremembersayingtomyselfthatIwasnotdreaming.
Theyrstbecameproperlyvisible,thesehugegures,justwithinthetopsofthebushes—immensebronze-colored,
moving,andwhollyindependentoftheswayingofthebranches.Isawthemplainlyandnoted,nowIcametoexam-
inethemmorecalmly,thattheywereverymuchlargerthanhuman,andindeedthatsomethingintheirappearance
proclaimedthemtobenothumanatall.Certainlytheywerenotmerelythemovingtraceryofthebranchesagainstthe
moonlight.Theyshiftedindependently.Theyroseupwardsinacontinuousstreamfromearthtosky,vanishingutterly
assoonastheyreachedthedarkofthesky.Theywereinterlacedonewithanother,makingagreatcolumn,andI
sawtheirlimbsandhugebodiesmeltinginandoutofeachother,formingthisserpentinelinethatbentandswayed
andtwistedspirallywiththecontortionsofthewind-tossedtrees.Theywerenude,uidshapes,passingupthebush-
es,withintheleavesalmost—risingupinalivingcolumnintotheheavens.TheirfacesInevercouldsee.Unceasingly
theypouredupwards,swayingingreatbendingcurves,withahueofdullbronzeupontheirskins.
Istared,tryingtoforceeveryatomofvisionfrommyeyes.ForalongtimeIthoughttheymusteverymomentdisap-
pearandresolvethemselvesintothemovementsofthebranchesandprovetobeanopticalillusion.Isearchedev-
erywhereforaproofofreality,whenallthewhileIunderstoodquitewellthatthestandardofrealityhadchanged.For
thelongerIlookedthemorecertainIbecamethatthesegureswererealandliving,thoughperhapsnotaccordingto
thestandardsthatthecameraandthebiologistwouldinsistupon.
Farfromfeelingfear,IwaspossessedwithasenseofaweandwondersuchasIhaveneverknown.Iseemedtobe
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gazingatthepersoniedelementalforcesofthishauntedandprimevalregion.Ourintrusionhadstirredthepowers
oftheplaceintoactivity.Itwaswewhowerethecauseofthedisturbance,andmybrainlledtoburstingwithstories
andlegendsofthespiritsanddeitiesofplacesthathavebeenacknowledgedandworshipedbymeninallagesofthe
world’shistory.But,beforeIcouldarriveatanypossibleexplanation,somethingimpelledmetogofartherout,and
Icreptforwardontothesandandstoodupright.Ifeltthegroundstillwarmundermybarefeet;thewindtoreatmy
hairandface;andthesoundoftheriverburstuponmyearswithasuddenroar.Thesethings,Iknew,werereal,and
provedthatmysenseswereactingnormally.Yettheguresstillrosefromearthtoheaven,silent,majestically,inagreatspiralofgraceandstrengththatoverwhelmedmeatlengthwithagenuinedeepemotionofworship.IfeltthatI
mustfalldownandworship—absolutelyworship.
PerhapsinanotherminuteImighthavedoneso,whenagustofwindsweptagainstmewithsuchforcethatitblew
mesideways,andInearlystumbledandfell.Itseemedtoshakethedreamviolentlyoutofme.Atleastitgaveme
anotherpointofviewsomehow.Theguresstillremained,stillascendedintoheavenfromtheheartofthenight,but
myreasonatlastbegantoassertitself.Itmustbeasubjectiveexperience,Iargued—nonethelessrealforthat,but
stillsubjective.Themoonlightandthebranchescombinedtoworkoutthesepicturesuponthemirrorofmyimagina-
tion,andforsomereasonIprojectedthemoutwardsandmadethemappearobjective.Iknewthismustbethecase,
ofcourse.Iwasthesubjectofavividandinterestinghallucination.Itookcourage,andbegantomoveforwardacross
theopenpatchesofsand.ByJove,though,wasitallhallucination?Wasitmerelysubjective?Didnotmyreasonar-
gueintheoldfutilewayfromthelittlestandardoftheknown?
Ionlyknowthatgreatcolumnofguresascendeddarklyintotheskyforwhatseemedaverylongperiodoftime,
andwithaverycompletemeasureofrealityasmostmenareaccustomedtogaugereality.Thensuddenlytheywere
gone!
And,oncetheyweregoneandtheimmediatewonderoftheirgreatpresencehadpassed,fearcamedownuponme
withacoldrush.TheesotericmeaningofthislonelyandhauntedregionsuddenlyamedupwithinmeandIbegan
totrembledreadfully.Itookaquicklookround—alookofhorrorthatcameneartopanic—calculatingvainlywaysof
escape;andthen,realizinghowhelplessIwastoachieveanythingreallyeffective,Icreptbacksilentlyintothetent
andlaydownagainuponmysandymattress,rstloweringthedoor-curtaintoshutoutthesightofthewillowsinthe
moonlight,andthenburyingmyheadasdeeplyaspossiblebeneaththeblanketstodeadenthesoundoftheterrifying
wind.
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III
AsthoughfurthertoconvincemethatIhadnotbeendreaming,IrememberthatitwasalongtimebeforeIfellagain
intoatroubledandrestlesssleep;andeventhenonlytheuppercrustofmeslept,andunderneaththerewassome-
thingthatneverquitelostconsciousness,butlayalertandonthewatch.
ButthissecondtimeIjumpedupwithagenuinestartofterror.Itwasneitherthewindnortheriverthatwokeme,but
theslowapproachofsomethingthatcausedthesleepingportionofmetogrowsmallerandsmallertillatlastitvan-
ishedaltogether,andIfoundmyselfsittingboltupright—listening.
Outsidetherewasasoundofmultitudinouslittlepatterings.Theyhadbeencoming,Iwasaware,foralongtime,and
inmysleeptheyhadrstbecomeaudible.IsattherenervouslywideawakeasthoughIhadnotsleptatall.Itseemed
tomethatmybreathingcamewithdifculty,andthattherewasagreatweightuponthesurfaceofmybody.Inspite
ofthehotnight,Ifeltclammywithcoldandshivered.Somethingsurelywaspressingsteadilyagainstthesidesof
thetentandweighingdownuponitfromabove.Wasitthebodyofthewind?Wasthisthepatteringrain,thedripping
oftheleaves?Thesprayblownfromtheriverbythewindandgatheringinbigdrops?Ithoughtquicklyofadozen
things.
Thensuddenlytheexplanationleapedintomymind:aboughfromthepoplar,theonlylargetreeontheisland,had
fallenwiththewind.Stillhalfcaughtbytheotherbranches,itwouldfallwiththenextgustandcrushus,andmean-
whileitsleavesbrushedandtappeduponthetightcanvassurfaceofthetent.Iraisedthelooseapandrushedout,
callingtotheSwedetofollow.
ButwhenIgotoutandstooduprightIsawthatthetentwasfree.Therewasnohangingbough;therewasnorainor
spray;nothingapproached.
Acold,graylightltereddownthroughthebushesandlayonthefaintlygleamingsand.Starsstillcrowdedthesky
directlyoverhead,andthewindhowledmagnicently,buttherenolongergaveoutanyglow,andIsawtheeastred-
deninginstreaksthroughthetrees.SeveralhoursmusthavepassedsinceIstoodtherebefore,watchingtheascend-
inggures,andthememoryofitnowcamebacktomehorribly,likeanevildream.Oh,howtireditmademefeel,that
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ceaselessragingwind!Yet,thoughthedeeplassitudeofasleeplessnightwasonme,mynervesweretinglingwith
theactivityofanequallytirelessapprehension,andallideaofreposewasoutofthequestion.TheriverIsawhad
risenfurther.Itsthunderlledtheair,andanespraymadeitselffeltthroughmythinsleepingshirt.
YetnowheredidIdiscovertheslightestevidencesofanythingtocausealarm.Thisdeep,prolongeddisturbancein
myheartremainedwhollyunaccountedfor.
MycompanionhadnotstirredwhenIcalledhim,andtherewasnoneedtowakenhimnow.Ilookedaboutmecare-
fully,notingeverything:theturned-overcanoe;theyellowpaddles—twoofthem,I’mcertain;theprovisionsackandthe
extralanternhangingtogetherfromthetree;and,crowdingeverywhereaboutme,envelopingall,thewillows,those
endless,shakingwillows.Abirduttereditsmorningcry,andastringofduckpassedwithwhirringightoverheadin
thetwilight.Thesandwhirled,dryandstinging,aboutmybarefeetinthewind.
Iwalkedroundthetentandthenwentoutalittlewayintothebush,sothatIcouldseeacrosstherivertothefarther
landscape,andthesameprofoundyetindenableemotionofdistressseizeduponmeagainasIsawtheintermi-
nableseaofbushesstretchingtothehorizon,lookingghostlyandunrealinthewanlightofdawn.Iwalkedsoftlyhere
andthere,stillpuzzlingoverthatoddsoundofinnitepattering,andofthatpressureuponthetentthathadwakened
me.Itmusthavebeenthewind,Ireected—thewindbeatingupontheloose,hotsand,drivingthedryparticlessmart-
lyagainstthetautcanvas—thewinddroppingheavilyuponourfragileroof.
Yetallthetimemynervousnessandmalaiseincreasedappreciably.
Icrossedovertothefarthershoreandnotedhowthecoastlinehadalteredinthenight,andwhatmassesofsandthe
riverhadtornaway.Idippedmyhandsandfeetintothecoolcurrent,andbathedmyforehead.Alreadytherewasaglowofsunriseintheskyandtheexquisitefreshnessofcomingday.OnmywaybackIpassedpurposelybeneath
theverybusheswhereIhadseenthecolumnofguresrisingintotheair,andmidwayamongtheclumpsIsuddenly
foundmyselfovertakenbyasenseofvastterror.Fromtheshadowsalargegurewentswiftlyby.Someonepassed
me,assureasevermandid....
Itwasagreatstaggeringblowfromthewindthathelpedmeforwardagain,andonceoutinthemoreopenspace,
thesenseofterrordiminishedstrangely.Thewindswereaboutandwalking,Iremembersayingtomyself;forthe
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windsoftenmovelikegreatpresencesunderthetrees.Andaltogetherthefearthathoveredaboutmewassuchan
unknownandimmensekindoffear,sounlikeanythingIhadeverfeltbefore,thatitwokeasenseofaweandwonder
inmethatdidmuchtocounteractitsworsteffects;andwhenIreachedahighpointinthemiddleoftheislandfrom
whichIcouldseethewidestretchofriver,crimsoninthesunrise,thewholemagicalbeautyofitallwassooverpow-
eringthatasortofwildyearningwokeinmeandalmostbroughtacryupintothethroat.
Butthiscryfoundnoexpression,forasmyeyeswanderedfromtheplainbeyondtotheislandroundmeandnotedourlittletenthalfhiddenamongthewillows,adreadfuldiscoveryleapedoutatme,comparedtowhichmyterrorof
thewalkingwindsseemedasnothingatall.
Forachange,Ithought,hadsomehowcomeaboutinthearrangementofthelandscape.Itwasnotthatmypoint
ofvantagegavemeadifferentview,butthatanalterationhadapparentlybeeneffectedintherelationofthetentto
thewillows,andofthewillowstothetent.Surelythebushesnowcrowdedmuchcloser—unnecessarily,unpleasantly
close.Theyhadmovednearer.
Creepingwithsilentfeetovertheshiftingsands,drawingimperceptiblynearerbysoft,unhurriedmovements,thewil-
lowshadcomecloserduringthenight.Buthadthewindmovedthem,orhadtheymovedofthemselves?Irecalled
thesoundofinnitesmallpatteringsandthepressureuponthetentanduponmyownheartthatcausedmetowake
interror.Iswayedforamomentinthewindlikeatree,ndingithardtokeepmyuprightpositiononthesandyhillock.
Therewasasuggestionhereofpersonalagency,ofdeliberateintention,ofaggressivehostility,anditterriedmeinto
asortofrigidity.
Thenthereactionfollowedquickly.Theideawassobizarre,soabsurd,thatIfeltinclinedtolaugh.Butthelaughter
camenomorereadilythanthecry,fortheknowledgethatmymindwassoreceptivetosuchdangerousimaginingsbroughttheadditionalterrorthatitwasthroughourmindsandnotthroughourphysicalbodiesthattheattackwould
come,andwascoming.
Thewindbuffetedmeabout,and,veryquicklyitseemed,thesuncameupoverthehorizon,foritwasafterfour
o’clock,andImusthavestoodonthatlittlepinnacleofsandlongerthanIknew,afraidtocomedownatclosequarters
withthewillows.Ireturnedquietly,creepily,tothetent,rsttakinganotherexhaustivelookroundand—yes,Iconfess
it—makingafewmeasurements.Ipacedoutonthewarmsandthedistancesbetweenthewillowsandthetent,mak-
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inganoteoftheshortestdistanceparticularly.
Icrawledstealthilyintomyblankets.Mycompanion,toallappearances,stillsleptsoundly,andIwasgladthatthis
wasso.Providedmyexperienceswerenotcorroborated,Icouldndstrengthsomehowtodenythem,perhaps.With
thedaylightIcouldpersuademyselfthatitwasallasubjectivehallucination,afantasyofthenight,aprojectionofthe
excitedimagination.
Nothingfurthercametodisturbme,andIfellasleepalmostatonce,utterlyexhausted,yetstillindreadofhearing
againthatweirdsoundofmultitudinouspattering,oroffeelingthepressureuponmyheartthathadmadeit
difculttobreathe.
IV
Thesunwashighintheheavenswhenmycompanionwokemefromaheavysleepandannouncedthattheporridge
wascookedandtherewasjusttimetobathe.Thegratefulsmelloffrizzlingbaconenteredthetentdoor.
“Riverstillrising,”hesaid,“andseveralislandsoutinmidstreamhavedisappearedaltogether.Ourownisland’smuch
smaller.”
“Anywoodleft?”Iaskedsleepily.
“Thewoodandtheislandwillnishto-morrowinadeadheat,”helaughed,“butthere’senoughtolastustillthen.”
Iplungedinfromthepointoftheisland,whichhadindeedalteredalotinsizeandshapeduringthenight,andwas
sweptdowninamomenttothelandingplaceoppositethetent.Thewaterwasicy,andthebanksewbylikethe
countryfromanexpresstrain.Bathingundersuchconditionswasanexhilaratingoperation,andtheterrorofthenight
seemedcleansedoutofmebyaprocessofevaporationinthebrain.Thesunwasblazinghot;notacloudshowed
itselfanywhere;thewind,however,hadnotabatedonelittlejot.
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QuitesuddenlythentheimpliedmeaningoftheSwede’swordsashedacrossme,showingthathenolongerwished
toleaveposthaste,andhadchangedhismind.“Enoughtolasttillto-morrow”—heassumedweshouldstayontheis-
landanothernight.Itstruckmeasodd.Thenightbeforehewassopositivetheotherway.Howhadthechangecome
about?
Greatcrumblingsofthebanksoccurredatbreakfast,withheavysplashingsandcloudsofspraywhichthewind
broughtintoourfrying-pan,andmyfellow-travelertalkedincessantlyaboutthedifcultytheVienna-Pesthsteamersmusthavetondthechannelinood.Butthestateofhismindinterestedandimpressedmefarmorethanthestate
oftheriverorthedifcultiesofthesteamers.Hehadchangedsomehowsincetheeveningbefore.Hismannerwas
different—atrieexcited,atrieshy,withasortofsuspicionabouthisvoiceandgestures.Ihardlyknowhowtode-
scribeitnowincoldblood,butatthetimeIrememberbeingquitecertainofonething,viz.,thathehadbecomefright-
ened!
Heateverylittlebreakfast,andforonceomittedtosmokehispipe.Hehadthemapspreadopenbesidehim,and
keptstudyingitsmarkings.
“We’dbettergetoffsharpinanhour,”Isaidpresently,feelingforanopeningthatmustbringhimindirectlytoapartial
confessionatanyrate.Andhisanswerpuzzledmeuncomfortably:“Rather!Ifthey’llletus.”
“Who’llletus?Theelements?”Iaskedquickly,withaffectedindifference.
“Thepowersofthisawfulplace,whoevertheyare,”hereplied,keepinghiseyesonthemap.“Thegodsarehere,if
theyareanywhereatallintheworld.”
“Theelementsarealwaysthetrueimmortals,”Ireplied,laughingasnaturallyasIcouldmanage,yetknowingquite
wellthatmyfacereectedmytruefeelingswhenhelookedupgravelyatmeandspokeacrossthesmoke:
“Weshallbefortunateifwegetawaywithoutfurtherdisaster.”
ThiswasexactlywhatIhaddreaded,andIscrewedmyselfuptothepointofthedirectquestion.Itwaslikeagreeing
toallowthedentisttoextractthetooth;ithadtocomeanyhowinthelongrun,andtherestwasallpretense.
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“Furtherdisaster!Why,what’shappened?”
“Foronething—thesteeringpaddle’sgone,”hesaidquietly.
“Thesteeringpaddlegone!”Irepeated,greatlyexcited,forthiswasourrudder,andtheDanubeinoodwithoutarud-
derwassuicide.“Butwhat——”
“Andthere’satearinthebottomofthecanoe,”headded,withagenuinelittletremorinhisvoice.
Icontinuedstaringathim,ableonlytorepeatthewordsinhisfacesomewhatfoolishly.There,intheheatofthesun,
andonthisburningsand,Iwasawareofafreezingatmospheredescendingroundus.Igotuptofollowhim,forhe
merelynoddedhisheadgravelyandledthewaytowardsthetentafewyardsontheothersideofthereplace.The
canoestilllaythereasIhadlastseenherinthenight,ribsuppermost,thepaddles,orrather,thepaddle,onthesand
besideher.
“There’sonlyone,”hesaid,stoopingtopickitup.“Andhere’stherentinthebase-board.”
ItwasonthetipofmytonguetotellhimthatIhadclearlynoticedtwopaddlesafewhoursbefore,butasecondim-
pulsemademethinkbetterofit,andIsaidnothing.Iapproachedtosee.
Therewasalong,nelymadetearinthebottomofthecanoewherealittleslitherofwoodhadbeenneatlytaken
cleanout;itlookedasifthetoothofasharprockorsnaghadeatendownherlength,andinvestigationshowedthat
theholewentthrough.Hadwelaunchedoutinherwithoutobservingitwemustinevitablyhavefoundered.Atrstthewaterwouldhavemadethewoodswellsoastoclosethehole,butonceoutinmidstreamthewatermusthave
pouredin,andthecanoe,nevermorethantwoinchesabovethesurface,wouldhavelledandsunkveryrapidly.
“There,yousee,anattempttoprepareavictimforthesacrice,”Iheardhimsaying,moretohimselfthantome,“two
victimsrather,”headdedashebentoverandranhisngersalongtheslit.
Ibegantowhistle—athingIalwaysdounconsciouslywhenutterlynonplused—andpurposelypaidnoattentiontohis
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words.Iwasdeterminedtoconsiderthemfoolish.
“Itwasn’ttherelastnight,”hesaidpresently,straighteningupfromhisexaminationandlookinganywherebutatme.
“Wemusthavescratchedherinlanding,ofcourse,”Istoppedwhistlingtosay,“Thestonesareverysharp——”
Istoppedabruptly,foratthatmomentheturnedroundandmetmyeyesquarely.Iknewjustaswellashedidhowimpossiblemyexplanationwas.Therewerenostones,tobeginwith.
“Andthenthere’sthistoexplaintoo,”headdedquietly,handingmethepaddleandpointingtotheblade.
AnewandcuriousemotionspreadfreezinglyovermeasItookandexaminedit.Thebladewasscrapeddownall
over,beautifullyscraped,asthoughsomeonehadsand-papereditwithcare,makingitsothinthattherstvigorous
strokemusthavesnappeditoffattheelbow.
“Oneofuswalkedinhissleepanddidthisthing,”Isaidfeebly,“or—orithasbeenledbytheconstantstreamofsand
particlesblownagainstitbythewind,perhaps.”
“Ah,”saidtheSwede,turningaway,laughingalittle,“youcanexplaineverything!”
“Thesamewindthatcaughtthesteeringpaddleandungitsonearthebankthatitfellinwiththenextlumpthat
crumbled,”Icalledoutafterhim,absolutelydeterminedtondanexplanationforeverythingheshowedme.
“Isee,”heshoutedback,turninghisheadtolookatmebeforedisappearingamongthewillowbushes.
Oncealonewiththeseperplexingevidencesofpersonalagency,Ithinkmyrstthoughttooktheformof“Oneofus
musthavedonethisthing,anditcertainlywasnotI.”Butmysecondthoughtdecidedhowimpossibleitwastosup-
pose,underallthecircumstances,thateitherofushaddoneit.Thatmycompanion,thetrustedfriendofadozen
similarexpeditions,couldhaveknowinglyhadahandinit,wasasuggestionnottobeentertainedforamoment.
Equallyabsurdseemedtheexplanationthatthisimperturbableanddenselypracticalnaturehadsuddenlybecome
insaneandwasbusiedwithinsanepurposes.
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Yetthefactremainedthatwhatdisturbedmemost,andkeptmyfearactivelyaliveeveninthisblazeofsunshineand
wildbeauty,wastheclearcertaintythatsomecuriousalterationhadcomeaboutinhismind—thathewasnervous,
timid,suspicious,awareofgoingsonhedidnotspeakabout,watchingaseriesofsecretandhithertounmentionable
events—waiting,inaword,foraclimaxthatheexpected,and,Ithought,expectedverysoon.Thisgrewupinmymind
intuitively—Ihardlyknewhow.
Imadeahurriedexaminationofthetentanditssurroundings,butthemeasurementsofthenightremainedthesame.
Thereweredeephollowsformedinthesand,Inownoticedforthersttime,basin-shapedandofvariousdepths
andsizes,varyingfromthatofateacuptoalargebowl.Thewind,nodoubt,wasresponsiblefortheseminiaturecra-
ters,justasitwasforliftingthepaddleandtossingittowardsthewater.Therentinthecanoewastheonlythingthat
seemedquiteinexplicable;and,afterall,itwasconceivablethatasharppointhadcaughtitwhenwelanded.The
examinationImadeoftheshoredidnotassistthistheory,butallthesameIclungtoitwiththatdiminishingportion
ofmyintelligencewhichIcalledmy“reason.”Anexplanationofsomekindwasanabsolutenecessity,justassome
workingexplanationoftheuniverseisnecessary—howeverabsurd—tothehappinessofeveryindividualwhoseeksto
dohisdutyintheworldandfacetheproblemsoflife.Thesimileseemedtomeatthetimeanexactparallel.
Iatoncesetthepitchmelting,andpresentlytheSwedejoinedmeatthework,thoughunderthebestconditionsinthe
worldthecanoecouldnotbesafefortravelingtillthefollowingday.Idrewhisattentioncasuallytothehollowsinthe
sand.
“Yes,”hesaid,“Iknow.They’reallovertheisland.Butyoucanexplainthem,nodoubt!”
“Wind,ofcourse,”Iansweredwithouthesitation.“Haveyouneverwatchedthoselittlewhirlwindsinthestreetthattwistandtwirleverythingintoacircle?Thissand’slooseenoughtoyield,that’sall.”
Hemadenoreply,andweworkedoninsilenceforabit.Iwatchedhimsurreptitiouslyallthetime,andIhadanidea
hewaswatchingme.Heseemed,too,tobealwayslisteningattentivelytosomethingIcouldnothear,orperhapsfor
somethingthatheexpectedtohear,forhekeptturningaboutandstaringintothebushes,andupintothesky,andout
acrossthewaterwhereitwasvisiblethroughtheopeningsamongthewillows.Sometimesheevenputhishandto
hisearandhelditthereforseveralminutes.Hesaidnothingtome,however,aboutit,andIaskednoquestions.And
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meanwhile,ashemendedthattorncanoewiththeskillandaddressofaredIndian,Iwasgladtonoticehisabsorp-
tioninthework,fortherewasavaguedreadinmyheartthathewouldspeakofthechangedaspectofthewillows.
And,ifhehadnoticedthat,myimaginationcouldnolongerbeheldasufcientexplanationofit.
Atlength,afteralongpause,hebegantotalk.
“Queerthing,”headdedinahurriedsortofvoice,asthoughhewantedtosaysomethingandgetitover.“Queerthing,Imean,aboutthatotterlastnight.”
Ihadexpectedsomethingsototallydifferentthathecaughtmewithsurprise,andIlookedupsharply.
“Showshowlonelythisplaceis.Ottersareawfullyshythings—”
“Idon’tmeanthat,ofcourse,”heinterrupted.“Imean—doyouthink—didyouthinkitreallywasanotter?”
“Whatelse,inthenameofHeaven,whatelse?”
“Youknow,Isawitbeforeyoudid,andatrstitseemed—somuchbiggerthananotter.”
“Thesunsetasyoulookedupstreammagniedit,orsomething,”Ireplied.
Helookedatmeabsentlyamoment,asthoughhismindwerebusywithotherthoughts.
“Ithadsuchextraordinaryyelloweyes,”hewentonhalftohimself.
“Thatwasthesuntoo,”Ilaughed,atrieboisterously.“Isupposeyou’llwondernextifthatfellowintheboat——”
Isuddenlydecidednottonishthesentence.Hewasintheactagainoflistening,turninghisheadtothewind,and
somethingintheexpressionofhisfacemademehalt.Thesubjectdropped,andwewentonwithourcaulking.Appar-
entlyhehadnotnoticedmyunnishedsentence.Fiveminuteslater,however,helookedatmeacrossthecanoe,the
smokingpitchinhishand,hisfaceexceedinglygrave.
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“Ididratherwonder,ifyouwanttoknow,”hesaidslowly,“whatthatthingintheboatwas.Irememberthinkingatthe
timeitwasnotaman.Thewholebusinessseemedtorisequitesuddenlyoutofthewater.”
Ilaughedagainboisterouslyinhisface,butthistimetherewasimpatienceandastrainofangertoo,inmyfeeling.
“Lookherenow,”Icried,“thisplaceisquitequeerenoughwithoutgoingoutofourwaytoimaginethings!Thatboatwasanordinaryboat,andthemaninitwasanordinaryman,andtheywerebothgoingdownstreamasfastasthey
couldlick.Andthatotterwasanotter,sodon’tlet’splaythefoolaboutit!”
Helookedsteadilyatmewiththesamegraveexpression.Hewasnotintheleastannoyed.Itookcouragefromhis
silence.
“Andforheaven’ssake,”Iwenton,“don’tkeeppretendingyouhearthings,becauseitonlygivesmethejumps,and
there’snothingtohearbuttheriverandthiscursedoldthunderingwind.”
“Youfool!”heansweredinalow,shockedvoice,“youutterfool.That’sjustthewayallvictimstalk.Asifyoudidn’t
understandjustaswellasIdo!”hesneeredwithscorninhisvoice,andasortofresignation.“Thebestthingyoucan
doistokeepquietandtrytoholdyourmindasrmaspossible.Thisfeebleattemptatself-deceptiononlymakesthe
truthharderwhenyou’reforcedtomeetit.”
Mylittleeffortwasover,andIfoundnothingmoretosay,forIknewquitewellhiswordsweretrue,andthatIwasthe
fool,nothe.Uptoacertainstageintheadventurehekeptaheadofmeeasily,andIthinkIfeltannoyedtobeoutof
it,tobethusprovedlesspsychic,lesssensitivethanhimselftotheseextraordinaryhappenings,andhalfignorantallthetimeofwhatwasgoingonundermyverynose.Heknewfromtheverybeginning,apparently.ButatthemomentI
whollymissedthepointofhiswordsaboutthenecessityoftherebeingavictim,andthatweourselvesweredestined
tosatisfythewant.Idroppedallpretensethenceforward,butthenceforwardlikewisemyfearincreasedsteadilytothe
climax.
“Butyou’requiterightaboutonething,”headded,beforethesubjectpassed,“andthatisthatwe’rewisernottotalk
aboutit,oreventothinkaboutit,becausewhatonethinksndsexpressioninwords,andwhatonesays,happens.”
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Thatafternoon,whilethecanoedriedandhardened,wespenttryingtosh,testingtheleak,collectingwood,and
watchingtheenormousoodofrisingwater.Massesofdriftwoodsweptnearourshoressometimes,andweshed
forthemwithlongwillowbranches.Theislandgrewperceptiblysmallerasthebanksweretornawaywithgreatgulps
andsplashes.Theweatherkeptbrilliantlynetillaboutfouro’clock,andthenforthersttimeforthreedaysthewind
showedsignsofabating.Cloudsbegantogatherinthesouthwest,spreadingthenceslowlyoverthesky.
Thislesseningofthewindcameasagreatrelief,fortheincessantroaring,banging,andthunderinghadirritatedour
nerves.Yetthesilencethatcameaboutveo’clockwithitssuddencessationwasinamannerquiteasoppressive.
Theboomingoftheriverhadeverythingitsownwaythen:itlledtheairwithdeepmurmurs,moremusicalthanthe
windnoises,butinnitelymoremonotonous.Thewindheldmanynotes,rising,falling,alwaysbeatingoutsomesort
ofgreatelementaltune;whereastheriver’ssonglaybetweenthreenotesatmost—dullpedalnotes,thatheldalugu-
briousqualityforeigntothewind,andsomehowseemedtome,inmythennervousstate,tosoundwonderfullywell
themusicofdoom.
Itwasextraordinary,too,howthewithdrawalsuddenlyofbrightsunlighttookeverythingoutofthelandscapethat
madeforcheerfulness;andsincethisparticularlandscapehadalreadymanagedtoconveythesuggestionofsome-
thingsinister,thechangeofcoursewasallthemoreunwelcomeandnoticeable.Forme,Iknow,thedarkeningout-
lookbecamedistinctlymorealarming,andIfoundmyselfmorethanoncecalculatinghowsoonaftersunsetthefull
moonwouldgetupintheeast,andwhetherthegatheringcloudswouldgreatlyinterferewithherlightingofthelittle
island.
Withthisgeneralhushofthewind—thoughitstillindulgedinoccasionalbriefgusts—theriverseemedtometogrow
blacker,thewillowstostandmoredenselytogether.Thelatter,too,keptupasortofindependentmovementoftheirown,rustlingamongthemselveswhennowindstirred,andshakingoddlyfromtherootsupwards.Whencommon
objectsinthiswaybecomechargedwiththesuggestionofhorror,theystimulatetheimaginationfarmorethanthings
ofunusualappearance;andthesebushes,crowdinghuddledaboutus,assumedformeinthedarknessabizarre
grotesquerieofappearancethatlenttothemsomehowtheaspectofpurposefulandlivingcreatures.Theirveryordi-
nariness,Ifelt,maskedwhatwasmalignantandhostiletous.Theforcesoftheregiondrewnearerwiththecomingof
night.Theywerefocusinguponourisland,andmoreparticularlyuponourselves.Forthus,somehow,inthetermsof
theimagination,didmyreallyindescribablesensationsinthisextraordinaryplacepresentthemselves.
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Ihadsleptagooddealintheearlyafternoon,andhadthusrecoveredsomewhatfromtheexhaustionofadisturbed
night,butthisonlyservedapparentlytorendermemoresusceptiblethanbeforetotheobsessingspellofthehaunt-
ing.Ifoughtagainstit,laughingatmyfeelingsasabsurdandchildish,withveryobviousphysiologicalexplanations,
yet,inspiteofeveryeffort,theygainedinstrengthuponmesothatIdreadedthenightasachildlostinaforestmust
dreadtheapproachofdarkness.
Thecanoewehadcarefullycoveredwithawaterproofsheetduringtheday,andtheoneremainingpaddlehadbeen
securelytiedbytheSwedetothebaseofatree,lestthewindshouldrobusofthattoo.Fromveo’clockonwardsI
busiedmyselfwiththestew-potandpreparationsfordinner,itbeingmyturntocookthatnight.Wehadpotatoes,on-
ions,bitsofbaconfattoaddavour,andageneralthickresiduefromformerstewsatthebottomofthepot;withblack
breadbrokenupintoittheresultwasmostexcellent,anditwasfollowedbyastewofplumswithsugarandabrew
ofstrongteawithdriedmilk.Agoodpileofwoodlaycloseathand,andtheabsenceofwindmademydutieseasy.
Mycompanionsatlazilywatchingme,dividinghisattentionsbetweencleaninghispipeandgivinguselessadvice—an
admittedprivilegeoftheoff-dutyman.Hehadbeenveryquietalltheafternoon,engagedinre-caulkingthecanoe,
strengtheningthetentropes,andshingfordriftwoodwhileIslept.Nomoretalkaboutundesirablethingshadpassed
betweenus,andIthinkhisonlyremarkshadtodowiththegradualdestructionoftheisland,whichhedeclaredwas
nowfullyathirdsmallerthanwhenwerstlanded.
ThepothadjustbeguntobubblewhenIheardhisvoicecallingtomefromthebank,wherehehadwanderedaway
withoutmynoticing.Iranup.
“Comeandlisten,”hesaid,“andseewhatyoumakeofit.”Heheldhishandcupwisetohisear,assooftenbefore.
“Nowdoyouhearanything?”heasked,watchingmecuriously.
Westoodthere,listeningattentivelytogether.AtrstIheardonlythedeepnoteofthewaterandthehissingsrising
fromitsturbulentsurface.Thewillows,foronce,weremotionlessandsilent.Thenasoundbegantoreachmyears
faintly,apeculiarsound—somethinglikethehummingofadistantgong.Itseemedtocomeacrosstousinthedark-
nessfromthewasteofswampsandwillowsopposite.Itwasrepeatedatregularintervals,butitwascertainlyneither
thesoundofabellnorthehootingofadistantsteamer.Icanlikenittonothingsomuchastothesoundofanim-
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mensegong,suspendedfarupinthesky,repeatingincessantlyitsmufedmetallicnote,softandmusical,asitwas
repeatedlystruck.MyheartquickenedasIlistened.
“I’vehearditallday,”saidmycompanion.“Whileyousleptthisafternoonitcameallroundtheisland.Ihuntedit
down,butcouldnevergetnearenoughtosee—tolocalizeitcorrectly.Sometimesitwasoverhead,andsometimesit
seemedunderthewater.Onceortwice,too,Icouldhaveswornitwasnotoutsideatall,butwithinmyself—youknow—
thewayasoundinthefourthdimensionissupposedtocome.”
Iwastoomuchpuzzledtopaymuchattentiontohiswords.Ilistenedcarefully,strivingtoassociateitwithanyknown
familiarsoundIcouldthinkof,butwithoutsuccess.Itchangedindirection,too,comingnearer,andthensinkingutter-
lyawayintoremotedistance.Icannotsaythatitwasominousinquality,becausetomeitseemeddistinctlymusical,
yetImustadmititsetgoingadistressingfeelingthatmademewishIhadneverheardit.
“Thewindblowinginthosesand-funnels,”Isaid,determinedtondanexplanation,“orthebushesrubbingtogether
afterthestormperhaps.”
“Itcomesoffthewholeswamp,”myfriendanswered.“Itcomesfromeverywhereatonce.”Heignoredmyexplana-
tions.“Itcomesfromthewillowbushessomehow——”
“Butnowthewindhasdropped,”Iobjected“Thewillowscanhardlymakeanoisebythemselves,canthey?”
Hisanswerfrightenedme,rstbecauseIhaddreadedit,andsecondly,becauseIknewintuitivelyitwastrue.
“Itisbecausethewindhasdroppedwenowhearit.Itwasdrownedbefore.Itisthecry,Ibelieveofthe——”
Idashedbacktomyre,warnedbyasoundofbubblingthatthestewwasindanger,butdeterminedatthesametime
toescapefromfurtherconversation.Iwasresolute,ifpossible,toavoidtheexchangingofviews.Idreaded,too,that
hewouldbeginagainaboutthegods,ortheelementalforces,orsomethingelsedisquieting,andIwantedtokeep
myselfwellinhandforwhatmighthappenlater.Therewasanothernighttobefacedbeforeweescapedfromthis
distressingplace,andtherewasnoknowingyetwhatitmightbringforth.
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“Comeandcutupbreadforthepot,”Icalledtohim,vigorouslystirringtheappetizingmixture.Thatstew-potheldsan-
ityforusboth,andthethoughtmademelaugh.
Hecameoverslowlyandtooktheprovisionsackfromthetree,fumblinginitsmysteriousdepths,andthenemptying
theentirecontentsupontheground-sheetathisfeet.
“Hurryup!”Icried;“it’sboiling.”
TheSwedeburstoutintoaroaroflaughterthatstartledme.Itwasforcedlaughter,notarticialexactly,butmirthless.
“There’snothinghere!”heshouted,holdinghissides.
“Bread,Imean.”
“It’sgone.Thereisnobread.They’vetakenit!”
Idroppedthelongspoonandranup.Everythingthesackhadcontainedlayupontheground-sheet,buttherewasno
loaf.
Thewholedeadweightofmygrowingfearfelluponmeandshookme.ThenIburstoutlaughingtoo.Itwastheonly
thingtodo:andthesoundofmyownlaughteralsomademeunderstandhis.Thestrainofpsychicalpressurecaused
it—thisexplosionofunnaturallaughterinbothofus;itwasaneffortofrepressedforcestoseekrelief;itwasatempo-
rarysafetyvalve.Andwithbothofusitceasedquitesuddenly.
“Howcriminallystupidofme!”Icried,stilldeterminedtobeconsistentandndanexplanation.“Icleanforgottobuy
aloafatPressburg.Thatchatteringwomanputeverythingoutofmyhead,andImusthaveleftitlyingonthecounter
or——”
“Theoatmeal,too,ismuchlessthanitwasthismorning,”theSwedeinterrupted.
Whyintheworldneedhedrawattentiontoit?Ithoughtangrily.
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“There’senoughforto-morrow,”Isaid,stirringvigorously,“andwecangetlotsmoreatKomornorGran.Intwenty-
fourhoursweshallbemilesfromhere.”
“Ihopeso—toGod,”hemuttered,puttingthethingsbackintothesack,“unlesswe’reclaimedrstasvictimsforthe
sacrice,”headdedwithafoolishlaugh.Hedraggedthesackintothetent,forsafety’ssake,Isuppose,andIheard
himmumblingontohimself,butsoindistinctlythatitseemedquitenaturalformetoignorehiswords.
Ourmealwasbeyondquestionagloomyone,andweateitalmostinsilence,avoidingoneanother’seyes,andkeep-
ingtherebright.Thenwewashedupandpreparedforthenight,and,oncesmoking,ourmindsunoccupiedwithany
deniteduties,theapprehensionIhadfeltalldaylongbecamemoreandmoreacute.Itwasnotthenactivefear,I
think,buttheveryvaguenessofitsorigindistressedmefarmorethanifIhadbeenabletoticketandfaceitsquarely.
ThecurioussoundIhavelikenedtothenoteofagongbecamenowalmostincessant,andlledthestillnessofthe
nightwithafaint,continuousringingratherthanaseriesofdistinctnotes.Atonetimeitwasbehindandatanother
timeinfrontofus.SometimesIfancieditcamefromthebushesonourleft,andthenagainfromtheclumpsonour
right.Moreoftenithovereddirectlyoverheadlikethewhirringofwings.Itwasreallyeverywhereatonce,behind,in
front,atoursidesandoverourheads,completelysurroundingus.Thesoundreallydeesdescription.Butnothing
withinmyknowledgeislikethatceaselessmufedhummingrisingoffthedesertedworldofswampsandwillows.
Wesatsmokingincomparativesilence,thestraingrowingeveryminutegreater.Theworstfeatureofthesituation
seemedtomethatwedidnotknowwhattoexpect,andcouldthereforemakenosortofpreparationbywayofde-
fense.Wecouldanticipatenothing.Myexplanationsmadeinthesunshine,moreover,nowcametohauntmewith
theirfoolishandwhollyunsatisfactorynature,anditwasmoreandmorecleartomethatsomekindofplaintalkwith
mycompanionwasinevitable,whetherIlikeditornot.Afterall,wehadtospendthenighttogether,andtosleepinthesametentsidebyside.IsawthatIcouldnotgetalongmuchlongerwithoutthesupportofhismind,andforthat,
ofcourse,plaintalkwasimperative.Aslongaspossible,however,Ipostponedthislittleclimax,andtriedtoignoreor
laughattheoccasionalsentencesheungintotheemptiness.
Someofthesesentences,moreover,wereconfoundedlydisquietingtome,comingastheydidtocorroboratemuch
thatIfeltmyself:corroboration,too—whichmadeitsomuchmoreconvincing—fromatotallydifferentpointofview.He
composedsuchcurioussentences,andhurledthematmeinsuchaninconsequentialsortofway,asthoughhismain
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lineofthoughtwassecrettohimself,andthesefragmentswerethebitshefounditimpossibletodigest.Hegotridof
thembyutteringthem.Speechrelievedhim.Itwaslikebeingsick.
“Therearethingsaboutus,I’msure,thatmakefordisorder,disintegration,destruction,ourdestruction,”hesaidonce,
whilethereblazedbetweenus.“We’vestrayedoutofasafelinesomewhere.”
Andanothertime,whenthegongsoundshadcomenearer,ringingmuchlouderthanbefore,anddirectlyoverourheads,hesaid,asthoughtalkingtohimself:
“Idon’tthinkaphonographwouldshowanyrecordofthat.Thesounddoesn’tcometomebytheearsatall.Thevi-
brationsreachmeinanothermanneraltogether,andseemtobewithinme,whichispreciselyhowafourthdimension
soundmightbesupposedtomakeitselfheard.”
Ipurposelymadenoreplytothis,butIsatupalittleclosertothereandpeeredaboutmeintothedarkness.The
cloudsweremassedallovertheskyandnotraceofmoonlightcamethrough.Verystill,too,everythingwas,sothat
theriverandthefrogshadthingsalltheirownway.
“Ithasthataboutit,”hewenton,“whichisutterlyoutofcommonexperience.Itisunknown.Onlyonethingdescribes
itreally:itisanon-humansound;Imeanasoundoutsidehumanity.”
Havingridhimselfofthisindigestiblemorsel,helayquietforatime;buthehadsoadmirablyexpressedmyownfeel-
ingthatitwasarelieftohavethethoughtout,andtohaveconneditbythelimitationofwordsfromdangerouswan-
deringtoandfrointhemind.
ThesolitudeofthatDanubecamping-place,canIeverforgetit?Thefeelingofbeingutterlyaloneonanemptyplanet!
Mythoughtsranincessantlyuponcitiesandthehauntsofmen.Iwouldhavegivenmysoul,asthesayingis,forthe
“feel”ofthoseBavarianvillageswehadpassedthroughbythescore;forthenormal,humancommonplaces,peas-
antsdrinkingbeer,tablesbeneaththetrees,hotsunshine,andaruinedcastleontherocksbehindthered-roofed
church.Eventhetouristswouldhavebeenwelcome.
YetwhatIfeltofdreadwasnoordinaryghostlyfear.Itwasinnitelygreater,stranger,andseemedtoarisefromsome
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dimancestralsenseofterrormoreprofoundlydisturbingthananythingIhadknownordreamedof.Wehad“strayed,”
astheSwedeputit,intosomeregionorsomesetofconditionswheretherisksweregreat,yetunintelligibletous;
wherethefrontiersofsomeunknownworldlaycloseaboutus.Itwasaspotheldbythedwellersinsomeouterspace,
asortofpeepholewhencetheycouldspyupontheearth,themselvesunseen,apointwheretheveilbetweenhad
wornalittlethin.Asthenalresultoftoolongasojournhere,weshouldbecarriedovertheborderanddeprivedof
whatwecalled“ourlives,”yetbymental,notphysical,processes.Inthatsense,ashesaid,weshouldbethevictims
ofouradventure—asacrice.
Ittookusindifferentfashion,eachaccordingtothemeasureofhissensitivenessandpowersofresistance.Itrans-
lateditvaguelyintoapersonicationofthemightilydisturbedelements,investingthemwiththehorrorofadeliberate
andmalecpurpose,resentfulofouraudaciousintrusionintotheirbreeding-place;whereasmyfriendthrewitintothe
unoriginalformatrstofatrespassonsomeancientshrine,someplacewheretheoldgodsstillheldsway,wherethe
emotionalforcesofformerworshipersstillclung,andtheancestralportionofhimyieldedtotheoldpaganspell.
Atanyrate,herewasaplaceunpollutedbymen,keptcleanbythewindsfromcoarseninghumaninuences,aplace
wherespiritualagencieswerewithinreachandaggressive.Never,beforeorsince,haveIbeensoattackedbyinde-
scribablesuggestionsofa“beyondregion,”ofanotherschemeoflife,anotherevolutionnotparalleltothehuman.
Andintheendourmindswouldsuccumbundertheweightoftheawfulspell,andweshouldbedrawnacrossthe
frontierintotheirworld.
Smallthingstestiedtothisamazinginuenceoftheplace,andnowinthesilenceroundtheretheyallowedthem-
selvestobenotedbythemind.Theveryatmospherehadproveditselfamagnifyingmediumtodistorteveryindica-
tion:theotterrollinginthecurrent,thehurryingboatmanmakingsigns,theshiftingwillows,oneandallhadbeen
robbedofitsnaturalcharacter,andrevealedinsomethingofitsotheraspect—asitexistedacrosstheborderinthatotherregion.AndthischangedaspectIfeltwasnewnotmerelytome,buttotherace.Thewholeexperiencewhose
vergewetouchedwasunknowntohumanityatall.Itwasaneworderofexperience,andinthetruesenseoftheword
unearthly.
“It’sthedeliberate,calculatingpurposethat;reducesone’scouragetozero,”theSwedesaidsuddenly,asifhehad
beenactuallyfollowingmythoughts.“Otherwiseimaginationmightcountformuch.Butthepaddle,thecanoe,the
lesseningfood——”
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“Haven’tIexplainedallthatonce?”Iinterruptedviciously.
“Youhave,”heanswereddryly;“youhaveindeed.”
Hemadeotherremarkstoo,asusual,aboutwhathecalledthe“plaindeterminationtoprovideavictim”;but,having
nowarrangedmythoughtsbetter,Irecognizedthatthiswassimplythecryofhisfrightenedsoulagainsttheknowl-edgethathewasbeingattackedinavitalpart,andthathewouldbesomehowtakenordestroyed.Thesituation
calledforacourageandcalmnessofreasoningthatneitherofuscouldcompass,andIhaveneverbeforebeenso
clearlyconsciousoftwopersonsinme—theonethatexplainedeverything,andtheotherthatlaughedatsuchfoolish
explanations,yetwashorriblyafraid.
Meanwhile,inthepitchynighttheredieddownandthewoodpilegrewsmall.Neitherofusmovedtoreplenishthe
stock,andthedarknessconsequentlycameupveryclosetoourfaces.Afewfeetbeyondthecircleofrelightitwas
inkyblack.Occasionallyastraypuffofwindsetthebillowsshiveringaboutus,butapartfromthisnotverywelcome
soundadeepanddepressingsilencereigned,brokenonlybythegurglingoftheriverandthehummingintheairoverhead.
Webothmissed,Ithink,theshoutingcompanyofthewinds.
Atlength,atamomentwhenastraypuffprolongeditselfasthoughthewindwereabouttoriseagain,Ireachedthe
pointformeofsaturation,thepointwhereitwasabsolutelynecessarytondreliefinplainspeech,orelsetobetray
myselfbysomehystericalextravagancethatmusthavebeenfarworseinitseffectuponbothofus.Ikickedthere
intoablaze,andturnedtomycompanionabruptly.Helookedupwithastart.
“Ican’tdisguiseitanylonger,”Isaid;“Idon’tlikethisplace,andthedarkness,andthenoises,andtheawfulfeelingsI
get.There’ssomethingherethatbeatsmeutterly.I’minabluefunk,andthat’stheplaintruth.Iftheothershorewas—
different,IswearI’dbeinclinedtoswimforit!”
TheSwede’sfaceturnedverywhitebeneaththedeeptanofsunandwind.Hestaredstraightatmeandanswered
quietly,buthisvoicebetrayedhishugeexcitementbyitsunnaturalcalmness.Forthemoment,atanyrate,hewasthe
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strongmanofthetwo.Hewasmorephlegmatic,foronething.
“It’snotaphysicalconditionwecanescapefrombyrunningaway,”hereplied,inthetoneofadoctordiagnosing
somegravedisease;“wemustsittightandwait.Thereareforcescloseherethatcouldkillaherdofelephantsina
secondaseasilyasyouorIcouldsquashay.Ouronlychanceistokeepperfectlystill.Ourinsignicanceperhaps
maysaveus.”
Iputadozenquestionsintomyexpressionofface,butfoundnowords.Itwaspreciselylikelisteningtoanaccurate
descriptionofadiseasewhosesymptomshadpuzzledme.
“Imeanthatsofar,althoughawareofourdisturbingpresence,theyhavenotfoundus—not‘located’us,astheAmeri-
canssay,”hewenton.“They’reblunderingaboutlikemenhuntingforaleakofgas.Thepaddleandcanoeandprovi-
sionsprovethat.Ithinktheyfeelus,butcannotactuallyseeus.Wemustkeepourmindsquiet—it’sourmindsthey
feel.Wemustcontrolourthoughts,orit’sallupwithus.”
“Deathyoumean?”Istammered,icywiththehorrorofhissuggestion.
“Worse—byfar,”hesaid.“Death,accordingtoone’sbelief,meanseitherannihilationorreleasefromthelimitations
ofthesenses,butitinvolvesnochangeofcharacter.Youdon’tsuddenlyalterjustbecausethebody’sgone.Butthis
meansaradicalalteration,acompletechange,ahorriblelossofoneselfbysubstitution—farworsethandeath,andnot
evenannihilation.Wehappentohavecampedinaspotwheretheirregiontouchesourswheretheveilbetweenhas
wornthin”—horrors!hewasusingmyveryownphrase,myactualwords—”sothattheyareawareofourbeingintheir
neighborhood.”
“Butwhoareaware?”Iasked.
Iforgottheshakingofthewillowsinthewindlesscalm,thehummingoverhead,everythingexceptthatIwaswaiting
forananswerthatIdreadedmorethanIcanpossiblyexplain.
Heloweredhisvoiceatoncetoreply,leaningforwardalittleoverthere,anindenablechangeinhisfacethatmade
meavoidhiseyesandlookdownupontheground.
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“Allmylife,”hesaid,“Ihavebeenstrangely,vividlyconsciousofanotherregion—notfarremovedfromourownworld
inonesense,yetwhollydifferentinkind—wheregreatthingsgoonunceasingly,whereimmenseandterribleperson-
alitieshurryby,intentonvastpurposescomparedtowhichearthlyaffairs,theriseandfallofnations,thedestiniesof
empires,thefateofarmiesandcontinents,areallasdustinthebalance;vastpurposes,Imean,thatdealdirectlywith
thesoul,andnotindirectlywithmereexpressionsofthesoul—”
“Isuggestjustnow—”Ibegan,seekingtostophim,feelingasthoughIwasfacetofacewithamadman.Buthein-
stantlyoverboremewithhistorrentthathadtocome.
“Youthink,”hesaid,“itisthespiritsoftheelements,andIthoughtperhapsitwastheoldgods.ButItellyounowitis—
neither.Thesewouldbecomprehensibleentities,fortheyhaverelationswithmen,dependinguponthemforworship
orsacrice,whereasthesebeingswhoarenowaboutushaveabsolutelynothingtodowithmankind,anditismere
chancethattheirspacehappensjustatthisspottotouchourown.”
Themereconception,whichhiswordssomehowmadesoconvincing,asIlistenedtothemthereinthedarkstillnessofthatlonelyisland,setmeshakingalittleallover.Ifounditimpossibletocontrolmymovements.
“Andwhatdoyoupropose?”Ibeganagain.
“Asacrice,avictim,mightsaveusbydistractingthemuntilwecouldgetaway,”hewenton,“justasthewolvesstop
todevourthedogsandgivethesleighanotherstart.But—Iseenochanceofanyothervictimnow.”
Istaredblanklyathim.Thegleaminhiseyeswasdreadful.Presentlyhecontinued.
“It’sthewillows,ofcourse.Thewillowsmasktheothers,buttheothersarefeelingaboutforus.Ifweletourmindsbe-
trayourfear,we’relost,lostutterly.”Helookedatmewithanexpressionsocalm,sodetermined,sosincere,thatIno
longerhadanydoubtsastohissanity.Hewasassaneasanymaneverwas.“Ifwecanholdoutthroughthenight,”
headded,“wemaygetoffinthedaylightunnoticed,orrather,undiscovered.”
“Butyoureallythinkasacricewould——”
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Thatgong-likehummingcamedownverycloseoverourheadsasIspoke,butitwasmyfriend’sscaredfacethatre-
allystoppedmymouth.
“Hush!”hewhispered,holdinguphishand.“Donotmentionthemmorethanyoucanhelp.Donotrefertothemby
name.Tonameistoreveal:itistheinevitableclue,andouronlyhopeliesinignoringthem,inorderthattheymay
ignoreus.”
“Eveninthought?”Hewasextraordinarilyagitated.
“Especiallyinthought.Ourthoughtsmakespiralsintheirworld.Wemustkeepthemoutofourmindsatallcostsif
possible.”
Irakedtheretogethertopreventthedarknesshavingeverythingitsownway.IneverlongedforthesunasIlonged
foritthenintheawfulblacknessofthatsummernight.
“Wereyouawakealllastnight?”hewentonsuddenly.
“Isleptbadlyalittleafterdawn,”Irepliedevasively,tryingtofollowhisinstructions,whichIknewinstinctivelywere
true,“butthewind,ofcourse—”
“Iknow.Butthewindwon’taccountforallthenoises.”
“Thenyouheardittoo?”
“ThemultiplyingcountlesslittlefootstepsIheard,”hesaid,adding,afteramoment’shesitation,“andthatother
sound—”
“Youmeanabovethetent,andthepressingdownuponusofsomethingtremendous,gigantic?”
Henoddedsignicantly.
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“Itwaslikethebeginningofasortofinnersuffocation?”Isaid.
“Partly,yes.Itseemedtomethattheweightoftheatmospherehadbeenaltered—hadincreasedenormously,sothat
weshouldbecrushed.”
“Andthat,”Iwenton,determinedtohaveitallout,pointingupwardswherethegong-likenotehummedceaselessly,risingandfallinglikewind.“Whatdoyoumakeofthat?”
“It’stheirsound,”hewhisperedgravely.“It’sthesoundoftheirworld,thehummingintheirregion.Thedivisionhereis
sothinthatitleaksthroughsomehow.But,ifyoulistencarefully,you’llndit’snotabovesomuchasaroundus.It’s
inthewillows.It’sthewillowsthemselveshumming,becauseherethewillowshavebeenmadesymbolsoftheforces
thatareagainstus.”
Icouldnotfollowexactlywhathemeantbythis,yetthethoughtandideainmymindwerebeyondquestionthe
thoughtandideainhis.Irealizedwhatherealized,onlywithlesspowerofanalysisthanhis.Itwasonthetipofmytonguetotellhimatlastaboutmyhallucinationoftheascendingguresandthemovingbushes,whenhesuddenly
thrusthisfaceagaincloseintomineacrosstherelightandbegantospeakinaveryearnestwhisper.Heamazed
mebyhiscalmnessandpluck,hisapparentcontrolofthesituation.ThismanIhadforyearsdeemedunimaginative,
stolid!
“Nowlisten,”hesaid.“Theonlythingforustodoistogoonasthoughnothinghadhappened,followourusualhabits,
gotobed,andsoforth;pretendwefeelnothingandnoticenothing.Itisaquestionwhollyofthemind,andthelesswe
thinkaboutthemthebetterourchanceofescape.Aboveall,don’tthink,forwhatyouthinkhappens!”
“Allright,”Imanagedtoreply,simplybreathlesswithhiswordsandthestrangenessofitall;“allright,I’lltry,buttell
meonethingmorerst.Tellmewhatyoumakeofthosehollowsinthegroundallaboutus,thosesand-funnels?”
“No!”hecried,forgettingtowhisperinhisexcitement.“Idarenot,simplydarenot,putthethoughtintowords.Ifyou
havenotguessedIamglad.Don’ttryto.Theyhaveputitintomymind;tryyourhardesttopreventtheirputtingitinto
yours.”
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Hesankhisvoiceagaintoawhisperbeforehenished,andIdidnotpresshimtoexplain.Therewasalreadyjust
aboutasmuchhorrorinmeasIcouldhold.Theconversationcametoanend,andwesmokedourpipesbusilyin
silence.
Thensomethinghappened,somethingunimportantapparently,asthewayiswhenthenervesareinaverygreat
stateoftension,andthissmallthingforabriefspacegavemeanentirelydifferentpointofview.Ichancedtolookdownatmysand-shoe—thesortweusedforthecanoe—andsomethingtodowiththeholeatthetoesuddenlyrecalled
tometheLondonshopwhereIhadboughtthem,thedifcultythemanhadinttingme,andotherdetailsoftheunin-
terestingbutpracticaloperation.Atonce,initstrain,followedawholesomeviewofthemodernskepticalworldIwas
accustomedtomoveinathome.Ithoughtofroastbeefandale,motor-cars,policemen,brassbands,andadozen
otherthingsthatproclaimedthesoulofordinarinessorutility.Theeffectwasimmediateandastonishingeventomy-
self.Psychologically,Isuppose,itwassimplyasuddenandviolentreactionafterthestrainoflivinginanatmosphere
ofthingsthattothenormalconsciousnessmustseemimpossibleandincredible.But,whateverthecause,itmo-
mentarilyliftedthespellfrommyheart,andleftmefortheshortspaceofaminutefeelingfreeandutterlyunafraid.I
lookedupatmyfriendopposite.
“Youdamnedoldpagan!”Icried,laughingaloudinhisface.“Youimaginativeidiot!Yousuperstitiousidolator!You——”
Istoppedinthemiddle,seizedanewbytheoldhorror.Itriedtosmotherthesoundofmyvoiceassomethingsacrile-
gious.TheSwede,ofcourse,heardittoo—thatstrangecryoverheadinthedarkness—andthatsuddendropintheair
asthoughsomethinghadcomenearer.
Hehadturnedashenwhiteunderthetan.Hestoodboltuprightinfrontofthere,stiffasarod,staringatme.
“Afterthat,”hesaidinasortofhelpless,franticway,“wemustgo!Wecan’tstaynow;wemuststrikecampthisvery
instantandgoon—downtheriver.”
Hewastalking,Isaw,quitewildly,hiswordsdictatedbyabjectterror—theterrorhehadresistedsolong,butwhich
hadcaughthimatlast.
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“Inthedark?”Iexclaimed,shakingwithfearaftermyhystericaloutburst,butstillrealizingourpositionbetterthanhe
did.“Sheermadness!Theriver’sinood,andwe’veonlygotasinglepaddle.Besides,weonlygodeeperintotheir
country!There’snothingaheadforftymilesbutwillows,willows,willows!”
Hesatdownagaininastateofsemi-collapse.Thepositions,byoneofthosekaleidoscopicchangesnatureloves,
weresuddenlyreversed,andthecontrolofourforcespassedoverintomyhands.Hismindatlasthadreachedthe
pointwhereitwasbeginningtoweaken.
“Whatonearthpossessedyoutodosuchathing?”hewhispered,withtheaweofgenuineterrorinhisvoiceandface.
Icrossedroundtohissideofthere.Itookbothhishandsinmine,kneelingdownbesidehimandlookingstraight
intohisfrightenedeyes.
“We’llmakeonemoreblaze,”Isaidrmly,“andthenturninforthenight.Atsunrisewe’llbeofffullspeedforKomorn.
Now,pullyourselftogetherabit,andrememberyourownadviceaboutnotthinkingfear!”
Hesaidnomore,andIsawthathewouldagreeandobey.Insomemeasure,too,itwasasortofrelieftogetupand
makeanexcursionintothedarknessformorewood.Wekeptclosetogether,almosttouching,gropingamongthe
bushesandalongthebank.Thehummingoverheadneverceased,butseemedtometogrowlouderasweincreased
ourdistancefromthere.Itwasshiverywork!
Weweregrubbingawayinthemiddleofathickishclumpofwillowswheresomedriftwoodfromaformeroodhad
caughthighamongthebranches,whenmybodywasseizedinagripthatmademehalfdropuponthesand.Itwas
theSwede.Hehadfallenagainstme,andwasclutchingmeforsupport.Iheardhisbreathcomingandgoinginshortgasps.
“Look!Bymysoul!”hewhispered,andforthersttimeinmyexperienceIknewwhatitwastoheartearsofterrorin
ahumanvoice.Hewaspointingtothere,someftyfeetaway.Ifollowedthedirectionofhisnger,andIswearmy
heartmissedabeat.
There,infrontofthedimglow,somethingwasmoving.
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Isawitthroughaveilthathungbeforemyeyeslikethegauzedrop-curtainusedatthebackofatheater—hazilya
little.Itwasneitherahumangurenorananimal.Tomeitgavethestrangeimpressionofbeingaslargeasseveral
animalsgroupedtogether,likehorses,twoorthree,movingslowly.TheSwede,too,gotasimilarresult,thoughex-
pressingitdifferently,forhethoughtitwasshapedandsizedlikeaclumpofwillowbushes,roundedatthetop,and
movingalloveruponitssurface—”coilinguponitselflikesmoke,”hesaidafterwards.
“Iwatcheditsettledownwardsthroughthebushes,”hesobbedatme.“Look,byGod!It’scomingthisway!Oh,oh!”—
hegaveakindofwhistlingcry.“They’vefoundus.”
Igaveoneterriedglance,whichjustenabledmetoseethattheshadowyformwasswingingtowardsusthrough
thebushes,andthenIcollapsedbackwardswithacrashintothebranches.Thesefailed,ofcourse,tosupportmy
weight,sothatwiththeSwedeonthetopofmewefellinastrugglingheapuponthesand.Ireallyhardlyknewwhat
washappening.Iwasconsciousonlyofasortofenvelopingsensationoficyfearthatpluckedthenervesoutoftheir
eshlycovering,twistedthemthiswayandthat,andreplacedthemquivering.Myeyesweretightlyshut;somethingin
mythroatchokedme;afeelingthatmyconsciousnesswasexpanding,extendingoutintospace,swiftlygavewaytoanotherfeelingthatIwaslosingitaltogether,andabouttodie.
Anacutespasmofpainpassedthroughme,andIwasawarethattheSwedehadholdofmeinsuchawaythathe
hurtmeabominably.Itwasthewayhecaughtatmeinfalling.
Butitwasthispain,hedeclaredafterwards,thatsavedme:itcausedmetoforgetthemandthinkofsomethingelse
attheveryinstantwhentheywereabouttondme.Itconcealedmymindfromthematthemomentofdiscovery,yet
justintimetoevadetheirterribleseizingofme.Hehimself,hesays,actuallyswoonedatthesamemoment,andthatwaswhatsavedhim.
Ionlyknowthatatalatertime,howlongorshortisimpossibletosay,Ifoundmyselfscramblingupoutoftheslippery
networkofwillowbranches,andsawmycompanionstandinginfrontofmeholdingoutahandtoassistme.Istared
athiminadazedway,rubbingthearmhehadtwistedforme.Nothingcametometosay,somehow.
“Ilostconsciousnessforamomentortwo,”Iheardhimsay.“That’swhatsavedme.Itmademestopthinkingabout
th ”
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them.”
“Younearlybrokemyarmintwo,”Isaid,utteringmyonlyconnectedthoughtatthemoment.Anumbnesscameover
me.
“That’swhatsavedyou!”hereplied.“Betweenus,we’vemanagedtosetthemoffonafalsetacksomewhere.The
humminghasceased.It’sgone—forthemomentatanyrate!”
Awaveofhystericallaughterseizedmeagain,andthistimespreadtomyfriendtoo—greathealinggustsofshaking
laughterthatbroughtatremendoussenseofreliefintheirtrain.Wemadeourwaybacktothereandputthewood
onsothatitblazedatonce.Thenwesawthatthetenthadfallenoverandlayinatangledheapupontheground.
Wepickeditup,andduringtheprocesstrippedmorethanonceandcaughtourfeetinsand.
“It’sthosesand-funnels,”exclaimedtheSwede,whenthetentwasupagainandtherelightlitupthegroundforsev-
eralyardsaboutus.“Andlookatthesizeofthem!”
Allroundthetentandaboutthereplacewherewehadseenthemovingshadowsthereweredeepfunnel-shaped
hollowsinthesand,exactlysimilartotheoneswehadalreadyfoundovertheisland,onlyfarbiggeranddeeper,
beautifullyformed,andwideenoughinsomeinstancestoadmitthewholeofmyfootandleg.
Neitherofussaidaword.Webothknewthatsleepwasthesafestthingwecoulddo,andtobedwewentaccordingly
withoutfurtherdelay,havingrstthrownsandonthereandtakentheprovisionsackandthepaddleinsidethetent
withus.Thecanoe,too,weproppedinsuchawayattheendofthetentthatourfeettouchedit,andtheleastmotionwoulddisturbandwakeus.
Incaseofemergency,too,weagainwenttobedinourclothes,readyforasuddenstart.
V
Itwasmyrmintentiontolieawakeallnightandwatch,buttheexhaustionofnervesandbodydecreedotherwise,
d l ft hil ith l bl k t f bli i Th f t th t i l l t
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andsleepafterawhilecameovermewithawelcomeblanketofoblivion.Thefactthatmycompanionalsoslept
quickeneditsapproach.Atrsthedgetedandconstantlysatup,askingmeifI“heardthis”or“heardthat.”Hetossed
aboutonhiscorkmattress,andsaidthetentwasmovingandtheriverhadrisenoverthepointoftheisland;but
eachtimeIwentouttolookIreturnedwiththereportthatallwaswell,andnallyhegrewcalmerandlaystill.Then
atlengthhisbreathingbecameregularandIheardunmistakablesoundsofsnoring—therstandonlytimeinmylife
whensnoringhasbeenawelcomeandcalminginuence.
This,Iremember,wasthelastthoughtinmymindbeforedozingoff.
Adifcultyinbreathingwokeme,andIfoundtheblanketovermyface.Butsomethingelsebesidestheblanketwas
pressinguponme,andmyrstthoughtwasthatmycompanionhadrolledoffhismattressontomyowninhissleep.I
calledtohimandsatup,andatthesamemomentitcametomethatthetentwassurrounded.Thatsoundofmultitu-
dinoussoftpatteringwasagainaudibleoutside,llingthenightwithhorror.
Icalledagaintohim,louderthanbefore.Hedidnotanswer,butImissedthesoundofhissnoring,andalsonoticed
thattheapofthetentdoorwasdown.Thiswastheunpardonablesin.Icrawledoutinthedarknesstohookitbacksecurely,anditwasthenforthersttimeIrealizedpositivelythattheSwedewasnotthere.Hehadgone.
Idashedoutinamadrun,seizedbyadreadfulagitation,andthemomentIwasoutIplungedintoasortoftorrentof
hummingthatsurroundedmecompletelyandcameoutofeveryquarteroftheheavensatonce.Itwasthatsamefa-
miliarhumming—gonemad!Aswarmofgreatinvisiblebeesmighthavebeenaboutmeintheair.Thesoundseemed
tothickentheveryatmosphere,andIfeltthatmylungsworkedwithdifculty.
Butmyfriendwasindanger,andIcouldnothesitate.
Thedawnwasjustabouttobreak,andafaintwhitishlightspreadupwardsoverthecloudsfromathinstripofclear
horizon.Nowindstirred.Icouldjustmakeoutthebushesandriverbeyond,andthepalesandypatches.Inmyexcite-
mentIranfranticallytoandfroabouttheisland,callinghimbyname,shoutingatthetopofmyvoicetherstwords
thatcameintomyhead.Butthewillowssmotheredmyvoice,andthehummingmufedit,sothatthesoundonlytrav-
eledafewfeetroundme.Iplungedamongthebushes,trippingheadlong,tumblingoverroots,andscrapingmyface
asItorethiswayandthatamongthepreventingbranches.
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Then,quiteunexpectedly,Icameoutupontheisland’spointandsawadarkgureoutlinedbetweenthewaterand
thesky.ItwastheSwede.Andalreadyhehadonefootintheriver!Amomentmoreandhewouldhavetakenthe
plunge.
Ithrewmyselfuponhim,ingingmyarmsabouthiswaistanddragginghimshorewardswithallmystrength.Of
coursehestruggledfuriously,makinganoiseallthetimejustlikethatcursedhumming,andusingthemostoutland-ishphrasesinhisangerabout“goinginsidetoThem,”and“takingthewayofthewaterandthewind,”andGodonly
knowswhatmorebesides,thatItriedinvaintorecallafterwards,butwhichturnedmesickwithhorrorandamaze-
mentasIlistened.ButintheendImanagedtogethimintothecomparativesafetyofthetent,andunghimbreath-
lessandcursinguponthemattress,whereIheldhimuntilthethadpassed.
Ithinkthesuddennesswithwhichitallwentandhegrewcalm,coincidingasitdidwiththeequallyabruptcessationof
thehummingandpatteringoutside—Ithinkthiswasalmostthestrangestpartofthewholebusinessperhaps.Forhe
justopenedhiseyesandturnedhistiredfaceuptomesothatthedawnthrewapalelightuponitthroughthedoor-
way,andsaid,foralltheworldjustlikeafrightenedchild:
“Mylife,oldman—it’smylifeIoweyou.Butit’sallovernowanyhow.They’vefoundavictiminourplace!”
Thenhedroppedbackuponhisblanketsandwenttosleepliterallyundermyeyes.Hesimplycollapsed,andbegan
tosnoreagainashealthilyasthoughnothinghadhappenedandhehadnevertriedtoofferhisownlifeasasacrice
bydrowning.Andwhenthesunlightwokehimthreehourslater—hoursofceaselessvigilforme—itbecamesoclearto
methatherememberedabsolutelynothingofwhathehadattemptedtodo,thatIdeemeditwisetoholdmypeace
andasknodangerousquestions.
Hewokenaturallyandeasily,asIhavesaid,whenthesunwasalreadyhighinawindlesshotsky,andheatoncegot
upandsetaboutthepreparationofthereforbreakfast.Ifollowedhimanxiouslyatbathing,buthedidnotattemptto
plungein,merelydippinghisheadandmakingsomeremarkabouttheextracoldnessofthewater.
“River’sfallingatlast,”hesaid,“andI’mgladofit.”
“The humming has stopped too ” I said
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Thehumminghasstoppedtoo, Isaid.
Helookedupatmequietlywithhisnormalexpression.Evidentlyherememberedeverythingexcepthisownattempt
atsuicide.
“Everythinghasstopped,”hesaid,“because——”
Hehesitated.ButIknewsomereferencetothatremarkhehadmadejustbeforehefaintedwasinhismind,andIwas
determinedtoknowit.
“Because‘They’vefoundanothervictim’?”Isaid,forcingalittlelaugh.
“Exactly,”heanswered,“exactly!Ifeelaspositiveofitasthough—asthough—Ifeelquitesafeagain,Imean,”hen-
ished.
Hebegantolookcuriouslyabouthim.Thesunlightlayinhotpatchesonthesand.Therewasnowind.Thewillowsweremotionless.Heslowlyrosetofeet.
“Come,”hesaid;“Ithinkifwelook,weshallndit.”
Hestartedoffonarun,andIfollowedhim.Hekepttothebanks,pokingwithastickamongthesandybaysandcaves
andlittleback-waters,myselfalwayscloseonhisheels.
“Ah!”heexclaimedpresently,“ah!”
Thetoneofhisvoicesomehowbroughtbacktomeavividsenseofthehorrorofthelasttwenty-fourhours,andIhur-
rieduptojoinhim.Hewaspointingwithhisstickatalargeblackobjectthatlayhalfinthewaterandhalfonthesand.
Itappearedtobecaughtbysometwistedwillowrootssothattherivercouldnotsweepitaway.Afewhoursbefore
thespotmusthavebeenunderwater.
“See,”hesaidquietly,“thevictimthatmadeourescapepossible!”
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AndwhenIpeeredacrosshisshoulderIsawthathisstickrestedonthebodyofaman.Heturneditover.Itwasthe
corpseofapeasant,andthefacewashiddeninthesand.Clearlythemanhadbeendrownedbutafewhoursbefore,
andhisbodymusthavebeensweptdownuponourislandsomewhereaboutthehourofthedawn—attheverytime
thethadpassed.
“Wemustgiveitadecentburial,youknow.”
“Isupposeso,”Ireplied.Ishudderedalittleinspiteofmyself,fortherewassomethingabouttheappearanceofthat
poordrownedmanthatturnedmecold.
TheSwedeglancedupsharplyatme,andbeganclamberingdownthebank.Ifollowedhimmoreleisurely.Thecur-
rent,Inoticed,hadtornawaymuchoftheclothingfromthebody,sothattheneckandpartofthechestlaybare.
Halfwaydownthebankmycompanionsuddenlystoppedandhelduphishandinwarning;buteithermyfootslipped,
orIhadgainedtoomuchmomentumtobringmyselfquicklytoahalt,forIbumpedintohimandsenthimforwardwithasortofleaptosavehimself.Wetumbledtogetherontothehardsandsothatourfeetsplashedintothewater.And,
beforeanythingcouldbedone,wehadcollidedalittleheavilyagainstthecorpse.
TheSwedeutteredasharpcry.AndIsprangbackasifIhadbeenshot.
Atthemomentwetouchedthebodytherearosefromitssurfacetheloudsoundofhumming—thesoundofseveral
hummings—whichpassedwithavastcommotionasofwingedthingsintheairaboutusanddisappearedupwardsinto
thesky,growingfainterandfaintertilltheynallyceasedinthedistance.Itwasexactlyasthoughwehaddisturbedsomelivingyetinvisiblecreaturesatwork.
Mycompanionclutchedme,andIthinkIclutchedhim,butbeforeeitherofushadtimeproperlytorecoverfromthe
unexpectedshock,wesawthatamovementofthecurrentwasturningthecorpseroundsothatitbecamereleased
fromthegripofthewillowroots.Amomentlaterithadturnedcompletelyover,thedeadfaceuppermost,staringat
thesky.Itlayontheedgeofthemainstream.Inanothermomentitwouldbesweptaway.
The Swede started to save it shouting again something I did not catch about a “proper burial” and then abruptly
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TheSwedestartedtosaveit,shoutingagainsomethingIdidnotcatchabouta properburial andthenabruptly
droppeduponhiskneesonthesandandcoveredhiseyeswithhishands.Iwasbesidehiminaninstant.
Isawwhathehadseen.
Forjustasthebodyswungroundtothecurrentthefaceandtheexposedchestturnedfulltowardsus,andshowed
plainlyhowtheskinandeshwereindentedwithsmallhollows,beautifullyformed,andexactlysimilarinshapeandkindtothesand-funnelsthatwehadfoundallovertheisland.
“Theirmark!”Iheardmycompanionmutterunderhisbreath.“Theirawfulmark!”
AndwhenIturnedmyeyesagainfromhisghastlyfacetotheriver,thecurrenthaddoneitswork,andthebodyhad
beensweptawayintomidstreamandwasalreadybeyondourreachandalmostoutofsight,turningoverandoveron
thewaveslikeanotter.
The Shadows on the Wall
ByMaryE.WilkinsFreeman
FromTheWindintheRose-bush,byMaryE.WilkinsFreeman.CopyrightbyHarperandBrothers.Bypermissionof
thepublishersandMaryE.WilkinsFreeman.
“HenryhadwordswithEdwardinthestudythenightbeforeEdwarddied,”saidCarolineGlynn.
Shespokenotwithacrimony,butwithgraveseverity.RebeccaAnnGlynngaspedbywayofassent.Shesatina
wideounceofblacksilkinthecornerofthesofa,androlledterriedeyesfromhersisterCarolinetohersisterMrs.
Stephen Brigham who had been Emma Glynn the one beauty of the family The latter was beautiful still with a large
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StephenBrigham,whohadbeenEmmaGlynn,theonebeautyofthefamily.Thelatterwasbeautifulstill,withalarge,
splendid,full-blownbeauty,shelledagreatrocking-chairwithhersuperbbulkoffemininity,andswayedgentlyback
andforth,herblacksilkswhisperingandherblackfrillsuttering.Eventheshockofdeath—forherbrotherEdwardlay
deadinthehouse—couldnotdisturbheroutwardserenityofdemeanor.
ButevenherexpressionofmasterlyplaciditychangedbeforehersisterCaroline’sannouncementandhersisterRe-
beccaAnn’sgaspofterroranddistressinresponse.
“IthinkHenrymighthavecontrolledhistemper,whenpoorEdwardwassonearhisend,”shesaidwithanasperity
whichdisturbedslightlytheroseatecurvesofherbeautifulmouth.
“Ofcoursehedidnotknow,”murmuredRebeccaAnninafainttone.
“Ofcoursehedidnotknowit,”saidCarolinequickly.Sheturnedonhersisterwithastrange,sharplookofsuspicion.
Thensheshrankasiffromtheother’spossibleanswer.
Rebeccagaspedagain.Themarriedsister,Mrs.EmmaBrigham,wasnowsittingupstraightinherchair;shehad
ceasedrocking,andwaseyeingthembothintentlywithasuddenaccentuationoffamilylikenessinherface.
“Whatdoyoumean?”saidsheimpartiallytothemboth.Thenshe,too,seemedtoshrinkbeforeapossibleanswer.
Sheevenlaughedanevasivesortoflaugh.
“Nobodymeansanything,”saidCarolinermly.Sheroseandcrossedtheroomtowardthedoorwithgrimdecisive-
ness.
“Whereareyougoing?”askedMrs.Brigham.
“Ihavesomethingtoseeto,”repliedCaroline,andtheothersatonceknewbyhertonethatshehadsomesolemn
andsaddutytoperforminthechamberofdeath.
“Oh,”saidMrs.Brigham.
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AfterthedoorhadclosedbehindCaroline,sheturnedtoRebecca.
“DidHenryhavemanywordswithhim?”sheasked.
“Theyweretalkingveryloud,”repliedRebeccaevasively.
Mrs.Brighamlookedather.Shehadnotresumedrocking.Shestillsatupstraight,withaslightknittingofintensityon
herfairforehead,betweentheprettyripplingcurvesofherauburnhair.
“Didyou—everhearanything?”sheaskedinalowvoicewithaglancetowardthedoor.
“Iwasjustacrossthehallinthesouthparlor,andthatdoorwasopenandthisdoorajar,”repliedRebeccawithaslight
ush.
“Thenyoumusthave——”
“Icouldn’thelpit.”
“Everything?”
“Mostofit.”
“Whatwasit?”
“Theoldstory.”
“IsupposeHenrywasmad,ashealwayswas,becauseEdwardwaslivingonherefornothing,whenhehadwasted
allthemoneyfatherlefthim.”
Rebeccanodded,withafearfulglanceatthedoor.
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WhenEmmaspokeagainhervoicewasstillmorehushed.“Iknowhowhefelt,”saidshe.“Itmusthavelookedtohim
asifEdwardwaslivingathisexpense,buthewasn’t.”
“No,hewasn’t.”
“AndEdwardhadarighthereaccordingtothetermsoffather’swill,andHenryoughttohaverememberedit.”
“Yes,heought.”
“Didhesayhardthings?”
“Prettyhard,fromwhatIheard.”
“What?”
“IheardhimtellEdwardthathehadnobusinesshereatall,andhethoughthehadbettergoaway.”
“WhatdidEdwardsay?”
“Thathewouldstayhereaslongashelivedandafterward,too,ifhewasamindto,andhewouldliketoseeHenry
gethimout;andthen——”
“What?”
“Thenhelaughed.”
“WhatdidHenrysay?”
“Ididn’thearhimsayanything,but——”
“But what?”
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Butwhat?
“Isawhimwhenhecameoutofthisroom.”
“Helookedmad?”
“You’veseenhimwhenhelookedso.”
Emmanodded.Theexpressionofhorroronherfacehaddeepened.
“Doyourememberthattimehekilledthecatbecauseshehadscratchedhim?”
“Yes.Don’t!”
ThenCarolinereenteredtheroom;shewentuptothestove,inwhichawoodrewasburning—itwasacold,gloomy
dayoffall—andshewarmedherhands,whichwerereddenedfromrecentwashingincoldwater.
Mrs.Brighamlookedatherandhesitated.Sheglancedatthedoor,whichwasstillajar;itdidnoteasilyshut,being
stillswollenwiththedampweatherofthesummer.Sheroseandpushedittogetherwithasharpthud,whichjarred
thehouse.Rebeccastartedpainfullywithahalf-exclamation.Carolinelookedatherdisapprovingly.
“Itistimeyoucontrolledyournerves,Rebecca,”shesaid.
Mrs.Brigham,returningfromthecloseddoor,saidimperiouslythatitoughttobexed,itshutsohard.
“Itwillshrinkenoughafterwehavehadthereafewdays,”repliedCaroline.
“IthinkHenryoughttobeashamedofhimselffortalkingashedidtoEdward,”saidMrs.Brighamabruptly,butinan
almostinaudiblevoice.
“Hush,”saidCaroline,withaglanceofactualfearatthecloseddoor.
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“Nobodycanhearwiththedoorshut.IsayagainIthinkHenryoughttobeashamedofhimself.Ishouldn’tthinkhe’d
evergetoverit,havingwordswithpoorEdwardtheverynightbeforehedied.Edwardwasenoughsightbetterdispo-
sitionthanHenry,withallhisfaults.”
“Ineverheardhimspeakacrossword,unlesshespokecrosstoHenrythatlastnight.Idon’tknowbuthedidfrom
whatRebeccaoverheard.”
“Notsomuchcross,assortofsoft,andsweet,andaggravating,”sniffedRebecca.
“WhatdoyoureallythinkailedEdward?”askedEmmainhardlymorethanawhisper.Shedidnotlookathersister.
“Iknowyousaidthathehadterriblepainsinhisstomach,andhadspasms,butwhatdoyouthinkmadehimhave
them?”
“Henrycalleditgastrictrouble.YouknowEdwardhasalwayshaddyspepsia.”
Mrs.Brighamhesitatedamoment.“Wasthereanytalkofan—examination?”saidshe.
ThenCarolineturnedonherercely.
“No,”saidsheinaterriblevoice.“No.”
Thethreesisters’soulsseemedtomeetononecommongroundofterriedunderstandingthroughtheireyes.
Theold-fashionedlatchofthedoorwasheardtorattle,andapushfromwithoutmadethedoorshakeineffectually.
“It’sHenry,”Rebeccasighedratherthanwhispered.Mrs.Brighamsettledherself,afteranoiselessrushacrossthe
oor,intoherrocking-chairagain,andwasswayingbackandforthwithherheadcomfortablyleaningback,whenthe
dooratlastyieldedandHenryGlynnentered.Hecastacovertlysharp,comprehensiveglanceatMrs.Brighamwith
herelaboratecalm;atRebeccaquietlyhuddledinthecornerofthesofawithherhandkerchieftoherfaceandonly
onesmalluncoveredreddenedearasattentiveasadog’s,andatCarolinesittingwithastrainedcomposureinher
armchair by the stove. She met his eyes quite rmly with a look of inscrutable fear, and deance of the fear and of
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armchairbythestove.Shemethiseyesquitermlywithalookofinscrutablefear,anddeanceofthefearandof
him.
HenryGlynnlookedmorelikethissisterthantheothers.Bothhadthesameharddelicacyofformandaquilinityof
feature.Theyconfrontedeachotherwiththepitilessimmovabilityoftwostatuesinwhosemarblelineamentsemo-
tionswerexedforalleternity.
ThenHenryGlynnsmiledandthesmiletransformedhisface.Helookedsuddenlyyearsyounger,andanalmost
boyishrecklessnessappearedinhisface.Heunghimselfintoachairwithagesturewhichwasbewilderingfromits
incongruitywithhisgeneralappearance.Heleanedhisheadback,ungonelegovertheother,andlookedlaughingly
atMrs.Brigham.
“Ideclare,Emma,yougrowyoungereveryyear,”hesaid.
Sheushedalittle,andherplacidmouthwidenedatthecorners.Shewassusceptibletopraise.
“Ourthoughtsto-dayoughttobelongtotheoneofuswhowillnevergrowolder,”saidCarolineinahardvoice.
Henrylookedather,stillsmiling.“Ofcourse,wenoneofusforgetthat,”saidhe,inadeep,gentlevoice;“butwehave
tospeaktotheliving,Caroline,andIhavenotseenEmmaforalongtime,andthelivingareasdearasthedead.”
“Nottome,”saidCaroline.
Sheroseandwentabruptlyoutoftheroomagain.Rebeccaalsoroseandhurriedafterher,sobbingloudly.
Henrylookedslowlyafterthem.
“Carolineiscompletelyunstrung,”saidhe.
Mrs.Brighamrocked.Acondenceinhiminspiredbyhismannerwasstealingoverher.Outofthatcondenceshe
spokequiteeasilyandnaturally.
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“Hisdeathwasverysudden,”saidshe.
Henry’seyelidsquiveredslightlybuthisgazewasunswerving.
“Yes,”saidhe,“itwasverysudden.Hewassickonlyafewhours.”
“Whatdidyoucallit?”
“Gastric.”
“Youdidnotthinkofanexamination?”
“Therewasnoneed.Iamperfectlycertainastothecauseofhisdeath.”
SuddenlyMrs.Brighamfeltacreepasofsomelivehorroroverherverysoul.Hereshprickledwithcold,beforeaninectionofhisvoice.Sherose,totteringonweakknees.
“Whereareyougoing?”askedHenryinastrange,breathlessvoice.
Mrs.Brighamsaidsomethingincoherentaboutsomesewingwhichshehadtodo—someblackforthefuneral—and
wasoutoftheroom.Shewentuptothefrontchamberwhichsheoccupied.Carolinewasthere.Shewentclosetoher
andtookherhands,andthetwosisterslookedateachother.
“Don’tspeak,don’t,Iwon’thaveit!”saidCarolinenallyinanawfulwhisper.
“Iwon’t,”repliedEmma.
Thatafternoonthethreesisterswereinthestudy.
Mrs.Brighamwashemmingsomeblackmaterial.Atlastshelaidherworkonherlap.
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“It’snouse,Icannotseetosewanotherstitchuntilwehavealight,”saidshe.
Caroline,whowaswritingsomelettersatthetable,turnedtoRebecca,inherusualplaceonthesofa.
“Rebecca,youhadbettergetalamp,”shesaid.
Rebeccastartedup;evenintheduskherfaceshowedheragitation.
“Itdoesn’tseemtomethatweneedalampquiteyet,”shesaidinapiteous,pleadingvoicelikeachild’s.
“Yes,wedo,”returnedMrs.Brighamperemptorily.“Ican’tseetosewanotherstitch.”
Rebeccaroseandlefttheroom.Presentlysheenteredwithalamp.Shesetitonthetable,anold-fashionedcard-
tablewhichwasplacedagainsttheoppositewallfromthewindow.Thatoppositewallwastakenupwiththreedoors;
theonesmallspacewasoccupiedbythetable.
“Whathaveyouputthatlampovertherefor?”askedMrs.Brigham,withmoreofimpatiencethanhervoiceusually
revealed.“Whydidn’tyousetitinthehall,andhavedonewithit?NeitherCarolinenorIcanseeifitisonthattable.”
“Ithoughtperhapsyouwouldmove,”repliedRebeccahoarsely.
“IfIdomove,wecan’tbothsitatthattable.Carolinehasherpaperallspreadaround.Whydon’tyousetthelampon
thestudytableinthemiddleoftheroom,thenwecanbothsee?”
Rebeccahesitated.Herfacewasverypale.ShelookedwithanappealthatwasfairlyagonizingathersisterCaroline.
“Whydon’tyouputthelamponthistable,asshesays?”askedCaroline,almostercely.“Whydoyouactso,Rebec-
ca?”
Rebeccatookthelampandsetitonthetableinthemiddleoftheroomwithoutanotherword.Thensheseatedherself
onthesofaandplacedahandoverhereyesasiftoshadethem,andremainedso.
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p y ,
“Doesthelighthurtyoureyes,andisthatthereasonwhyyoudidn’twantthelamp?”askedMrs.Brighamkindly.
“Ialwaysliketositinthedark,”repliedRebeccachokingly.Thenshesnatchedherhandkerchiefhastilyfromher
pocketandbegantoweep.Carolinecontinuedtowrite,Mrs.Brighamtosew.
SuddenlyMrs.Brighamasshesewedglancedattheoppositewall.Theglancebecameasteadystare.Shelooked
intently,herworksuspendedinherhands.Thenshelookedawayagainandtookafewmorestitches,thenshe
lookedagain,andagainturnedtohertask.Atlastshelaidherworkinherlapandstaredconcentratedly.Shelooked
fromthewallroundtheroom,takingnoteofthevariousobjects.Thensheturnedtohersisters.
“Whatisthat?”saidshe.
“What?”askedCarolineharshly.
“Thatstrangeshadowonthewall,”repliedMrs.Brigham.
Rebeccasatwithherfacehidden;Carolinedippedherpenintheinkstand.
“Whydon’tyouturnaroundandlook?”askedMrs.Brighaminawonderingandsomewhataggrievedway.
“Iaminahurrytonishthisletter,”repliedCarolineshortly.
Mrs.Brighamrose,herworkslippingtotheoor,andbeganwalkingroundtheroom,movingvariousarticlesoffurni-
ture,withhereyesontheshadow.
Thensuddenlysheshriekedout:
“Lookatthisawfulshadow!Whatisit?Caroline,look,look!Rebecca,look!Whatisit?”
AllMrs.Brigham’striumphantplaciditywasgone.Herhandsomefacewaslividwithhorror.Shestoodstifypointing
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g p p y g y p g
attheshadow.
ThenafterashudderingglanceatthewallRebeccaburstoutinawildwail.
“Oh,Caroline,thereitisagain,thereitisagain!”
“CarolineGlynn,youlook!”saidMrs.Brigham.“Look!Whatisthatdreadfulshadow?”
Carolinerose,turned,andstoodconfrontingthewall.
“HowshouldIknow?”shesaid.
“Ithasbeenthereeverynightsincehedied!”criedRebecca.
“Everynight?”
“Yes;hediedThursdayandthisisSaturday;thatmakesthreenights,”saidCarolinerigidly.Shestoodasifholding
hercalmwithaviseofconcentratedwill.
“It—itlookslike—like—”stammeredMrs.Brighaminatoneofintensehorror.
“Iknowwhatitlookslikewellenough,”saidCaroline.“I’vegoteyesinmyhead.”
“ItlookslikeEdward,”burstoutRebeccainasortoffrenzyoffear.“Only——”
“Yes,itdoes,”assentedMrs.Brigham,whosehorror-strickentonematchedhersisters’,“only—Oh,itisawful!Whatis
it,Caroline?”
“Iaskyouagain,howshouldIknow?”repliedCaroline.“Iseeittherelikeyou.HowshouldIknowanymorethan
you?”
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“Itmustbesomethingintheroom,”saidMrs.Brigham,staringwildlyaround.
“Wemovedeverythingintheroomtherstnightitcame,”saidRebecca;“itisnotanythingintheroom.”
Carolineturneduponherwithasortoffury.“Ofcourseitissomethingintheroom,”saidshe.“Howyouact!Whatdo
youmeantalkingso?Ofcourseitissomethingintheroom.”
“Ofcourseitis,”agreedMrs.Brigham,lookingatCarolinesuspiciously.“Itmustbesomethingintheroom.”
“Itisnotanythingintheroom,”repeatedRebeccawithobstinatehorror.
ThedooropenedsuddenlyandHenryGlynnentered.Hebegantospeak,thenhiseyesfollowedthedirectionofthe
others.Hestoodstaringattheshadowonthewall.
“Whatisthat?”hedemandedinastrangevoice.
“Itmustbeduetosomethingintheroom,”Mrs.Brighamsaidfaintly.
HenryGlynnstoodandstaredamomentlonger.Hisfaceshowedagamutofemotions.Horror,conviction,thenfuri-
ousincredulity.Suddenlyhebeganhasteninghitherandthitherabouttheroom.Hemovedthefurniturewitherce
jerks,turningevertoseetheeffectupontheshadowonthewall.Notalineofitsterribleoutlineswavered.
“Itmustbesomethingintheroom!”hedeclaredinavoicewhichseemedtosnaplikealash.
Hisfacechanged,theinmostsecrecyofhisnatureseemedevidentuponhisface,untilonealmostlostsightofhis
lineaments.Rebeccastoodclosetohersofa,regardinghimwithwoeful,fascinatedeyes.Mrs.Brighamclutched
Caroline’shand.Theybothstoodinacorneroutofhisway.Forafewmomentsheragedabouttheroomlikeacaged
wildanimal.Hemovedeverypieceoffurniture;whenthemovingofapiecedidnotaffecttheshadowheungittothe
oor.
Thensuddenlyhedesisted.Helaughed.
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“Whatanabsurdity,”hesaideasily.“Suchato-doaboutashadow.”
“That’sso,”assentedMrs.Brigham,inascaredvoicewhichshetriedtomakenatural.Asshespokesheliftedachair
nearher.
“IthinkyouhavebrokenthechairthatEdwardwasfondof,”saidCaroline.
Terrorandwrathwerestrugglingforexpressiononherface.Hermouthwasset,hereyesshrinking.Henryliftedthe
chairwithashowofanxiety.
“Justasgoodasever,”hesaidpleasantly.Helaughedagain,lookingathissisters.“DidIscareyou?”hesaid.“I
shouldthinkyoumightbeusedtomebythistime.Youknowmywayofwantingtoleaptothebottomofamystery,
andthatshadowdoeslook—queer,like—andIthoughtiftherewasanywayofaccountingforitIwouldliketowithout
anydelay.”
“Youdon’tseemtohavesucceeded,”remarkedCarolinedryly,withaslightglanceatthewall.
Henry’seyesfollowedhersandhequiveredperceptibly.
“Oh,thereisnoaccountingforshadows,”hesaid,andhelaughedagain.“Amanisafooltotrytoaccountforshad-
ows.”
Thenthesupperbellrang,andtheyalllefttheroom,butHenrykepthisbacktothewall—asdid,indeed,theothers.
Henryledthewaywithanalertmotionlikeaboy;Rebeccabroughtuptherear.Shecouldscarcelywalk,herknees
trembledso.
“Ican’tsitinthatroomagainthisevening,”shewhisperedtoCarolineaftersupper.
“Verywell;wewillsitinthesouthroom,”repliedCaroline.“Ithinkwewillsitinthesouthparlor,”shesaidaloud;“it
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isn’tasdampasthestudy,andIhaveacold.”
Sotheyallsatinthesouthroomwiththeirsewing.Henryreadthenewspaper,hischairdrawnclosetothelampon
thetable.Aboutnineo’clockheroseabruptlyandcrossedthehalltothestudy.Thethreesisterslookedatoneanoth-
er.Mrs.Brighamrose,foldedherrustlingskirtscompactlyroundher,andbegantiptoeingtowardthedoor.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”inquiredRebeccaagitatedly.
“Iamgoingtoseewhatheisabout,”repliedMrs.Brighamcautiously.
Asshespokeshepointedtothestudydooracrossthehall;itwasajar.Henryhadstriventopullittogetherbehind
him,butithadsomehowswollenbeyondthelimitwithcuriousspeed.Itwasstillajarandastreakoflightshowedfrom
toptobottom.
Mrs.Brighamfoldedherskirtssotightlythatherbulkwithitsswellingcurveswasrevealedinablacksilksheath,andshewentwithaslowtoddleacrossthehalltothestudydoor.Shestoodthere,hereyeatthecrack.
InthesouthroomRebeccastoppedsewingandsatwatchingwithdilatedeyes.Carolinesewedsteadily.WhatMrs.
Brigham,standingatthecrackinthestudydoor,sawwasthis:
HenryGlynn,evidentlyreasoningthatthesourceofthestrangeshadowmustbebetweenthetableonwhichthelamp
stoodandthewall,wasmakingsystematicpassesandthrustswithanoldswordwhichhadbelongedtohisfatherall
overandthroughtheinterveningspace.Notaninchwasleftunpierced.Heseemedtohavedividedthespaceintomathematicalsections.Hebrandishedtheswordwithasortofcoldfuryandcalculation;thebladegaveoutashesof
light,theshadowremainedunmoved.Mrs.Brigham,watching,feltherselfcoldwithhorror.
FinallyHenryceasedandstoodwiththeswordinhandandraisedasiftostrike,surveyingtheshadowonthewall
threateningly.Mrs.Brighamtoddledbackacrossthehallandshutthesouthroomdoorbehindherbeforesherelated
whatshehadseen.
“Helookedlikeademon,”shesaidagain.“Haveyougotanyofthatoldwineinthehouse,Caroline?Idon’tfeelasifI
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couldstandmuchmore.”
“Yes,there’splenty,”saidCaroline;“youcanhavesomewhenyougotobed.”
“Ithinkwehadallbettertakesome,”saidMrs.Brigham.“Oh,Caroline,what——”
“Don’task;don’tspeak,”saidCaroline.
“No,I’mnotgoingto,”repliedMrs.Brigham;“but——”
Soonthethreesisterswenttotheirchambersandthesouthparlorwasdeserted.CarolinecalledtoHenryinthestudy
toputoutthelightbeforehecameupstairs.Theyhadbeengoneaboutanhourwhenhecameintotheroombringing
thelampwhichhadstoodinthestudy.Hesetitonthetable,andwaitedafewminutes,pacingupanddown.Hisface
wasterrible,hisfaircomplexionshowedlivid,andhisblueeyesseemeddarkblanksofawfulreections.
Thenhetookupthelampandreturnedtothelibrary.Hesetthelamponthecentertableandtheshadowsprangout
onthewall.Againhestudiedthefurnitureandmoveditabout,butdeliberately,withnoneofhisformerfrenzy.Noth-
ingaffectedtheshadow.Thenhereturnedtothesouthroomwiththelampandagainwaited.Againhereturnedto
thestudyandplacedthelamponthetable,andtheshadowsprangoutuponthewall.Itwasmidnightbeforehewent
upstairs.Mrs.Brighamandtheothersisters,whocouldnotsleep,heardhim.
Thenextdaywasthefuneral.Thateveningthefamilysatinthesouthroom.Somerelativeswerewiththem.Nobody
enteredthestudyuntilHenrycarriedalampinthereaftertheothershadretiredforthenight.Hesawagaintheshad-owonthewallleaptoanawfullifebeforethelight.
ThenextmorningatbreakfastHenryGlynnannouncedthathehadtogotothecityforthreedays.Thesisterslooked
athimwithsurprise.Heveryseldomlefthome,andjustnowhispracticehadbeenneglectedonaccountofEdward’s
death.
“Howcanyouleaveyourpatientsnow?”askedMrs.Brighamwonderingly.
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“Idon’tknowhowto,butthereisnootherway,”repliedHenryeasily.“IhavehadatelegramfromDr.Mitford.”
“Consultation?”inquiredMrs.Brigham.
“Ihavebusiness,”repliedHenry.
DoctorMitfordwasanoldclassmateofhiswholivedinaneighboringcityandwhooccasionallycalleduponhimin
thecaseofaconsultation.
Afterhehadgone,Mrs.BrighamsaidtoCarolinethat,afterall,Henryhadnotsaidthathewasgoingtoconsultwith
DoctorMitford,andshethoughtitverystrange.
“Everythingisverystrange,”saidRebeccawithashudder.
“Whatdoyoumean?”inquiredCaroline.
“Nothing,”repliedRebecca.
Nobodyenteredthestudythatday,northenext.ThethirddayHenrywasexpectedhome,buthedidnotarriveand
thelasttrainfromthecityhadcome.
“Icallitprettyqueerwork,”saidMrs.Brigham.“Theideaofadoctorleavinghispatientsatsuchatimeasthis,and
theideaofaconsultationlastingthreedays!Thereisnosenseinit,andnowhehasnotcome.Idon’tunderstandit,formypart.”
“Idon’teither,”saidRebecca.
Theywereallinthesouthparlor.Therewasnolightinthestudy;thedoorwasajar.
PresentlyMrs.Brighamrose—shecouldnothavetoldwhy;somethingseemedtoimpelher—somewilloutsideher
own.Shewentoutoftheroom,againwrappingherrustlingskirtsroundthatshemightpassnoiselessly,andbegan
hi h ll d f h d
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pushingattheswollendoorofthestudy.
“Shehasnotgotanylamp,”saidRebeccainashakingvoice.
Caroline,whowaswritingletters,roseagain,tooktheonlyremaininglampintheroom,andfollowedhersister.Re-
beccahadrisen,butshestoodtrembling,notventuringtofollow.
Thedoorbellrang,buttheothersdidnothearit;itwasonthesouthdoorontheothersideofthehousefromthe
study.Rebecca,afterhesitatinguntilthebellrangthesecondtime,wenttothedoor;sherememberedthattheser-
vantwasout.
CarolineandhersisterEmmaenteredthestudy.Carolinesetthelamponthetable.Theylookedatthewall,and
thereweretwoshadows.Thesistersstoodclutchingeachother,staringattheawfulthingsonthewall.ThenRebecca
camein,staggering,withatelegraminherhand.“Hereis—atelegram,”shegasped.“Henryis—dead.”
The Messenger
ByRobertW.Chambers
Littlegraymessenger,
RobedlikepaintedDeath,
Yourrobeisdust.
Whomdoyouseek Amongliliesandclosedbuds
Atdusk?
Amongliliesandclosedbuds
Atdusk,
Whomdoyouseek,
Littlegraymessenger,
Robedintheawfulpanoply
OfpaintedDeath?
R W C
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R.W.C.
FromTheMysteryofChoice,byRobertW.Chambers.Published,1897,byD.AppletonandCompany.Copyrightby
RobertW.Chambers.BypermissionofRobertW.Chambers.
All-wise,
Hastthouseenallthereistoseewiththytwoeyes?
Dostthouknowallthereistoknow,andso,
Omniscient,
Darestthoustilltosaythybrotherlies?
R.W.C.
I
“Thebulletenteredhere,”saidMaxFortin,andheplacedhismiddlengeroverasmoothholeexactlyinthecenteroftheforehead.
Isatdownuponamoundofdryseaweedandunslungmyfowlingpiece.
Thelittlechemistcautiouslyfelttheedgesoftheshot-hole,rstwithhismiddlenger,andthenwithhisthumb.
“Letmeseetheskullagain,”saidI.
MaxFortinpickeditupfromthesod.
“It’slikealltheothers,”herepeated,wipinghisglassesonhishandkerchief.“Ithoughtyoumightcaretoseeoneof
theskulls,soIbroughtthisoverfromthegravelpit.ThemenfromBannalecarediggingyet.Theyoughttostop.”
“Howmanyskullsaretherealtogether?”Iinquired.
“Theyfoundthirty-eightskulls;therearethirty-ninenotedinthelist.Theyliepiledupinthegravelpitontheedgeof
L Bih ’ h t ld Th t k t L Bih i i t t th ”
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LeBihan’swheateld.Themenareatworkyet.LeBihanisgoingtostopthem.”
“Let’sgoover,”saidI;andIpickedupmygunandstartedacrossthecliffs,Portinononeside,Mômeontheother.
“Whohasthelist?”Iasked,lightingmypipe.“Yousaythereisalist?”
“Thelistwasfoundrolledupinabrasscylinder,”saidthechemist.Headded:“Youshouldnotsmokehere.Youknow
thatifasinglesparkdriftedintothewheat—”
“Ah,butIhaveacovertomypipe,”saidI,smiling.
FortinwatchedmeasIclosedthepepper-boxarrangementovertheglowingbowlofthepipe.Thenhecontinued:
“Thelistwasmadeoutonthickyellowpaper;thebrasstubehaspreservedit.Itisasfreshto-dayasitwasin1760.
Youshallseeit.”
“Isthatthedate?”
“Thelistisdated‘April,1760.’TheBrigadierDurandhasit.ItisnotwritteninFrench.”
“NotwritteninFrench!”Iexclaimed.
“No,”repliedFortinsolemnly,“itiswritteninBreton.”
“But,”Iprotested,“theBretonlanguagewasneverwrittenorprintedin1760.”
“Exceptbypriests,”saidthechemist.
“IhaveheardofbutonepriestwhoeverwrotetheBretonlanguage,”Ibegan.
Fortinstoleaglanceatmyface.
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“Youmean—theBlackPriest?”heasked.
Inodded.
Fortinopenedhismouthtospeakagain,hesitated,andnallyshuthisteethobstinatelyoverthewheatstemthathe
waschewing.
“AndtheBlackPriest?”Isuggestedencouragingly.ButIknewitwasuseless;foritiseasiertomovethestarsfrom
theircoursesthantomakeanobstinateBretontalk.Wewalkedonforaminuteortwoinsilence.
“WhereistheBrigadierDurand?”Iasked,motioningMômetocomeoutofthewheat,whichhewastramplingas
thoughitwereheather.AsIspokewecameinsightofthefartheredgeofthewheateldandthedark,wetmassof
cliffsbeyond.
“Durandisdownthere—youcanseehim;hestandsjustbehindthemayorofSt.Gildas.”
“Isee,”saidI;andwestruckstraightdown,followingasun-bakedcattlepathacrosstheheather.
Whenwereachedtheedgeofthewheateld,LeBihan,themayorofSt.Gildas,calledtome,andItuckedmygun
undermyarmandskirtedthewheattowherehestood.
“Thirty-eightskulls,”hesaidinhisthin,high-pitchedvoice;“thereisbutonemore,andIamopposedtofurthersearch.IsupposeFortintoldyou?”
Ishookhandswithhim,andreturnedthesaluteoftheBrigadierDurand.
“Iamopposedtofurthersearch,”repeatedLeBihan,nervouslypickingatthemassofsilverbuttonswhichcovered
thefrontofhisvelvetandbroadclothjacketlikeabreastplateofscalearmor.
Durandpurseduphislips,twistedhistremendousmustache,andhookedhisthumbsinhissaberbelt.
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“Asforme,”hesaid,“Iaminfavoroffurthersearch.”
“Furthersearchforwhat—forthethirty-ninthskull?”Iasked.
LeBihannodded.Durandfrownedatthesunlitsea,rockinglikeabowlofmoltengoldfromthecliffstothehorizon.
Ifollowedhiseyes.Onthedarkglisteningcliffs,silhouettedagainsttheglareofthesea,satacormorant,black,mo-
tionless,itshorribleheadraisedtowardheaven.
“Whereisthatlist,Durand?”Iasked.
Thegendarmerummagedinhisdespatchpouchandproducedabrasscylinderaboutafootlong.Verygravelyhe
unscrewedtheheadanddumpedoutascrollofthickyellowpapercloselycoveredwithwritingonbothsides.Atanod
fromLeBihanhehandedmethescroll.ButIcouldmakenothingofthecoarsewriting,nowfadedtoadullbrown.
“Come,come,LeBihan,”Isaidimpatiently,“translateit,won’tyou?YouandMaxFortinmakealotofmysteryoutof
nothing,itseems.”
LeBihanwenttotheedgeofthepitwherethethreeBannalecmenweredigging,gaveanorderortwoinBreton,and
turnedtome.
AsIcametotheedgeofthepittheBannalecmenwereremovingasquarepieceofsailclothfromwhatappearedto
beapileofcobblestones.
“Look!”saidLeBihanshrilly.Ilooked.Thepilebelowwasaheapofskulls.AfteramomentIclambereddownthe
gravelsidesofthepitandwalkedovertothemenofBannalec.Theysalutedmegravely,leaningontheirpicksand
shovels,andwipingtheirsweatingfaceswithsunburnedhands.
“Howmany?”saidIinBreton.
“Thirty-eight,”theyreplied.
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Iglancedaround.Beyondtheheapofskullslaytwopilesofhumanbones.Besidethesewasamoundofbroken,
rustedbitsofironandsteel.Lookingcloser,Isawthatthismoundwascomposedofrustybayonets,saberblades,
scytheblades,withhereandthereatarnishedbuckleattachedtoabitofleatherhardasiron.
Ipickedupacoupleofbuttonsandabeltplate.ThebuttonsboretheroyalarmsofEngland;thebeltplatewasembla-
zonedwiththeEnglisharmsandalsowiththenumber“27.”
“IhaveheardmygrandfatherspeakoftheterribleEnglishregiment,the27thFoot,whichlandedandstormedthefort
upthere,”saidoneoftheBannalecmen.
“Oh!”saidI;“thenthesearethebonesofEnglishsoldiers?”
“Yes,”saidthemenofBannalec.
LeBihanwascallingtomefromtheedgeofthepitabove,andIhandedthebeltplateandbuttonstothemenand
climbedthesideoftheexcavation.
“Well,”saidI,tryingtopreventMômefromleapingupandlickingmyfaceasIemergedfromthepit,“Isupposeyou
knowwhatthesebonesare.Whatareyougoingtodowiththem?”
“Therewasaman,”saidLeBihanangrily,“anEnglishman,whopassedhereinadog-cartonhiswaytoQuimper
aboutanhourago,andwhatdoyousupposehewishedtodo?”
“Buytherelics?”Iasked,smiling.
“Exactly—thepig!”pipedthemayorofSt.Gildas.“JeanMarieTregunc,whofoundthebones,wasstandingthere
whereMaxFortinstands,anddoyouknowwhatheanswered?Hespatupontheground,andsaid:‘PigofanEng-
lishman,doyoutakemeforadesecratorofgraves?’”
IknewTregunc,asober,blue-eyedBreton,wholivedfromoneyear’sendtotheotherwithoutbeingabletoafforda
single bit of meat for a meal
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singlebitofmeatforameal.
“HowmuchdidtheEnglishmanofferTregunc?”Iasked.
“Twohundredfrancsfortheskullsalone.”
Ithoughtoftherelichuntersandtherelicbuyersonthebattleeldsofourcivilwar.
“Seventeenhundredandsixtyislongago,”Isaid.
“Respectforthedeadcanneverdie,”saidFortin.
“AndtheEnglishsoldierscameheretokillyourfathersandburnyourhomes,”Icontinued.
“Theyweremurderersandthieves,but—theyaredead,”saidTregunc,comingupfromthebeachbelow,hislongsearakebalancedonhisdrippingjersey.
“Howmuchdoyouearneveryyear,JeanMarie?”Iasked,turningtoshakehandswithhim.
“Twohundredandtwentyfrancs,monsieur.”
“Forty-vedollarsayear,”Isaid.“Bah!youareworthmore,Jean.Willyoutakecareofmygardenforme?Mywife
wishedmetoaskyou.Ithinkitwouldbeworthonehundredfrancsamonthtoyouandtome.Comeon,LeBihan— comealong,Fortin—andyou,Durand.IwantsomebodytotranslatethatlistintoFrenchforme.”
Treguncstoodgazingatme,hisblueeyesdilated.
“Youmaybeginatonce,”Isaid,smiling,“ifthesalarysuitsyou?”
“Itsuits,”saidTregunc,fumblingforhispipeinasillywaythatannoyedLeBihan.
“Then go and begin your work ” cried the mayor impatiently; and Tregunc started across the moors toward St Gildas
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Thengoandbeginyourwork, criedthemayorimpatiently;andTreguncstartedacrossthemoorstowardSt.Gildas,
takingoffhisvelvet-ribbonedcaptomeandgrippinghissearakeveryhard.
“Youofferhimmorethanmysalary,”saidthemayor,afteramoment’scontemplationofhissilverbuttons.
“Pooh!”saidI,“whatdoyoudoforyoursalaryexceptplaydominoeswithMaxPortinattheGroixInn?”
LeBihanturnedred,butDurandrattledhissaberandwinkedatMaxFortin,andIslippedmyarmthroughthearmof
thesulkymagistrate,laughing.
“There’sashadyspotunderthecliff,”Isaid;“comeon,LeBihan,andreadmewhatisinthescroll.”
Inafewmomentswereachedtheshadowofthecliff,andIthrewmyselfupontheturf,chinonhand,tolisten.
Thegendarme,Durand,alsosatdown,twistinghismustacheintoneedlelikepoints.Fortinleanedagainstthecliff,polishinghisglassesandexamininguswithvague,near-sightedeyes;andLeBihan,themayor,plantedhimselfin
ourmidst,rollingupthescrollandtuckingitunderhisarm.
“Firstofall,”hebeganinashrillvoice,“Iamgoingtolightmypipe,andwhilelightingitIshalltellyouwhatIhave
heardabouttheattackonthefortyonder.Myfathertoldme;hisfathertoldhim.”
Hejerkedhisheadinthedirectionoftheruinedfort,asmall,squarestonestructureontheseacliff,nownothingbut
crumblingwalls.Thenheslowlyproducedatobaccopouch,abitofintandtinder,andalong-stemmedpipettedwithamicroscopicalbowlofbakedclay.Tollsuchapiperequirestenminutes’closeattention.Tosmokeittoan-
ishtakesbutfourpuffs.ItisveryBreton,thisBretonpipe.ItisthecrystallizationofeverythingBreton.
“Goon,”saidI,lightingacigarette.
“Thefort,”saidthemayor,“wasbuiltbyLouisXIV,andwasdismantledtwicebytheEnglish.LouisXVrestoreditin
1730.In1760itwascarriedbyassaultbytheEnglish.TheycameacrossfromtheislandofGroix—threeshiploads,
andtheystormedthefortandsackedSt.Julienyonder,andtheystartedtoburnSt.Gildas—youcanseethemarksof
their bullets on my house yet; but the men of Bannalec and the men of Lorient fell upon them with pike and scythe and
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theirbulletsonmyhouseyet;butthemenofBannalecandthemenofLorientfelluponthemwithpikeandscytheand
blunderbuss,andthosewhodidnotrunawaylietherebelowinthegravelpitnow—thirty-eightofthem.”
“Andthethirty-ninthskull?”Iasked,nishingmycigarette.
Themayorhadsucceededinllinghispipe,andnowhebegantoputhistobaccopouchaway.
“Thethirty-ninthskull,”hemumbled,holdingthepipestembetweenhisdefectiveteeth—”thethirty-ninthskullisno
businessofmine.IhavetoldtheBannalecmentoceasedigging.”
“Butwhatis—whoseisthemissingskull?”Ipersistedcuriously.
Themayorwasbusytryingtostrikeasparktohistinder.Presentlyhesetitaglow,appliedittohispipe,tookthepre-
scribedfourpuffs,knockedtheashesoutofthebowl,andgravelyreplacedthepipeinhispocket.
“Themissingskull?”heasked.
“Yes,”saidI,impatiently.
Themayorslowlyunrolledthescrollandbegantoread,translatingfromtheBretonintoFrench.Andthisiswhathe
read:
“OntheCliffsofSt.Gildas, April13,1760.
“Onthisday,byorderoftheCountofSoisic,generalinchiefoftheBretonforcesnowlyinginKerselecForest,the
bodiesofthirty-eightEnglishsoldiersofthe27th,50th,and72dregimentsofFootwereburiedinthisspot,together
withtheirarmsandequipments.”
Themayorpausedandglancedatmereectively.
“Go on Le Bihan ” I said
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Goon,LeBihan, Isaid.
“Withthem,”continuedthemayor,turningthescrollandreadingontheotherside,“wasburiedthebodyofthatvile
traitorwhobetrayedtheforttotheEnglish.Themannerofhisdeathwasasfollows:ByorderofthemostnobleCount
ofSoisic,thetraitorwasrstbrandedupontheforeheadwiththebrandofanarrowhead.Theironburnedthrough
theeshandwaspressedheavilysothatthebrandshouldevenburnintotheboneoftheskull.Thetraitorwasthen
ledoutandbiddentokneel.HeadmittedhavingguidedtheEnglishfromtheislandofGroix.AlthoughapriestandaFrenchman,hehadviolatedhispriestlyofcetoaidhimindiscoveringthepasswordtothefort.Thispasswordhe
extortedduringconfessionfromayoungBretongirlwhowasinthehabitofrowingacrossfromtheislandofGroixto
visitherhusbandinthefort.Whenthefortfell,thisyounggirl,crazedbythedeathofherhusband,soughttheCount
ofSoisicandtoldhowthepriesthadforcedhertoconfesstohimallsheknewaboutthefort.Thepriestwasarrested
atSt.GildasashewasabouttocrosstherivertoLorient.Whenarrestedhecursedthegirl,MarieTrevec——”
“What!”Iexclaimed,“MarieTrevec!”
“MarieTrevec,”repeatedLeBihan;“thepriestcursedMarieTrevec,andallherfamilyanddescendants.Hewasshot
asheknelt,havingamaskofleatheroverhisface,becausetheBretonswhocomposedthesquadofexecutionre-
fusedtoreatapriestunlesshisfacewasconcealed.Thepriestwasl’AbbéSorgue,commonlyknownastheBlack
Priestonaccountofhisdarkfaceandswarthyeyebrows.Hewasburiedwithastakethroughhisheart.”
LeBihanpaused,hesitated,lookedatme,andhandedthemanuscriptbacktoDurand.Thegendarmetookitand
slippeditintothebrasscylinder.
“So,”saidI,“thethirty-ninthskullistheskulloftheBlackPriest.”
“Yes,”saidFortin.“Ihopetheywon’tndit.”
“Ihaveforbiddenthemtoproceed,”saidthemayorquerulously.“Youheardme,MaxFortin.”
Iroseandpickedupmygun.Mômecameandpushedhisheadintomyhand.
“That’s a ne dog ” observed Durand also rising
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That sanedog, observedDurand,alsorising.
“Whydon’tyouwishtondhisskull?”IaskedLeBihan.“Itwouldbecurioustoseewhetherthearrowbrandreally
burnedintothebone.”
“ThereissomethinginthatscrollthatIdidn’treadtoyou,”saidthemayorgrimly.“Doyouwishtoknowwhatitis?”
“Ofcourse,”Irepliedinsurprise.
“Givemethescrollagain,Durand,”hesaid;thenhereadfromthebottom:“I,l’AbbéSorgue,forcedtowritetheabove
bymyexecutioners,havewrittenitinmyownblood;andwithitIleavemycurse.MycurseonSt.Gildas,onMarie
Trevec,andonherdescendants.IwillcomebacktoSt.Gildaswhenmyremainsaredisturbed.WoetothatEnglish-
manwhommybrandedskullshalltouch!”
“Whatrot!”Isaid.“Doyoubelieveitwasreallywritteninhisownblood?”
“Iamgoingtotestit,”saidFortin,“attherequestofMonsieurleMaire.Iamnotanxiousforthejob,however.”
“See,”saidLeBihan,holdingoutthescrolltome,“itissigned,‘L’AbbéSorgue.’”
Iglancedcuriouslyoverthepaper.
“ItmustbetheBlackPriest,”Isaid.“HewastheonlymanwhowroteintheBretonlanguage.Thisisawonderfullyin-
terestingdiscovery,fornow,atlast,themysteryoftheBlackPriest’sdisappearanceisclearedup.Youwill,ofcourse,
sendthisscrolltoParis,LeBihan?”
“No,”saidthemayorobstinately,“itshallbeburiedinthepitbelowwheretherestoftheBlackPriestlies.”
Ilookedathimandrecognizedthatargumentwouldbeuseless.ButstillIsaid,“Itwillbealosstohistory,Monsieur
LeBihan.”
“All the worse for history, then,” said the enlightened Mayor of St. Gildas.
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Alltheworseforhistory,then, saidtheenlightenedMayorofSt.Gildas.
Wehadsaunteredbacktothegravelpitwhilespeaking.ThemenofBannalecwerecarryingthebonesoftheEnglish
soldierstowardtheSt.Gildascemetery,onthecliffstotheeast,wherealreadyaknotofwhite-coiffedwomenstoodin
attitudesofprayer;andIsawthesomberrobeofapriestamongthecrossesofthelittlegraveyard.
“Theywerethievesandassassins;theyaredeadnow,”mutteredMaxFortin.
“Respectthedead,”repeatedtheMayorofSt.Gildas,lookingaftertheBannalecmen.
“ItwaswritteninthatscrollthatMarieTrevec,ofGroixIsland,wascursedbythepriest—sheandherdescendants,”I
said,touchingLeBihanonthearm.“TherewasaMarieTrevecwhomarriedanYvesTrevecofSt.Gildas——”
“Itisthesame,”saidLeBihan,lookingatmeobliquely.
“Oh!”saidI;“thentheywereancestorsofmywife.”
“Doyoufearthecurse?”askedLeBihan.
“What?”Ilaughed.
“TherewasthecaseofthePurpleEmperor,”saidMaxFortintimidly.
Startledforamoment,Ifacedhim,thenshruggedmyshouldersandkickedatasmoothbitofrockwhichlaynearthe
edgeofthepit,almostembeddedingravel.
“DoyousupposethePurple-EmperordrankhimselfcrazybecausehewasdescendedfromMarieTrevec?”Iasked
contemptuously.
“Ofcoursenot,”saidMaxFortinhastily.
“Of course not,” piped the mayor. “I only—Hellow! what’s that you’re kicking?”
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Ofcoursenot, pipedthemayor. Ionly Hellow!what sthatyou rekicking?
“What?”saidI,glancingdown,atthesametimeinvoluntarilygivinganotherkick.Thesmoothbitofrockdislodged
itselfandrolledoutoftheloosenedgravelatmyfeet.
“Thethirty-ninthskull!”Iexclaimed.“Byjingo,it’sthenoddleoftheBlackPriest!See!thereisthearrowheadbranded
onthefront!”
Themayorsteppedback.MaxFortinalsoretreated.Therewasapause,duringwhichIlookedatthem,andthey
lookedanywherebutatme.
“Idon’tlikeit,”saidthemayoratlast,inahusky,highvoice.“Idon’tlikeit!ThescrollsayshewillcomebacktoSt.
Gildaswhenhisremainsaredisturbed.I—Idon’tlikeit,MonsieurDarrel—”
“Bosh!”saidI;“thepoorwickeddeviliswherehecan’tgetout.ForHeaven’ssake,LeBihan,whatisthisstuffyouaretalkingintheyearofgrace1896?”
Themayorgavemealook.
“Andhesays‘Englishman.’YouareanEnglishman,MonsieurDarrel,”heannounced.
“Youknowbetter.YouknowI’manAmerican.”
“It’sallthesame,”saidtheMayorofSt.Gildas,obstinately.
“No,itisn’t!”Ianswered,muchexasperated,anddeliberatelypushedtheskulltillitrolledintothebottomofthegravel
pitbelow.
“Coveritup,”saidI;“burythescrollwithittoo,ifyouinsist,butIthinkyououghttosendittoParis.Don’tlookso
gloomy,Fortin,unlessyoubelieveinwerewolvesandghosts.Hey!whatthe—whatthedevil’sthematterwithyou,any-
way?Whatareyoustaringat,LeBihan?”
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“Come,come,”mutteredthemayorinalow,tremulousvoice,“it’stimewegotoutofthis.Didyousee?Didyousee,
Fortin?”
“Isaw,”whisperedMaxFortin,pallidwithfright.
Thetwomenwerealmostrunningacrossthesunnypasturenow,andIhastenedafterthem,demandingtoknowwhatwasthematter.
“Matter!”chatteredthemayor,gaspingwithexasperationandterror.“Theskullisrollinguphillagain,”andheburst
intoaterriedgallop,MaxFortinfollowedclosebehind.
Iwatchedthemstampedingacrossthepasture,thenturnedtowardthegravelpit,mystied,incredulous.Theskull
waslyingontheedgeofthepit,exactlywhereithadbeenbeforeIpusheditovertheedge.ForasecondIstaredat
it;asingularchillyfeelingcreptupmyspinalcolumn,andIturnedandwalkedaway,sweatstartingfromtherootofeveryhaironmyhead.BeforeIhadgonetwentypacestheabsurdityofthewholethingstruckme.Ihalted,hotwith
shameandannoyance,andretracedmysteps.
Therelaytheskull.
“Irolledastonedowninsteadoftheskull,”Imutteredtomyself.ThenwiththebuttofmygunIpushedtheskullover
theedgeofthepitandwatcheditrolltothebottom;andasitstruckthebottomofthepit,Môme,mydog,suddenly
whippedhistailbetweenhislegs,whimpered,andmadeoffacrossthemoor.
“Môme!”Ishouted,angryandastonished;butthedogonlyedthefaster,andIceasedcallingfromsheersurprise.
“Whatthemischiefisthematterwiththatdog!”Ithought.Hehadneverbeforeplayedmesuchatrick.
MechanicallyIglancedintothepit,butIcouldnotseetheskull.Ilookeddown.Theskulllayatmyfeetagain,touch-
ingthem.
“Goodheavens!”Istammered,andstruckatitblindlywithmygunstock.Theghastlythingewintotheair,whirling
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, y y g g y g , g
overandover,androlledagaindownthesidesofthepittothebottom.BreathlesslyIstaredatit,then,confusedand
scarcelycomprehending,Isteppedbackfromthepit,stillfacingit,one,ten,twentypaces,myeyesalmoststarting
frommyhead,asthoughIexpectedtoseethethingrollupfromthebottomofthepitundermyverygaze.AtlastI
turnedmybacktothepitandstrodeoutacrossthegorse-coveredmoorlandtowardmyhome.AsIreachedtheroad
thatwindsfromSt.GildastoSt.JulienIgaveonehastyglanceatthepitovermyshoulder.Thesunshonehotonthe
sodabouttheexcavation.Therewassomethingwhiteandbareandroundontheturfattheedgeofthepit.Itmighthavebeenastone;therewereplentyofthemlyingabout.
II
WhenIenteredmygardenIsawMômesprawlingonthestonedoorstep.Heeyedmesidewaysandoppedhistail.
“Areyounotmortied,youidiotdog?”Isaid,lookingabouttheupperwindowsforLys.
Mômerolledoveronhisbackandraisedonedeprecatingforepaw,asthoughtowardoffcalamity.
“Don’tactasthoughIwasinthehabitofbeatingyoutodeath,”Isaid,disgusted.Ihadneverinmyliferaisedwhipto
thebrute.“Butyouareafooldog,”Icontinued.“No,youneedn’tcometobebabiedandweptover;Lyscandothat,if
sheinsists,butIamashamedofyou,andyoucangotothedevil.”
Mômeslunkoffintothehouse,andIfollowed,mountingdirectlytomywife’sboudoir.Itwasempty.
“Wherehasshegone?”Isaid,lookinghardatMôme,whohadfollowedme.“Oh!Iseeyoudon’tknow.Don’tpretend
youdo.Comeoffthatlounge!DoyouthinkLyswantstan-coloredhairsalloverherlounge?”
IrangthebellforCatherineandFine,buttheydidn’tknowwhere“madame”hadgone;soIwentintomyroom,
bathed,exchangedmysomewhatgrimyshootingclothesforasuitofwarm,softknickerbockers,and,afterlingering
someextramomentsovermytoilet—forIwasparticular,nowthatIhadmarriedLys—Iwentdowntothegardenand
tookachairoutundertheg-trees.
“Wherecanshebe?”Iwondered,Mômecamesneakingouttobecomforted,andIforgavehimforLys’ssake,where-
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, g , g y ,
uponhefrisked.
“Youboundingcur,”saidI,“nowwhatonearthstartedyouoffacrossthemoor?IfyoudoitagainI’llpushyoualong
withachargeofdustshot.”
AsyetIhadscarcelydaredthinkabouttheghastlyhallucinationofwhichIhadbeenavictim,butnowIfaceditsquarely,ushingalittlewithmorticationatthethoughtofmyhastyretreatfromthegravelpit.
“Tothink,”Isaidaloud,“thatthoseoldwoman’stalesofMaxFortinandLeBihanshouldhaveactuallymademesee
whatdidn’texistatall!Ilostmynervelikeaschoolboyinadarkbedroom.”ForIknewnowthatIhadmistakena
roundstoneforaskulleachtime,andhadpushedacoupleofbigpebblesintothepitinsteadoftheskullitself.
“Byjingo!”saidI,“I’mnervous;mylivermustbeinadevilofaconditionifIseesuchthingswhenI’mawake!Lyswill
knowwhattogiveme.”
Ifeltmortiedandirritatedandsulky,andthoughtdisgustedlyofLeBihanandMaxFortin.
ButafterawhileIceasedspeculating,dismissedthemayor,thechemist,andtheskullfrommymind,andsmoked
pensively,watchingthesunlowdippinginthewesternocean.Asthetwilightfellforamomentoveroceanandmoor-
land,awistful,restlesshappinesslledmyheart,thehappinessthatallmenknow—allmenwhohaveloved.
Slowlythepurplemistcreptoutoverthesea;thecliffsdarkened;theforestwasshrouded.
Suddenlytheskyaboveburnedwiththeafterglow,andtheworldwasalightagain.
Cloudaftercloudcaughttherosedye;thecliffsweretintedwithit;moorandpasture,heatherandforestburnedand
pulsatedwiththegentleush.Isawthegullsturningandtossingabovethesandbar,theirsnowywingstippedwith
pink;Isawtheseaswallowssheeringthesurfaceofthestillriver,stainedtoitsplaciddepthswithwarmreectionsof
theclouds.Thetwitterofdrowsyhedgebirdsbrokeoutinthestillness;asalmonrolleditsshiningsideabovetidewa-
ter.
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Theinterminablemonotoneoftheoceanintensiedthesilence.Isatmotionless,holdingmybreathasonewholis-
tenstotherstlowrumorofanorgan.Allatoncethepurewhistleofanightingalecutthesilence,andtherstmoon-
beamsilveredthewastesofmist-hungwaters.
Iraisedmyhead.
Lysstoodbeforemeinthegarden.
Whenwehadkissedeachother,welinkedarmsandmovedupanddownthegravelwalks,watchingthemoonbeams
sparkleonthesandbarasthetideebbedandebbed.Thebroadbedsofwhitepinksaboutuswereatremblewith
hoveringwhitemoths;theOctoberroseshungallabloom,perfumingthesaltwind.
“Sweetheart,”Isaid,“whereisYvonne?HasshepromisedtospendChristmaswithus?”
“Yes,Dick;shedrovemedownfromPlougatthisafternoon.Shesentherlovetoyou.Iamnotjealous.Whatdidyou
shoot?”
“Ahareandfourpartridges.Theyareinthegunroom.ItoldCatherinenottotouchthemuntilyouhadseenthem.”
NowIsupposeIknewthatLyscouldnotbeparticularlyenthusiasticovergameorguns;butshepretendedshewas,
andalwaysscornfullydeniedthatitwasformysakeandnotforthepureloveofsport.Soshedraggedmeofftoin-
specttherathermeagergamebag,andshepaidmeprettycompliments,andgavealittlecryofdelightandpityasI
liftedtheenormoushareoutofthesackbyhisears.
“He’lleatnomoreofourlettuce,”Isaidattemptingtojustifytheassassination.
“Unhappylittlebunny—andwhatabeauty!ODick,youareasplendidshot,areyounot?”
Ievadedthequestionandhauledoutapartridge.
“Poorlittledeadthings’”saidLysinawhisper;“itseemsapity—doesn’tit,Dick?Butthenyouaresoclever——”
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“We’llhavethembroiled,”Isaidguardedly,“tellCatherine.”
Catherinecameintotakeawaythegame,andpresently‘FineLelocard,Lys’smaid,announceddinner,andLys
trippedawaytoherboudoir.
Istoodaninstantcontemplatingherblissfully,thinking,“Myboy,you’rethehappiestfellowintheworld—you’reinlove
withyourwife’”
Iwalkedintothedining-room,beamedattheplates,walkedoutagain;metTreguncinthehallway,beamedonhim;
glancedintothekitchen,beamedatCatherine,andwentupstairs,stillbeaming.
BeforeIcouldknockatLys’sdooritopened,andLyscamehastilyout.Whenshesawmeshegavealittlecryofre-
lief,andnestledclosetomybreast.
“Thereissomethingpeeringinatmywindow,”shesaid.
“What!”Icriedangrily.
“Aman,Ithink,disguisedasapriest,andhehasamaskon.Hemusthaveclimbedupbythebaytree.”
Iwasdownthestairsandoutofdoorsinnotime.Themoonlitgardenwasabsolutelydeserted.Tregunccameup,and
togetherwesearchedthehedgeandshrubberyaroundthehouseandouttotheroad.
“JeanMarie,”saidIatlength,“loosemybulldog—heknowsyou—andtakeyoursupperontheporchwhereyoucan
watch.Mywifesaysthefellowisdisguisedasapriest,andwearsamask.”
Treguncshowedhiswhiteteethinasmile.“Hewillnotcaretoventureinhereagain,Ithink,MonsieurDarrel.”
IwentbackandfoundLysseatedquietlyatthetable.
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“Thesoupisready,dear,”shesaid.“Don’tworry;itwasonlysomefoolishloutfromBannalec.NooneinSt.Gildasor
St.Julienwoulddosuchathing.”
Iwastoomuchexasperatedtoreplyatrst,butLystreateditasastupidjoke,andafterawhileIbegantolookatitin
thatlight.
LystoldmeaboutYvonne,andremindedmeofmypromisetohaveHerbertStuartdowntomeether.
“Youwickeddiplomat!”Iprotested.“HerbertisinParis,andhardatworkfortheSalon.”
“Don’tyouthinkhemightspareaweektoirtwiththeprettiestgirlinFinistere?”inquiredLysinnocently.
“Prettiestgirl!Notmuch!”Isaid.
“Whois,then?”urgedLys.
Ilaughedatriesheepishly.
“Isupposeyoumeanme,Dick,”saidLys,coloringup.
“NowIboreyou,don’tI?”
“Boreme?Ah,no,Dick.”
AftercoffeeandcigaretteswereservedIspokeaboutTregunc,andLysapproved.
“PoorJean!Hewillbeglad,won’the?Whatadearfellowyouare!”
“Nonsense,”saidI;“weneedagardener;yousaidsoyourself,Lys.”
ButLysleanedoverandkissedme,andthenbentdownandhuggedMôme—whowhistledthroughhisnoseinsenti-
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mentalappreciation.
“Iamaveryhappywoman,”saidLys.
“Mômewasaverybaddogto-day,”Iobserved.
“PoorMôme!”saidLys,smiling.
WhendinnerwasoverandMômelaysnoringbeforetheblaze—fortheOctobernightsareoftenchillyinFinistere—Lys
curledupinthechimneycornerwithherembroidery,andgavemeaswiftglancefromunderherdroppinglashes.
“Youlooklikeaschoolgirl,Lys,”Isaidteasingly.“Idon’tbelieveyouaresixteenyet.”
Shepushedbackherheavyburnishedhairthoughtfully.Herwristwasaswhiteassurffoam.
“Havewebeenmarriedfouryears?Idon’tbelieveit,”Isaid.
Shegavemeanotherswiftglanceandtouchedtheembroideryonherknee,smilingfaintly.
“Isee,”saidI,alsosmilingattheembroideredgarment.“Doyouthinkitwillt?”
“Fit?”repeatedLys.Thenshelaughed
“And,”Ipersisted,“areyouperfectlysurethatyou—er—weshallneedit?”
“Perfectly,”saidLys.Adelicatecolortouchedhercheeksandneck.Sheheldupthelittlegarment,alluffywithmisty
laceandwroughtwithquaintembroidery.
“Itisverygorgeous,”saidI;“don’tuseyoureyestoomuch,dearest.MayIsmokeapipe?”
“Ofcourse,”shesaidselectingaskeinofpalebluesilk.
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ForawhileIsatandsmokedinsilence,watchingherslenderngersamongthetintedsilksandthreadofgold.
Presentlyshespoke:“Whatdidyousayyourcrestis,Dick?”
“Mycrest?Oh,somethingorotherrampantonasomethingorother——”
“Dick!”
“Dearest?”
“Don’tbeippant.”
“ButIreallyforget.It’sanordinarycrest;everybodyinNewYorkhasthem.Nofamilyshouldbewithout‘em.”
“Youaredisagreeable,Dick.SendJosephineupstairsformyalbum.”
“Areyougoingtoputthatcrestonthe—the—whateveritis?”
“Iam;andmyowncrest,too.”
IthoughtofthePurpleEmperorandwonderedalittle.
“Youdidn’tknowIhadone,didyou?”shesmiled.
“Whatisit?”Irepliedevasively.
“Youshallsee.RingforJosephine.”
Irang,and,when‘Fineappeared,Lysgavehersomeordersinalowvoice,andJosephinetrottedaway,bobbingher
white-coiffedheadwitha“Bien,Madame!”
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Afterafewminutesshereturned,bearingatattered,mustyvolume,fromwhichthegoldandbluehadmostlydisap-
peared.
Itookthebookinmyhandsandexaminedtheancientemblazonedcovers.
“Lilies!”Iexclaimed.
“Fleur-de-lis,”saidmywifedemurely.
“Oh!”saidI,astonished,andopenedthebook.
“Youhaveneverbeforeseenthisbook?”askedLys,withatouchofmaliceinhereyes.
“YouknowIhaven’t.Hello!What’sthis?Oho!SothereshouldbeadebeforeTrevec?LysdeTrevec?Thenwhyin
theworlddidthePurpleEmperor——”
“Dick!”criedLys.
“Allright,”saidI.“ShallIreadabouttheSieurdeTrevecwhorodetoSaladin’stentalonetoseekformedicineforSt.
Louise?OrshallIreadabout—whatisit?Oh,hereitis,alldowninblackandwhite—abouttheMarquisdeTrevecwho
drownedhimselfbeforeAlva’seyesratherthansurrenderthebanneroftheeur-de-listoSpain?It’sallwrittenhere.
But,dear,howaboutthatsoldiernamedTrevecwhowaskilledintheoldfortonthecliffyonder?”
“Hedroppedthede,andtheTrevecssincethenhavebeenRepublicans,”saidLys—”allexceptme.”
“That’squiteright,”saidI;“itistimethatweRepublicansshouldagreeuponsomefeudalsystem.Mydear,Idrinkto
theking!”andIraisedmywineglassandlookedatLys.
“Totheking,”saidLys,ushing.Shesmoothedoutthetinygarmentonherknees;shetouchedtheglasswithherlips;
hereyeswereverysweet.Idrainedtheglasstotheking.
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AfterasilenceIsaid:“Iwilltellthekingstories.Hismajestyshallbeamused.”
“Hismajesty,”repeatedLyssoftly.
“Orhers,”Ilaughed.“Whoknows?”
“Whoknows?”murmuredLys;withagentlesigh.
“IknowsomestoriesaboutJacktheGiant-Killer,”Iannounced.“Doyou,Lys?”
“I?No,notaboutagiant-killer,butIknowallaboutthewerewolf,andJeanne-la-Flamme,andtheManinPurpleTat-
ters,and—Odearme,Iknowlotsmore.”
“Youareverywise,”saidI.“Ishallteachhismajesty,English.”
“AndIBreton,”criedLysjealously.
“Ishallbringplaythingstotheking,”saidI—”biggreenlizardsfromthegorse,littlegraymulletstoswiminglass
globes,babyrabbitsfromtheforestofKerselec——”
“AndI,”saidLys,“willbringtherstprimrose,therstbranchofaubepine,therstjonquil,totheking—myking.”
“Ourking,”saidI;andtherewaspeaceinFinistere.
Ilayback,idlyturningtheleavesofthecuriousoldvolume.
“Iamlooking,”saidI,“forthecrest.”
“Thecrest,dear?Itisapriest’sheadwithanarrow-shapedmarkontheforehead,onaeld——”
I t d t d t if
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Isatupandstaredatmywife.
“Dick,whateveristhematter?”shesmiled.“Thestoryisthereinthatbook.Doyoucaretoreadit?No?ShallItellit
toyou?Well,then:Ithappenedinthethirdcrusade.TherewasamonkwhommencalledtheBlackPriest.Heturned
apostate,andsoldhimselftotheenemiesofChrist.ASieurdeTrevecburstintotheSaracencamp,attheheadof
onlyonehundredlances,andcarriedtheBlackPriestawayoutoftheverymidstoftheirarmy.”
“Sothatishowyoucomebythecrest,”Isaidquietly;butIthoughtofthebrandedskullinthegravelpit,andwon-
dered.
“Yes,”saidLys.“TheSieurdeTreveccuttheBlackPriest’sheadoff,butrsthebrandedhimwithanarrowmarkon
theforehead.Thebooksaysitwasapiousaction,andtheSieurdeTrevecgotgreatmeritbyit.ButIthinkitwas
cruel,thebranding,”shesighed.
“DidyoueverhearofanyotherBlackPriest?”
“Yes.Therewasoneinthelastcentury,hereinSt.Gildas.Hecastawhiteshadowinthesun.HewroteintheBreton
language.Chronicles,too,Ibelieve.Ineversawthem.Hisnamewasthesameasthatoftheoldchronicler,and
oftheotherpriest,JacquesSorgue.Somesaidhewasalinealdescendantofthetraitor.OfcoursetherstBlack
Priestwasbadenoughforanything.Butifhedidhaveachild,itneednothavebeentheancestorofthelastJacques
Sorgue.Theysayhewassogoodhewasnotallowedtodie,butwascaughtuptoheavenoneday,”addedLys,with
believingeyes.
Ismiled.
“Buthedisappeared,”persistedLys.
“I’mafraidhisjourneywasinanotherdirection,”Isaidjestingly,andthoughtlesslytoldherthestoryofthemorning.I
hadutterlyforgottenthemaskedmanatherwindow,butbeforeInishedIrememberedhimfastenough,andreal-
izedwhatIhaddoneasIsawherfacewhiten.
“L ” I d t d l “th t l l l ’ t i k Y id lf Y t titi
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“Lys,”Iurgedtenderly,“thatwasonlysomeclumsyclown’strick.Yousaidsoyourself.Youarenotsuperstitious,my
dear?”
Hereyeswereonmine.Sheslowlydrewthelittlegoldcrossfromherbosomandkissedit.Butherlipstrembledas
theypressedthesymboloffaith.
III
Aboutnineo’clockthenextmorningIwalkedintotheGroixInnandsatdownatthelongdiscoloredoakentable,nod-
dinggood-daytoMarianneBruyere,whointurnbobbedherwhitecoiffeatme.
“MycleverBannalecmaid,”saidI,“whatisgoodforastirrup-cupattheGroixInn?”
“Schist?”sheinquiredinBreton.
“Withadashofredwine,then,”Ireplied.
ShebroughtthedeliciousQuimperlecider,andIpouredalittleBordeauxintoit.Mariannewatchedmewithlaughing
blackeyes.
“Whatmakesyourcheekssored,Marianne?”Iasked.“HasJeanMariebeenhere?”
“Wearetobemarried,MonsieurDarrel,”shelaughed.
“Ah!SincewhenhasJeanMarieTregunclosthishead?”
“Hishead?Oh,MonsieurDarrel—hisheart,youmean!”
“SoIdo,”saidI.“JeanMarieisapracticalfellow.”
“Itisallduetoyourkindness—”beganthegirl,butIraisedmyhandandhelduptheglass.
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“It’sduetohimself.Toyourhappiness,Marianne”;andItookaheartydraughtoftheschist.“Now,”saidI,“tellme
whereIcanndLeBihanandMaxFortin.”
“MonsieurLeBihanandMonsieurFortinareaboveinthebroadroom.IbelievetheyareexaminingtheRedAdmiral’s
effects.”
“TosendthemtoParis?Oh,Iknow.MayIgoup,Marianne?”
“AndGodgowithyou,”smiledthegirl.
WhenIknockedatthedoorofthebroadroomabovelittleMaxFortinopenedit.Dustcoveredhisspectaclesand
nose;hishat,withthetinyvelvetribbonsuttering,wasallawry.
“Comein,MonsieurDarrel,”hesaid;“themayorandIarepackinguptheeffectsofthePurpleEmperorandofthe
poorRedAdmiral.”
“Thecollections?”Iasked,enteringtheroom.“Youmustbeverycarefulinpackingthosebutterycases;theslightest
jarmightbreakwingsandantennas,youknow.”
LeBihanshookhandswithmeandpointedtothegreatpileofboxes.
“They’reallcorklined,”hesaid,“butFortinandIareputtingfeltaroundeachbox.TheEntomologicalSocietyofParis
paysthefreight.”
ThecombinedcollectionoftheRedAdmiralandthePurpleEmperormadeamagnicentdisplay.
Iliftedandinspectedcaseaftercasesetwithgorgeousbutteriesandmoths,eachspecimencarefullylabelledwith
thenameinLatin.Therewerecaseslledwithcrimsontigermothsallaamewithcolor;casesdevotedtothecom-
monyellowbutteries;symphoniesinorangeandpaleyellow;casesofsoftgrayanddun-coloredsphinxmoths;and
casesofgrayishnettle-bedbutteriesofthenumerousfamilyofVanessa.
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Allaloneinagreatcasebyitselfwaspinnedthepurpleemperor,theApaturaIris,thatfatalspecimenthathadgiven
thePurpleEmperorhisnameandquietus.
Irememberedthebuttery,andstoodlookingatitwithbenteyebrows.
LeBihanglancedupfromtheoorwherehewasnailingdownthelidofaboxfullofcases.
“Itissettled,then,”saidhe,“thatmadame,yourwife,givesthePurpleEmperor’sentireCollectiontothecityofParis?”
Inodded.
“Withoutacceptinganythingforit?”
“Itisagift,”Isaid.
“Includingthepurpleemperorthereinthecase?Thatbutteryisworthagreatdealofmoney,”persistedLeBihan.
“Youdon’tsupposethatwewouldwishtosellthatspecimen,doyou?”Iansweredatriesharply.
“IfIwereyouIshoulddestroyit,”saidthemayorinhishigh-pitchedvoice.
“Thatwouldbenonsense,”saidI,“likeyourburyingthebrasscylinderandscrollyesterday.”
“Itwasnotnonsense,”saidLeBihandoggedly,“andIshouldprefernottodiscussthesubjectofthescroll.”
IlookedatMaxPortin,whoimmediatelyavoidedmyeyes.
“Youareapairofsuperstitiousoldwomen,”saidI,diggingmyhandsintomypockets;“youswalloweverynurserytale
thatisinvented.”
“What of it?” said Le Bihan sulkily; “there’s more truth than lies in most of ‘em ”
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Whatofit? saidLeBihansulkily; there smoretruththanliesinmostof em.
“Oh!”Isneered,“doestheMayorofSt.GildasandSt.Julienbelieveintheloup-garou?”
“No,notintheloup-garou.”
“Inwhat,then—Jeanne-la-Flamme?”
“That,”saidLeBihanwithconviction,“ishistory.”
“Thedevilitis!”saidI;“andperhaps,Monsieurthemayor,yourfaithingiantsisunimpaired?”
“Thereweregiants—everybodyknowsit,”growledMaxFortin.
“Andyouachemist!”Iobservedscornfully.
“Listen,MonsieurDarrel,”squeakedLeBihan;“youknowyourselfthatthePurpleEmperorwasascienticman.Now
supposeIshouldtellyouthathealwaysrefusedtoincludeinhiscollectionaDeath’sMessenger?”
“Awhat?”Iexclaimed.
“YouknowwhatImean—thatmoththatiesbynight;somecallittheDeath’sHead,butinSt.Gildaswecallit‘Death’s
Messenger.’”
“Oh!”saidI,“youmeanthatbigsphinxmoththatiscommonlyknownasthe‘death’s-headmoth.’Whythemischief
shouldthepeopleherecallitdeath’smessenger?”
“Forhundredsofyearsithasbeenknownasdeath’smessengerinSt.Gildas,”saidMaxFortin.“EvenFroissart
speaksofitinhiscommentariesonJacquesSorgue’sChronicles.Thebookisinyourlibrary.”
“Sorgue?AndwhowasJacquesSorgue?Ineverreadhisbook.”
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“JacquesSorguewasthesonofsomeunfrockedpriest—Iforget.Itwasduringthecrusades.”
“GoodHeavens!”Iburstout,“I’vebeenhearingofnothingbutcrusadesandpriestsanddeathandsorceryeversince
Ikickedthatskullintothegravelpit,andIamtiredofit,Itellyoufrankly.Onewouldthinkwelivedinthedarkages.
DoyouknowwhatyearofourLorditis,LeBihan?”
“Eighteenhundredandninety-six,”repliedthemayor.
“Andyetyoutwohulkingmenareafraidofadeath’s-headmoth.”
“Idon’tcaretohaveoneyintothewindow,”saidMaxFortin;“itmeanseviltothehouseandthepeopleinit.”
“Godaloneknowswhyhemarkedoneofhiscreatureswithayellowdeath’sheadontheback,”observedLeBihanpiously,“butItakeitthathemeantitasawarning;andIproposetoprotbyit,”headdedtriumphantly.
“Seehere,LeBihan,”Isaid;“byastretchofimaginationonecanmakeoutaskullonthethoraxofacertainbigsphinx
moth.Whatofit?”
“Itisabadthingtotouch,”saidthemayorwagginghishead.
“Itsqueakswhenhandled,”addedMaxFortin.
“Somecreaturessqueakallthetime,”Iobserved,lookinghardatLeBihan.
“Pigs,”addedthemayor.
“Yes,andasses,”Ireplied.“Listen,LeBihan:doyoumeantotellmethatyousawthatskullrolluphillyesterday?”
Themayorshuthismouthtightlyandpickeduphishammer.
“Don’t be obstinate ” I said; “I asked you a question ”
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Don tbeobstinate, Isaid; Iaskedyouaquestion.
“AndIrefusetoanswer,”snappedLeBihan.“FortinsawwhatIsaw;lethimtalkaboutit.”
Ilookedsearchinglyatthelittlechemist.
“Idon’tsaythatIsawitactuallyrollupoutofthepit,allbyitself,”saidFortinwithashiver,“but—butthen,howdidit
comeupoutofthepit,ifitdidn’trollupallbyitself?”
“Itdidn’tcomeupatall;thatwasayellowcobblestonethatyoumistookfortheskullagain,”Ireplied.“Youwerener-
vous,Max.”
“A—averycuriouscobblestone,MonsieurDarrel,”saidFortin.
“Ialsowasavictimtothesamehallucination,”Icontinued,“andIregrettosaythatItookthetroubletorolltwoinno-
centcobblestonesintothegravelpit,imaginingeachtimethatitwastheskullIwasrolling.”
“Itwas,”observedLeBihanwithamoroseshrug.
“Itjustshows,”saidI,ignoringthemayor’sremark,“howeasyitistoxupatrainofcoincidencessothattheresult
seemstosavorofthesupernatural.Now,lastnightmywifeimaginedthatshesawapriestinamaskpeerinather
window——”
FortinandLeBihanscrambledhastilyfromtheirknees,droppinghammerandnails.
“W-h-a-t—what’sthat?”demandedthemayor.
IrepeatedwhatIhadsaid.MaxFortinturnedlivid.
“MyGod!”mutteredLeBihan,“theBlackPriestisinSt.Gildas!”
“D-don’t you—you know the old prophecy?” stammered Fortin; “Froissart quotes it from Jacques Sorgue:
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D-don tyou—youknowtheoldprophecy? stammeredFortin; FroissartquotesitfromJacquesSorgue:
“’WhentheBlackPriestrisesfromthedead,
St.Gildasfolkshallshriekinbed;
WhentheBlackPriestrisesfromhisgrave,
MaythegoodGodSt.Gildassave!’”“AristideLeBihan,”Isaidangrily,“andyou,MaxFortin,I’vegotenoughofthisnonsense!SomefoolishloutfromBan-
nalechasbeeninSt.Gildasplayingtrickstofrightenoldfoolslikeyou.Ifyouhavenothingbettertotalkaboutthan
nurserylegendsI’llwaituntilyoucometoyoursenses.Good-morning.”AndIwalkedout,moredisturbedthanIcared
toacknowledgetomyself.
Thedayhadbecomemistyandovercast.Heavy,wetcloudshungintheeast.Iheardthesurfthunderingagainstthe
cliffs,andthegraygullssquealedastheytossedandturnedhighinthesky.Thetidewascreepingacrosstheriver
sands,higher,higher,andIsawtheseaweedoatingonthebeach,andthelanconsspringingfromthefoam,silverythreadlikeashesinthegloom.Curlewwereyinguptheriverintwosandthrees;thetimidseaswallowsskimmed
acrossthemoorstowardsomequiet,lonelypool,safefromthecomingtempest.Ineveryhedgeeldbirdsweregath-
ering,huddlingtogether,twitteringrestlessly.
WhenIreachedthecliffsIsatdown,restingmychinonmyclenchedhands.Alreadyavastcurtainofrain,sweep-
ingacrosstheoceanmilesaway,hidtheislandofGroix.Totheeast,behindthewhitesemaphoreonthehills,black
cloudscrowdedupoverthehorizon.Afteralittlethethunderboomed,dull,distant,andslenderskeinsoflightning
unraveledacrossthecrestofthecomingstorm.Underthecliffatmyfeetthesurfrushedfoamingovertheshore,and
thelanconsjumpedandskippedandquivereduntiltheyseemedtobebutthereectionsofthemeshedlightning.
Iturnedtotheeast.ItwasrainingoverGroix,itwasrainingatSainteBarbe,itwasrainingnowatthesemaphore.
Highinthestormwhirlafewgullspitched;anearercloudtrailedveilsofraininitswake;theskywasspatteredwith
lightning;thethunderboomed.
AsIrosetogo,acoldraindropfelluponthebackofmyhand,andanother,andyetanotheronmyface.Igavealast
glanceatthesea,wherethewaveswereburstingintostrangewhiteshapesthatseemedtoingoutmenacingarms
towardme.Thensomethingmovedonthecliff,somethingblackastheblackrockitclutched—althycormorant,cran-
ing its hideous head at the sky
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ingitshideousheadatthesky.
SlowlyIploddedhomewardacrossthesombermoorland,wherethegorsestemsglimmeredwithadullmetallic
green,andtheheather,nolongervioletandpurple,hungdrenchedanddun-coloredamongthedrearyrocks.The
wetturfcreakedundermyheavyboots,theblack-thornscrapedandgratedagainstkneeandelbow.Overalllaya
strangelight,pallid,ghastly,wheretheseaspraywhirledacrossthelandscapeanddroveintomyfaceuntilitgrewnumbwiththecold.Inbroadbands,rankafterrank,billowonbillow,therainburstoutacrosstheendlessmoors,and
yettherewasnowindtodriveitatsuchapace.
LysstoodatthedoorasIturnedintothegarden,motioningmetohasten;andthenforthersttimeIbecamecon-
sciousthatIwassoakedtotheskin.
“Howeverintheworlddidyoucometostayoutwhensuchastormthreatened?”shesaid.“Oh,youaredripping!Go
quicklyandchange;Ihavelaidyourwarmunderwearonthebed,Dick.”
Ikissedmywife,andwentupstairstochangemydrippingclothesforsomethingmorecomfortable.
WhenIreturnedtothemorningroomtherewasadriftwoodreonthehearth,andLyssatinthechimneycornerem-
broidering.
“CatherinetellsmethattheshingeetfromLorientisout.Doyouthinktheyareindanger,dear?”askedLys,raising
herblueeyestomineasIentered.
“Thereisnowind,andtherewillbenosea,”saidI,lookingoutofthewindow.FaracrossthemoorIcouldseethe
blackcliffsloominginthemist.
“Howitrains!”murmuredLys;“cometothere,Dick.”
Ithrewmyselfonthefurrug,myhandsinmypockets,myheadonLys’sknees.
“Tellmeastory,”Isaid.“Ifeellikeaboyoften.”
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Lysraisedangertoherscarletlips.Ialwayswaitedforhertodothat.
“Willyoubeverystill,then?”shesaid.
“Stillasdeath.”
“Death,”echoedavoice,verysoftly.
“Didyouspeak,Lys?”Iasked,turningsothatIcouldseeherface.
“No;didyou,Dick?”
“Whosaid‘death’?”Iasked,startled.
“Death,”echoedavoice,softly.
Isprangupandlookedabout.Lysrosetoo,herneedlesandembroideryfallingtotheoor.Sheseemedaboutto
faint,leaningheavilyonme,andIledhertothewindowandopeneditalittlewaytogiveherair.AsIdidsothechain
lightningsplitthezenith,thethundercrashed,andasheetofrainsweptintotheroom,drivingwithitsomethingthat
uttered—somethingthatapped,andsqueaked,andbeatupontherugwithsoft,moistwings.
Webentoverittogether,Lysclingingtome,andwesawthatitwasadeath’s-headmothdrenchedwithrain.
Thedarkdaypassedslowlyaswesatbesidethere,handinhand,herheadagainstmybreast,speakingofsor-
rowandmysteryanddeath.ForLysbelievedthattherewerethingsonearththatnonemightunderstand,thingsthat
mustbenamelessforeverandever,untilGodrollsupthescrolloflifeandallisended.Wespokeofhopeandfear
andfaith,andthemysteryofthesaints;wespokeofthebeginningandtheend,oftheshadowofsin,ofomens,and
oflove.Themothstilllayontheoorquiveringitssomberwingsinthewarmthofthere,theskullandribsclearly
etcheduponitsneckandbody.
“If it is a messenger of death to this house ” I said “why should we fear Lys?”
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Ifitisamessengerofdeathtothishouse, Isaid, whyshouldwefear,Lys?
“DeathshouldbewelcometothosewholoveGod,”murmuredLys,andshedrewthecrossfromherbreastand
kissedit.
“ThemothmightdieifIthrewitoutintothestorm,”Isaidafterasilence.
“Letitremain,”sighedLys.
Latethatnightmywifelaysleeping,andIsatbesideherbedandreadintheChronicleofJacquesSorgue.Ishaded
thecandle,butLysgrewrestless,andnallyItookthebookdownintothemorningroom,wheretheashesofthere
rustledandwhitenedonthehearth.
Thedeath’s-headmothlayontherugbeforetherewhereIhadleftit.AtrstIthoughtitwasdead,butwhenIlookedcloserIsawalambentreinitsambereyes.Thestraightwhiteshadowitcastacrosstheoorwaveredasthecandle
ickered.
ThepagesoftheChronicleofJacquesSorgueweredampandsticky;theilluminatedgoldandblueinitialsleftakes
ofazureandgiltwheremyhandbrushedthem.
“Itisnotpaperatall;itisthinparchment,”Isaidtomyself;andIheldthediscoloredpageclosetothecandleame
andread,translatinglaboriously:
“I,JacquesSorgue,sawallthesethings.AndIsawtheBlackMasscelebratedinthechapelofSt.Gildas-on-the-Cliff.
AnditwassaidbytheAbbéSorgue,mykinsman:forwhichdeadlysintheapostatepriestwasseizedbythemost
nobleMarquisofPlougastelandbyhimcondemnedtobeburnedwithhotirons,untilhissearedsoulquititsbodyand
ytoitsmasterthedevil.ButwhentheBlackPriestlayinthecryptofPlougastel,hismasterSatancameatnightand
sethimfree,andcarriedhimacrosslandandseatoMahmoud,whichisSoldanorSaladin.AndI,JacquesSorgue,
travelingafterwardbysea,beheldwithmyowneyesmykinsman,theBlackPriestofSt.Gildas,bornealongintheair
uponavastblackwing,whichwasthewingofhismasterSatan.Andthiswasseenalsobytwomenofthecrew.”
I turned the page. The wings of the moth on the oor began to quiver. I read on and on, my eyes blurring under the
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Iturnedthepage.Thewingsofthemothontheoorbegantoquiver.Ireadonandon,myeyesblurringunderthe
shiftingcandleame.Ireadofbattlesandofsaints,andIlearnedhowtheGreatSoldanmadehispactwithSatan,
andthenIcametotheSieurdeTrevec,andreadhowheseizedtheBlackPriestinthemidstofSaladin’stentsand
carriedhimawayandcutoffhisheadrstbrandinghimontheforehead.“Andbeforehesuffered,”saidtheChron-
icle,“hecursedtheSieurdeTrevecandhisdescendants,andhesaidhewouldsurelyreturntoSt.Gildas.‘Forthe
violenceyoudotome,Iwilldoviolencetoyou.FortheevilIsufferatyourhands,Iwillworkevilonyouandyourdescendants.Woetoyourchildren,SieurdeTrevec!’”Therewasawhirr,abeatingofstrongwings,andmycandle
ashedupasinasuddenbreeze.Ahumminglledtheroom;thegreatmothdartedhitherandthither,beating,buzz-
ing,onceilingandwall.Iungdownmybookandsteppedforward.Nowitlayutteringuponthewindowsill,andfora
momentIhaditundermyhand,butthethingsqueakedandIshrankback.Thensuddenlyitdartedacrossthecandle
ame;thelightaredandwentout,andatthesamemomentashadowmovedinthedarknessoutside.Iraisedmy
eyestothewindow.Amaskedfacewaspeeringinatme.
QuickasthoughtIwhippedoutmyrevolverandredeverycartridge,butthefaceadvancedbeyondthewindow,theglassmeltingawaybeforeitlikemist,andthroughthesmokeofmyrevolverIsawsomethingcreepswiftlyintothe
room.ThenItriedtocryout,butthethingwasatmythroat,andIfellbackwardamongtheashesofthehearth.
WhenmyeyesunclosedIwaslyingonthehearth,myheadamongthecoldashes.SlowlyIgotonmyknees,rose
painfully,andgropedmywaytoachair.Ontheoorlaymyrevolver,shininginthepalelightofearlymorning.My
mindclearingbydegrees,Ilooked,shuddering,atthewindow.Theglasswasunbroken.Istoopedstify,pickedup
myrevolverandopenedthecylinder.Everycartridgehadbeenred.MechanicallyIclosedthecylinderandplaced
therevolverinmypocket.Thebook,theChroniclesofJacquesSorgue,layonthetablebesideme,andasIstarted
tocloseitIglancedatthepage.Itwasallsplashedwithrain,andtheletteringhadrun,sothatthepagewasmerelyaconfusedblurofgoldandredandblack.AsIstumbledtowardthedoorIcastafearfulglanceovermyshoulder.The
death’s-headmothcrawledshiveringontherug.
IV
Thesunwasaboutthreehourshigh.Imusthaveslept,forIwasarousedbythesuddengallopofhorsesunderour
window.Peoplewereshoutingandcallingintheroad.Isprangupandopenedthesash.LeBihanwasthere,anim-
ageofhelplessness,andMaxFortinstoodbesidehimpolishinghisglasses.Somegendarmeshadjustarrivedfrom
Quimperle, and I could hear them around the corner of the house, stamping, and rattling their sabres and carbines, as
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Quimperle,andIcouldhearthemaroundthecornerofthehouse,stamping,andrattlingtheirsabresandcarbines,as
theyledtheirhorsesintomystable.
Lyssatup,murmuringhalf-sleepy,half-anxiousquestions.
“Idon’tknow,”Ianswered.“Iamgoingouttoseewhatitmeans.”
“Itislikethedaytheycametoarrestyou,”Lyssaid,givingmeatroubledlook.ButIkissedherandlaughedather
untilshesmiledtoo.ThenIungoncoatandcapandhurrieddownthestairs.
TherstpersonIsawstandingintheroadwastheBrigadierDurand.
“Hello!”saidI,“haveyoucometoarrestmeagain?Whatthedevilisallthisfussabout,anyway?”
“Weweretelegraphedforanhourago,”saidDurandbriskly,“andforasufcientreason,Ithink.Lookthere,Monsieur
Darrel!”
Hepointedtothegroundalmostundermyfeet.
“Goodheavens!”Icried,“wheredidthatpuddleofbloodcomefrom?”
“That’swhatIwanttoknow,MonsieurDarrel.MaxFortinfounditatdaybreak.See,it’ssplashedalloverthegrass,
too.Atrailofitleadsintoyourgarden,acrosstheowerbedstoyourverywindow,theonethatopensfromthemorn-ingroom.Thereisanothertrailleadingfromthisspotacrosstheroadtothecliffs,thentothegravelpit,andthence
acrossthemoortotheforestofKerselec.Wearegoingtomountinaminuteandsearchthebosquets.Willyoujoin
us?BonDieu!butthefellowbledlikeanox.MaxFortinsaysit’shumanblood,orIshouldnothavebelievedit.”
ThelittlechemistofQuimperlecameupatthatmoment,rubbinghisglasseswithacoloredhandkerchief.
“Yes,itishumanblood,”hesaid,“butonethingpuzzlesme:thecorpusclesareyellow.Ineversawanyhumanblood
beforewithyellowcorpuscles.ButyourEnglishDoctorThompsonassertsthathehas——”
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“Well,it’shumanblood,anyway—isn’tit?”insistedDurand,impatiently.
“Ye-es,”admittedMaxFortin.
“Thenit’smybusinesstotrailit,”saidthebiggendarme,andhecalledhismenandgavetheordertomount.
“Didyouhearanythinglastnight?”askedDurandofme.
“Iheardtherain.Iwondertheraindidnotwashawaythesetraces.”
“Theymusthavecomeaftertherainceased.Seethisthicksplash,howitliesoverandweighsdownthewetgrass
blades.Pah!”
Itwasaheavy,evil-lookingclot,andIsteppedbackfromit,mythroatclosingindisgust.
“Mytheory,”saidthebrigadier,“isthis:SomeofthoseBiribishermen,probablytheIcelanders,gotanextraglass
ofcognacintotheirhidesandquarreledontheroad.Someofthemwereslashed,andstaggeredtoyourhouse.
Butthereisonlyonetrail,andyet—andyet,howcouldallthatbloodcomefromonlyoneperson?Well,thewounded
man,letussay,staggeredrsttoyourhouseandthenbackhere,andhewanderedoff,drunkanddying,Godknows
where.That’smytheory.”
“Averygoodone,”saidIcalmly.“Andyouaregoingtotrailhim?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Atonce.Willyoucome?”
“Notnow.I’llgallopoverby-and-bye.YouaregoingtotheedgeoftheKerselecforest?”
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“Yes;youwillhearuscalling.Areyoucoming,MaxFortin?Andyou,LeBihan?Good;takethedog-cart.”
Thebiggendarmetrampedaroundthecornertothestableandpresentlyreturnedmountedonastronggrayhorse,
hissabreshoneonhissaddle;hispaleyellowandwhitefacingswerespotless.Thelittlecrowdofwhite-coiffedwom-
enwiththeirchildrenfellbackasDurandtouchedspursandclatteredawayfollowedbyhistwotroopers.SoonafterLeBihanandMaxFortinalsodepartedinthemayor’sdingydog-cart.
“Areyoucoming?”pipedLeBihanshrilly.
“Inaquarterofanhour,”Ireplied,andwentbacktothehouse.
WhenIopenedthedoorofthemorningroomthedeath’s-headmothwasbeatingitsstrongwingsagainstthewindow.
ForasecondIhesitated,thenwalkedoverandopenedthesash.Thecreatureutteredout,whirredovertheowerbedsamoment,thendartedacrossthemoorlandtowardthesea.Icalledtheservantstogetherandquestionedthem.
Josephine,Catherine,JeanMarieTregunc,notoneofthemhadheardtheslightestdisturbanceduringthenight.
ThenItoldJeanMarietosaddlemyhorse,andwhileIwasspeakingLyscamedown.
“Dearest,”Ibegan,goingtoher.
“Youmusttellmeeverythingyouknow,Dick,”sheinterrupted,lookingmeearnestlyintheface.
“Butthereisnothingtotell—onlyadrunkenbrawl,andsomeonewounded.”
“Andyouaregoingtoride—where,Dick?”
“Well,overtotheedgeofKerselecforest.Durandandthemayor,andMaxFortin,havegoneon,followinga—atrail.”
“Whattrail?”
“Someblood.”
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“Wheredidtheyndit?”
“Outintheroadthere.”Lyscrossedherself.
“Doesitcomenearourhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Hownear?”
“Itcomesuptothemorningroomwindow,”saidI,givingin.
Herhandonmyarmgrewheavy.“Idreamedlastnight——”
“SodidI—”butIthoughtoftheemptycartridgesinmyrevolver,andstopped.
“Idreamedthatyouwereingreatdanger,andIcouldnotmovehandorfoottosaveyou;butyouhadyourrevolver,
andIcalledouttoyoutore——”
“Ididre!”Icriedexcitedly.
“You—youred?”
Itookherinmyarms.“Mydarling,”Isaid“somethingstrangehashappened—somethingthatIcannotunderstandas
yet.But,ofcourse,thereisanexplanation.LastnightIthoughtIredattheBlackPriest.”
“Ah!”gaspedLys.
“Isthatwhatyoudreamed?”
“Yes,yes,thatwasit!Ibeggedyoutore——”
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“AndIdid.”
Herheartwasbeatingagainstmybreast.Iheldhercloseinsilence.
“Dick,”shesaidatlength,“perhapsyoukilledthe—thething.”
“IfitwashumanIdidnotmiss,”Iansweredgrimly.“Anditwashuman,”Iwenton,pullingmyselftogether,ashamedof
havingsonearlygonetopieces.“Ofcourseitwashuman!Thewholeaffairisplainenough.Notadrunkenbrawl,as
Durandthinks;itwasadrunkenlout’spracticaljoke,forwhichhehassuffered.IsupposeImusthavelledhimpretty
fullofbullets,andhehascrawledawaytodieinKerselecforest.It’saterribleaffair;I’msorryIredsohastily;butthat
idiotLeBihanandMaxFortinhavebeenworkingonmynervestillIamashystericalasaschoolgirl,”Iendedangrily.
“Youred—butthewindowglasswasnotshattered,”saidLysinalowvoice.
“Well,thewindowwasopen,then.Andasforthe—therest—I’vegotnervousindigestion,andadoctorwillsettlethe
BlackPriestforme,Lys.”
IglancedoutofthewindowatTreguncwaitingwithmyhorseatthegate.
“Dearest,IthinkIhadbettergotojoinDurandandtheothers.”
“Iwillgo,too.”
“Oh,no!”
“Yes,Dick.”
“Don’t,Lys.”
“Ishallsuffereverymomentyouareaway.”
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“Therideistoofatiguing,andwecan’ttellwhatunpleasantsightyoumaycomeupon.Lys,youdon’treallythinkthere
isanythingsupernaturalinthisaffair?”
“Dick,”sheansweredgently,“IamaBretonne.”Withbotharmsaroundmyneck,mywifesaid,“DeathisthegiftofGod.Idonotfearitwhenwearetogether.Butalone—oh,myhusband,IshouldfearaGodwhocouldtakeyouaway
fromme!”
Wekissedeachothersoberly,simply,liketwochildren.ThenLyshurriedawaytochangehergown,andIpacedup
anddownthegardenwaitingforher.
Shecame,drawingonherslendergauntlets.Iswungherintothesaddle,gaveahastyordertoJeanMarie,and
mounted.
Now,toquailunderthoughtsofterroronamorninglikethis,withLysinthesaddlebesideme,nomatterwhathad
happenedormighthappenwasimpossible.Moreover,Mômecamesneakingafterus.IaskedTregunctocatchhim,
forIwasafraidhemightbebrainedbyourhorses’hoofsifhefollowed,butthewilypuppydodgedandboltedafter
Lys,whowastrottingalongthehighroad.“Nevermind,”Ithought;“ifhe’shithe’lllive,forhehasnobrainstolose.”
LyswaswaitingformeintheroadbesidetheShrineofOurLadyofSt.GildaswhenIjoinedher.Shecrossedherself,
Idoffedmycap,thenweshookoutourbridlesandgallopedtowardtheforestofKerselec.
Wesaidverylittleaswerode.IalwayslovedtowatchLysinthesaddle.Herexquisitegureandlovelyfacewerethe
incarnationofyouthandgrace;hercurlinghairglistenedlikethreadedgold.
OutofthecornerofmyeyeIsawthespoiledpuppyMômecomeboundingcheerfullyalongside,obliviousofourhors-
es’heels.Ourroadswungclosetothecliffs.Althycormorantrosefromtheblackrocksandappedheavilyacross
ourpath.Lys’shorsereared,butshepulledhimdown,andpointedatthebirdwithherridingcrop.
“Isee,”saidI;“itseemstobegoingourway.Curioustoseeacormorantinaforest,isn’tit?”
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“Itisabadsign,”saidLys.“YouknowtheMorbihanproverb:‘Whenthecormorantturnsfromthesea,Deathlaughsin
theforest,andwisewoodsmenbuildboats.’”
“Iwish,”saidIsincerely,“thattherewerefewerproverbsinBrittany.”
Wewereinsightoftheforestnow;acrossthegorseIcouldseethesparkleofgendarmes’trappings,andtheglitterof
LeBihan’ssilver-buttonedjacket.Thehedgewaslowandwetookitwithoutdifculty,andtrottedacrossthemoorto
whereLeBihanandDurandstoodgesticulating.
TheybowedceremoniouslytoLysaswerodeup.
“Thetrailishorrible—itisariver,”saidthemayorinhissqueakyvoice.“MonsieurDarrel,Ithinkperhapsmadame
wouldscarcelycaretocomeanynearer.”
Lysdrewbridleandlookedatme.
“Itishorrible!”saidDurand,walkingupbesideme;“itlooksasthoughableedingregimenthadpassedthisway.The
trailwindsandwindsabouthereinthethickets;weloseitattimes,butwealwaysnditagain.Ican’tunderstandhow
oneman—no,nortwenty—couldbleedlikethat!”
Ahalloo,answeredbyanother,soundedfromthedepthsoftheforest.
“It’smymen;theyarefollowingthetrail,”mutteredthebrigadier.“Godaloneknowswhatisattheend!”
“Shallwegallopback,Lys?”Iasked.
“No;letusridealongthewesternedgeofthewoodsanddismount.Thesunissohotnow,andIshouldliketorestfor
amoment,”shesaid.
“Thewesternforestisclearofanythingdisagreeable,”saidDurand.
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“Verywell,”Ianswered;“callme,LeBihan,ifyoundanything.”
Lyswheeledhermare,andIfollowedacrossthespringyheather,Mômetrottingcheerfullyintherear.
WeenteredthesunnywoodsaboutaquarterofakilometerfromwhereweleftDurand.ItookLysfromherhorse,ungbothbridlesoveralimb,and,givingmywifemyarm,aidedhertoaatmossyrockwhichoverhungashallow
brookgurglingamongthebeechtrees.Lyssatdownanddrewoffhergauntlets.Mômepushedhisheadintoherlap,
receivedanundeservedcaress,andcamedoubtfullytowardme.Iwasweakenoughtocondonehisoffense,butI
madehimliedownatmyfeet,greatlytohisdisgust.
IrestedmyheadonLys’sknees,lookingupattheskythroughthecrossedbranchesofthetrees.
“IsupposeIhavekilledhim,”Isaid.“Itshocksmeterribly,Lys.”
“Youcouldnothaveknown,dear.Hemayhavebeenarobber,and—if—not—did—haveyoueverredyourrevolver
sincethatdayfouryearsagowhentheRedAdmiral’ssontriedtokillyou?ButIknowyouhavenot.”
“No,”saidI,wondering.“It’safact,Ihavenot.Why?”
“Anddon’tyourememberthatIaskedyoutoletmeloaditforyouthedaywhenYveswentoff,swearingtokillyou
andhisfather?”
“Yes,Idoremember.Well?”
“Well,I—ItookthecartridgesrsttoSt.Gildaschapelanddippedtheminholywater.Youmustnotlaugh,Dick,”said
Lysgently,layinghercoolhandsonmylips.
“Laugh,mydarling!”
OverheadtheOctoberskywaspaleamethyst,andthesunlightburnedlikeorangeamethroughtheyellowleaves
ofbeechandoak.Gnatsandmidgesdancedandwaveredoverhead;aspiderdroppedfromatwighalfwaytothe
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groundandhungsuspendedontheendofhisgossamerthread.
“Areyousleepy,dear?”askedLys,bendingoverme.
“Iam—alittle;Iscarcelyslepttwohourslastnight,”Ianswered.
“Youmaysleep,ifyouwish,”saidLys,andtouchedmyeyescaressingly.
“Ismyheadheavyonyourknees?”
“No,Dick.”
Iwasalreadyinahalfdoze;stillIheardthebrookbabblingunderthebeechesandthehummingofforestiesover-head.Presentlyeventhesewerestilled.
ThenextthingIknewIwassittingboltupright,myearsringingwithascream,andIsawLyscoweringbesideme,
coveringherwhitefacewithbothhands.
AsIsprangtomyfeetshecriedagainandclungtomyknees.Isawmydogrushgrowlingintoathicket,thenIheard
himwhimper,andhecamebackingout,whining,earsat,taildown.IstoopedanddisengagedLys’shand.
“Don’tgo,Dick!”shecried.“OGod,it’stheBlackPriest!”
InamomentIhadleapedacrossthebrookandpushedmywayintothethicket.Itwasempty.Istaredaboutme;
Iscannedeverytreetrunk,everybush.SuddenlyIsawhim.Hewasseatedonafallenlog,hisheadrestinginhis
hands,hisrustyblackrobegatheredaroundhim.Foramomentmyhairstirredundermycap;sweatstartedon
foreheadandcheekbone;thenIrecoveredmyreason,andunderstoodthatthemanwashumanandwasprobably
woundedtodeath.Ay,todeath;forthereatmyfeet,laythewettrailofblood,overleavesandstones,downintothe
littlehollow,acrosstothegureinblackrestingsilentlyunderthetrees.
Isawthathecouldnotescapeevenifhehadthestrength,forbeforehim,almostathisveryfeet,layadeep,shining
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swamp.
AsIsteppedforwardmyfootbrokeatwig.Atthesoundthegurestartedalittle,thenitsheadfellforwardagain.
Itsfacewasmasked.Walkinguptotheman,Ibadehimtellwherehewaswounded.Durandandtheothersbroke
throughthethicketatthesamemomentandhurriedtomyside.
“Whoareyouwhohideamaskedfaceinapriest’srobe?”saidthegendarmeloudly.
Therewasnoanswer.
“See—seethestiffbloodalloverhisrobe,”mutteredLeBihantoFortin.
“Hewillnotspeak,”saidI.
“Hemaybetoobadlywounded,”whisperedLeBihan.
“Isawhimraisehishead,”Isaid,“mywifesawhimcreepuphere.”
Durandsteppedforwardandtouchedthegure.
“Speak!”hesaid.
“Speak!”quaveredFortin.
Durandwaitedamoment,thenwithasuddenupwardmovementhestrippedoffthemaskandthrewbacktheman’s
head.Wewerelookingintotheeyesocketsofaskull.Durandstoodrigid;themayorshrieked.Theskeletonburstout
fromitsrottingrobesandcollapsedonthegroundbeforeus.Frombetweenthestaringribsandthegrinningteeth
spurtedatorrentofblackblood,showeringtheshrinkinggrasses;thenthethingshuddered,andfelloverintothe
blackoozeofthebog.Littlebubblesofiridescentairappearedfromthemud;theboneswereslowlyengulfed,and,as
thelastfragmentssankoutofsight,upfromthedepthsandalongthebankcreptacreature,shiny,shivering,quiver-
ingitswings.
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Itwasadeath’s-headmoth.
IwishIhadtimetotellyouhowLysoutgrewsuperstitions—forsheneverknewthetruthabouttheaffair,andshe
neverwillknow,sinceshehaspromisednottoreadthisbook.IwishImighttellyouaboutthekingandhiscorona-tion,andhowthecoronationrobetted.IwishthatIwereabletowritehowYvonneandHerbertStuartrodetoaboar
huntinQuimperle,andhowthehoundsracedthequarryrightthroughthetown,overturningthreegendarmes,the
notary,andanoldwoman.ButIambecominggarrulousandLysiscallingmetocomeandhearthekingsaythathe
issleepy.Andhishighnessshallnotbekeptwaiting.
THEKING’SCRADLESONG
Sealwithasealofgold
Thescrollofalifeunrolled;
Swathehimdeepinhispurplestole;
Ashesofdiamonds,crystalledcoal,
Dropsofgoldineachscentedfold.
CrimsonwingsoftheLittleDeath,
Stirhishairwithyoursilkenbreath;
Flamingwingsofsinstobe,
Splendidpinionsofprophecy,
Smotherhiseyeswithhuesanddyes,Whilethewhitemoonspinsandthewindsarise,
Andthestarsdripthroughtheskies.
Wave,OwingsoftheLittleDeath!
Sealhissightandstiehisbreath,
Coverhisbreastwiththegemmedshroudpressed;
Fromnorthtonorth,fromwesttowest,
Wave,OwingsoftheLittleDeath!
Tillthewhitemoonreelsinthecrackingskies,
AndtheghostsofGodarise.
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Lazarus
ByLEONIDANDREYEV
TRANSLATEDBYABRAHAMYARMOLINSKY
FromLazarusandtheGentlemanfromSanFrancisco.PublishedbyTheStratfordCompany.Bypermissionofthe
publishers.
I
WhenLazarusleftthegrave,where,forthreedaysandthreenightshehadbeenundertheenigmaticalswayof
death,andreturnedalivetohisdwelling,foralongtimenoonenoticedinhimthosesinisteroddities,which,astime
wenton,madehisverynameaterror.Gladdenedunspeakablybythesightofhimwhohadbeenreturnedtolife,thoseneartohimcaressedhimunceasingly,andsatiatedtheirburningdesiretoservehim,insolicitudeforhisfood
anddrinkandgarments.Andtheydressedhimgorgeously,inbrightcolorsofhopeandlaughter,andwhen,like
toabridegroominhisbridalvestures,hesatagainamongthematthetable,andagainateanddrank,theywept,
overwhelmedwithtenderness.Andtheysummonedtheneighborstolookathimwhohadrisenmiraculouslyfrom
thedead.Thesecameandsharedtheserenejoyofthehosts.Strangersfromfar-offtownsandhamletscameand
adoredthemiracleintempestuouswords.LiketoabeehivewasthehouseofMaryandMartha.
WhateverwasfoundnewinLazarus’faceandgestureswasthoughttobesometraceofagraveillnessandofthe
shocksrecentlyexperienced.Evidently,thedestructionwroughtbydeathonthecorpsewasonlyarrestedbythe
i l b t it ff t till t d h t d th h d d d i d i ith L ’ f
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miraculouspower,butitseffectswerestillapparent;andwhatdeathhadsucceededindoingwithLazarus’face
andbody,waslikeanartist’sunnishedsketchseenunderthinglass.OnLazarus’temples,underhiseyes,andin
thehollowsofhischeeks,layadeepandcadaverousblueness;cadaverouslybluealsowerehislongngers,and
aroundhisngernails,grownlonginthegrave,thebluehadbecomepurpleanddark.Onhislipstheskin,swollen
inthegrave,hadburstinplaces,andthin,reddishcrackswereformed,shiningasthoughcoveredwithtransparentmica.Andhehadgrownstout.Hisbody,puffedupinthegrave,retaineditsmonstroussizeandshowedthosefright-
fulswellings,inwhichonesensedthepresenceoftherankliquidofdecomposition.Buttheheavycorpse-likeodor
whichpenetratedLazarus’graveclothesand,itseemed,hisverybody,soonentirelydisappeared,thebluespotson
hisfaceandhandsgrewpaler,andthereddishcracksclosedup,althoughtheyneverdisappearedaltogether.Thatis
howLazaruslookedwhenheappearedbeforepeople,inhissecondlife,buthisfacelookednaturaltothosewhohad
seenhiminthecofn.
Inadditiontothechangesinhisappearance,Lazarus’temperseemedtohaveundergoneatransformation,butthis
circumstancestartlednooneandattractednoattention.BeforehisdeathLazarushadalwaysbeencheerfuland
carefree,fondoflaughterandamerryjoke.Itwasbecauseofthisbrightnessandcheerfulness,withnotatouchof
maliceanddarkness,thattheMasterhadgrownsofondofhim.ButnowLazarushadgrowngraveandtaciturn,he
neverjested,himself,norrespondedwithlaughtertootherpeople’sjokes;andthewordswhichheuttered,veryin-
frequently,weretheplainest,mostordinary,andnecessarywords,asdeprivedofdepthandsignicance,asthose
soundswithwhichanimalsexpresspainandpleasure,thirstandhunger.Theywerethewordsthatonecansayall
one’slife,andyettheygivenoindicationofwhatpainsandgladdensthedepthsofthesoul.
Thus,withthefaceofacorpsewhichforthreedayshadbeenundertheheavyswayofdeath,darkandtaciturn,al-readyappallinglytransformed,butstillunrecognizedbyanyoneinhisnewself,hewassittingatthefeastingtable,
amongfriendsandrelatives,andhisgorgeousnuptialgarmentsglitteredwithyellowgoldandbloodyscarlet.Broad
wavesofjubilation,nowsoft,nowtempestuouslysonoroussurgedaroundhim;warmglancesoflovewerereaching
outforhisface,stillcoldwiththecoldnessofthegrave;andafriend’swarmpalmcaressedhisblue,heavyhand.And
musicplayedthetympanumandthepipe,thecitharaandtheharp.Itwasasthoughbeeshummed,grasshoppers
chirpedandbirdswarbledoverthehappyhouseofMaryandMartha.
II
One of the guests incautiously lifted the veil By a thoughtless word he broke the serene charm and uncovered the
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Oneoftheguestsincautiouslyliftedtheveil.Byathoughtlesswordhebroketheserenecharmanduncoveredthe
truthinallitsnakedugliness.Erethethoughtformeditselfinhismind,hislipsutteredwithasmile:
“Whydostthounottelluswhathappenedyonder?”
Andallgrewsilent,startledbythequestion.ItwasasifitoccurredtothemonlynowthatforthreedaysLazarushad
beendead,andtheylookedathim,anxiouslyawaitinghisanswer.ButLazaruskeptsilence.
“Thoudostnotwishtotellus,”—wonderedtheman,“isitsoterribleyonder?”
Andagainhisthoughtcameafterhiswords.Haditbeenotherwise,hewouldnothaveaskedthisquestion,whichat
thatverymomentoppressedhisheartwithitsinsufferablehorror.Uneasinessseizedallpresent,andwithafeelingof
heavywearinesstheyawaitedLazarus’words,buthewassilent,sternlyandcoldly,andhiseyeswerelowered.And
asifforthersttime,theynoticedthefrightfulbluenessofhisfaceandhisrepulsiveobesity.Onthetable,asthough
forgottenbyLazarus,restedhisbluish-purplewrist,andtothisalleyesturned,asifitwerefromitthattheawaited
answerwastocome.Themusicianswerestillplaying,butnowthesilencereachedthemtoo,andevenaswaterex-
tinguishesscatteredembers,soweretheirmerrytunesextinguishedinthesilence.Thepipegrewsilent;thevoicesof
thesonoroustympanumandthemurmuringharpdiedaway;andasifthestringshadburst,thecitharaansweredwith
atremulous,brokennote.Silence.
“Thoudostnotwishtosay?”repeatedtheguest,unabletocheckhischatteringtongue.Butthestillnessremained
unbroken,andthebluish-purplehandrestedmotionless.Andthenhestirredslightlyandeveryonefeltrelieved.Helifteduphiseyes,andlo!straightwayembracingeverythinginoneheavyglance,fraughtwithwearinessandhorror,
helookedatthem,—Lazaruswhohadarisenfromthedead.
ItwasthethirddaysinceLazarushadleftthegrave.Eversincethenmanyhadexperiencedtheperniciouspowerof
hiseye,butneitherthosewhowerecrushedbyitforever,northosewhofoundthestrengthtoresistinittheprimor-
dialsourcesoflife,—whichisasmysteriousasdeath,—nevercouldtheyexplainthehorrorwhichlaymotionlessinthe
depthofhisblackpupils.Lazaruslookedcalmlyandsimplywithnodesiretoconcealanything,butalsowithnointen-
tiontosayanything;helookedcoldly,ashewhoisinnitelyindifferenttothosealive.Manycarefreepeoplecame
closetohimwithoutnoticinghim,andonlylaterdidtheylearnwithastonishmentandfearwhothatcalmstoutman
was that walked slowly by almost touching them with his gorgeous and dazzling garments The sun did not cease
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was,thatwalkedslowlyby,almosttouchingthemwithhisgorgeousanddazzlinggarments.Thesundidnotcease
shining,whenhewaslooking,nordidthefountainhushitsmurmur,andtheskyoverheadremainedcloudlessand
blue.Butthemanunderthespellofhisenigmaticallookheardnomorethefountainandsawnottheskyoverhead.
Sometimes,heweptbitterly,sometimeshetorehishairandinfrenzycalledforhelp;butmoreoftenitcametopass
thatapatheticallyandquietlyhebegantodie,andsohelanguishedmanyyears,beforeeverybody’sveryeyes,wast-edaway,colorless,abby,dull,likeatree,silentlydryingupinastonysoil.Andofthosewhogazedathim,theones
whoweptmadly,sometimesfeltagainthestiroflife;theothersnever.
“Sothoudostnotwishtotelluswhatthouhastseenyonder?”repeatedtheman.Butnowhisvoicewasimpassive
anddull,anddeadlygraywearinessshowedinLazarus’eyes.Anddeadlygraywearinesscoveredlikedustallthe
faces,andwithdullamazementtheguestsstaredateachotheranddidnotunderstandwhereforetheyhadgathered
hereandsatattherichtable.Thetalkceased.Theythoughtitwastimetogohome,butcouldnotovercometheac-
cidlazywearinesswhichgluedtheirmuscles,andtheykeptonsittingthere,yetapartandtornawayfromeachother,
likepaleresscatteredoveradarkeld.
Butthemusicianswerepaidtoplayandagaintheytooktheirinstrumentsandagaintunesfullofstudiedmirthand
studiedsorrowbegantoowandtorise.Theyunfoldedthecustomarymelodybuttheguestshearkenedindull
amazement.Alreadytheyknewnotwhereforeisitnecessary,andwhyisitwell,thatpeopleshouldpluckstrings,in-
atetheircheeks,blowinthinpipes,andproduceabizarre,many-voicednoise.
“Whatbadmusic,”saidsomeone.
Themusicianstookoffenseandleft.Followingthem,theguestsleftoneafteranother,fornightwasalreadycome.
Andwhenplaciddarknessencircledthemandtheybegantobreathewithmoreease,suddenlyLazarus’image
loomedupbeforeeachoneinformidableradiance:thebluefaceofacorpse,grave-clothesgorgeousandresplen-
dent,acoldlook,inthedepthsofwhichlaymotionlessanunknownhorror.Asthoughpetried,theywerestanding
farapart,anddarknessenvelopedthem,butinthedarknessblazedbrighterandbrighterthesupernaturalvisionof
himwhoforthreedayshadbeenundertheenigmaticalswayofdeath.Forthreedayshadhebeendead:thricehad
thesunrisenandset,buthehadbeendead;childrenhadplayed,streamsmurmuredoverpebbles,thewayfarerhad
lifteduphotdustinthehighroad,—buthehadbeendead.Andnowheisagainamongthem,—touchesthem,—looks
atthem,—looksatthem!andthroughtheblackdiscsofhispupils,asthroughdarkenedglass,starestheunknowable
Yonder
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Yonder.
III
NoonewastakingcareofLazarus,fornofriendsnorelativeswerelefttohim,andthegreatdesertwhichencircledtheholycity,cameneartheverythresholdofhisdwelling.Andthedesertenteredhishouse,andstretchedonhis
couch,likeawifeandextinguishedtheres.NoonewastakingcareofLazarus.Oneaftertheother,hissisters—
MaryandMartha—forsookhim.ForalongwhileMarthawasloathtoabandonhim,forsheknewnotwhowouldfeed
himandpityhim,sheweptandprayed.Butonenight,whenthewindwasroaminginthedesertandwithahissing
soundthecypresseswerebendingovertheroof,shedressednoiselesslyandsecretlyleftthehouse.Lazarusprob-
ablyheardthedoorslam;itbangedagainsttheside-postunderthegustsofthedesertwind,buthedidnotrisetogo
outandtolookatherthatwasabandoninghim.Allthenightlongthecypresseshissedoverhisheadandplaintively
thumpedthedoor,lettinginthecold,greedydesert.
Likealeperhewasshunnedbyeveryone,anditwasproposedtotieabelltohisneck,asisdonewithlepers,towarn
peopleagainstsuddenmeetings.Butsomeoneremarked,growingfrightfullypale,thatitwouldbetoohorribleifby
nightthemoaningofLazarus’bellweresuddenlyheardunderthewindows,—andsotheprojectwasabandoned.
Andsincehedidnottakecareofhimself,hewouldprobablyhavestarvedtodeath,hadnottheneighborsbrought
himfoodinfearofsomethingthattheysensedbutvaguely.Thefoodwasbroughttohimbychildren;theywerenot
afraidofLazarus,nordidtheymockhimwithnaivecruelty,aschildrenarewonttodowiththewretchedandmisera-
ble.Theywereindifferenttohim,andLazarusansweredthemwiththesamecoldness;hehadnodesiretocaresstheblacklittlecurls,andtolookintotheirinnocentshiningeyes.GiventoTimeandtotheDesert,hishousewascrum-
blingdown,andlongsincehadhisfamishing,lowinggoatswanderedawaytotheneighboringpastures.Andhisbrid-
algarmentsbecamethreadbare.Eversincethathappyday,whenthemusiciansplayed,hehadwornthemunaware
ofthedifferenceofthenewandtheworn.Thebrightcolorsgrewdullandfaded;viciousdogsandthesharpthornof
theDesertturnedthetenderfabricintorags.
Byday,whenthemercilesssunslewallthingsalive,andevenscorpionssoughtshelterunderstonesandwrithed
thereinamaddesiretosting,hesatmotionlessunderthesunrays,hisbluefaceandtheuncouth,bushybearedlifted
up,bathingintheeryood.
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Whenpeoplestilltalkedtohim,hewasonceasked:
“PoorLazarus,doesitpleasetheetositthusandtostareatthesun?”
Andhehadanswered:
“Yes,itdoes.”
Sostrong,itseemed,wasthecoldofhisthreedays’grave,sodeepthedarkness,thattherewasnoheatonearthto
warmLazarus,norasplendorthatcouldbrightenthedarknessofhiseyes.Thatiswhatcametothemindofthose
whospoketoLazarus,andwithasightheylefthim.
Andwhenthescarlet,attenedglobewouldlower,Lazaruswouldsetoutforthedesertandwalkstraighttowardthe
sun,asthoughstrivingtoreachit.Healwayswalkedstraighttowardthesunandthosewhotriedtofollowhimand
tospyuponwhathewasdoingatnightinthedesert,retainedintheirmemorytheblacksilhouetteofatallstoutman
againsttheredbackgroundofanenormousatteneddisc.Nightpursuedthemwithherhorrors,andsotheydidnot
learnofLazarus’doingsinthedesert,butthevisionoftheblackonredwasforeverbrandedontheirbrain.Justasa
beastwithasplinterinitseyefuriouslyrubsitsmuzzlewithitspaws,sotheytoofoolishlyrubbedtheireyes,butwhat
Lazarushadgivenwasindelible,andDeathalonecouldeffaceit.
Buttherewerepeoplewholivedfaraway,whoneversawLazarusandknewofhimonlybyreport.Withdaringcurios-ity,whichisstrongerthanfearandfeedsuponit,withhiddenmockery,theywouldcometoLazaruswhowassitting
inthesunandenterintoconversationwithhim.BythistimeLazarus’appearancehadchangedforthebetterandwas
notsoterrible.Therstminutetheysnappedtheirngersandthoughtofhowstupidtheinhabitantsoftheholycity
were;butwhentheshorttalkwasoverandtheystartedhomeward,theirlooksweresuchthattheinhabitantsofthe
holycityrecognizedthematonceandsaid:
“Look,thereisonemorefoolonwhomLazarushassethiseye,”—andtheyshooktheirheadsregretfully,andliftedup
theirarms.
There came brave intrepid warriors with tinkling weapons; happy youths came with laughter and song; busy trades-
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Therecamebrave,intrepidwarriors,withtinklingweapons;happyyouthscamewithlaughterandsong;busytrades-
men,jinglingtheirmoney,raninforamoment,andhaughtypriestsleanedtheircrosiersagainstLazarus’door,and
theywereallstrangelychanged,astheycameback.Thesameterribleshadowswoopeddownupontheirsoulsand
gaveanewappearancetotheoldfamiliarworld.
Thosewhostillhadthedesiretospeak,expressedtheirfeelingsthus:
“Allthingstangibleandvisiblegrewhollow,light,andtransparent,—similartolightsomeshadowsinthedarknessof
night;
“for,thatgreatdarkness,whichholdsthewholecosmos,wasdispersedneitherbythesunorbythemoonandthe
stars,butlikeanimmenseblackshroudenvelopedtheearthand,likeamother,embracedit;
“itpenetratedallthebodies,ironandstone,—andtheparticlesofthebodies,havinglosttheirties,grewlonely;andit
penetratedintothedepthoftheparticles,andtheparticlesofparticlesbecamelonely;
“forthatgreatvoid,whichencirclesthecosmos,wasnotlledbythingsvisible:neitherbythesun,norbythemoon
andthestars,butreignedunrestrained,penetratingeverywhere,severingbodyfrombody,particlefromparticle;
“inthevoidhollowtreesspreadhollowrootsthreateningafantasticfall;temples,palaces,andhorsesloomedupand
theywerehollow;andinthevoidmenmovedaboutrestlesslybuttheywerelightandhollowlikeshadows;
“for,Timewasnomore,andthebeginningofallthingscameneartheirend:thebuildingwasstillbeingbuilt,and
builderswerestillhammeringaway,anditsruinswerealreadyseenandthevoidinitsplace;themanwasstillbeing
born,butalreadyfuneralcandleswereburningathishead,andnowtheywereextinguished,andtherewasthevoid
inplaceofthemanandofthefuneralcandles.
“andwrappedbyvoidanddarknessthemanindespairtrembledinthefaceoftheHorroroftheInnite.”
Thusspakethemenwhohadstilladesiretospeak.But,surely,muchmorecouldhavetoldthosewhowishednotto
speak,anddiedinsilence.
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IV
AtthattimetherelivedinRomearenownedsculptor.Inclay,marble,andbronzehewroughtbodiesofgodsand
men,andsuchwastheirbeauty,thatpeoplecalledthemimmortal.Buthehimselfwasdiscontentedandassertedthattherewassomethingevenmorebeautiful,thathecouldnotembodyeitherinmarbleorinbronze.“Ihavenotyet
gatheredtheglimmersofthemoon,norhaveImyllofsunshine,”hewaswonttosay,“andthereisnosoulinmy
marble,nolifeinmybeautifulbronze.”Andwhenonmoonlightnightsheslowlywalkedalongtheroad,crossingthe
blackshadowsofcypresses,hiswhitetunicglitteringinthemoonshine,thosewhomethimwouldlaughinafriendly
wayandsay:
“Artthougoingtogathermoonshine,Aurelius?Whythendidstthounotfetchbaskets?”
Andhewouldanswer,laughingandpointingtohiseyes:
“HerearethebasketswhereinIgatherthesheenofthemoonandtheglimmerofthesun.”
Andsoitwas:themoonglimmeredinhiseyesandthesunsparkledtherein.Buthecouldnottranslatetheminto
marbleandthereinlaytheserenetragedyofhislife.
Hewasdescendedfromanancientpatricianrace,hadagoodwifeandchildren,andsufferedfromnowant.
WhentheobscurerumoraboutLazarusreachedhim,heconsultedhiswifeandfriendsandundertookthefarjourney
toJudeatoseehimwhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthedead.Hewassomewhatwearyinthosedaysandhehoped
thattheroadwouldsharpenhisbluntedsenses.WhatwassaidofLazarusdidnotfrightenhim:hehadpondered
muchoverDeath,didnotlikeit,buthedislikedalsothosewhoconfuseditwithlife.
“Inthislife,—lifeandbeauty;
beyond,—Death,theenigmatical”—
thoughthe,andthereisnobetterthingforamantodothantodelightinlifeandinthebeautyofallthingsliving.He
hadevenavaingloriousdesiretoconvinceLazarusofthetruthofhisownviewandrestorehissoultolife,ashisbody
had been restored This seemed so much easier because the rumors shy and strange did not render the whole truth
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hadbeenrestored.Thisseemedsomucheasierbecausetherumors,shyandstrange,didnotrenderthewholetruth
aboutLazarusandbutvaguelywarnedagainstsomethingfrightful.
Lazarushadjustrisenfromthestoneinordertofollowthesunwhichwassettinginthedesert,whenarichRomanat-
tendedbyanarmedslave,approachedhimandaddressedhiminasonoroustoneofvoice:
“Lazarus!”
AndLazarusbeheldasuperbface,litwithglory,andarrayedinneclothes,andpreciousstonessparklinginthesun.
TheredlightlenttotheRoman’sfaceandheadtheappearanceofgleamingbronze—thatalsoLazarusnoticed.He
resumedobedientlyhisplaceandloweredhiswearyeyes.
“Yes,thouartugly,mypoorLazarus,”—quietlysaidtheRoman,playingwithhisgoldenchain;“thouartevenhorrible,
mypoorfriend;andDeathwasnotlazythatdaywhenthoudidstfallsoheedlesslyintohishands.Butthouartstout,
and,asthegreatCæsarusedtosay,fatpeoplearenotill-tempered;totellthetruth,Idon’tunderstandwhymenfear
thee.Permitmetospendthenightinthyhouse;thehourislate,andIhavenoshelter.”
NeverhadanyoneaskedLazarus’hospitality.
“Ihavenobed,”saidhe.
“IamsomewhatofasoldierandIcansleepsitting,”theRomananswered.“Weshallbuildare.”
“Ihavenore.”
“Thenweshallhaveourtalkinthedarkness,liketwofriends.Ithinkthouwiltndabottleofwine.”
“Ihavenowine.”
TheRomanlaughed.
“Now I see why thou art so somber and dislikest thy second life No wine! Why then we shall do without it: there are
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NowIseewhythouartsosomberanddislikestthysecondlife.Nowine!Why,thenweshalldowithoutit:thereare
wordsthatmaketheheadgoroundbetterthantheFalernian.”
Byasignhedismissedtheslave,andtheyremainedallalone.Andagainthesculptorstartedspeaking,butitwas
asif,togetherwiththesettingsun,lifehadlefthiswords;andtheygrewpaleandhollow,asiftheystaggeredonun-steadyfeet,asiftheyslippedandfelldown,drunkwiththeheavyleesofwearinessanddespair.Andblackchasms
grewupbetweenthewords—likefar-offhintsofthegreatvoidandthegreatdarkness.
“NowIamthyguest,andthouwiltnotbeunkindtome,Lazarus!”—saidhe.“Hospitalityisthedutyevenofthosewho
forthreedaysweredead.Threedays,Iwastold,thoudidstrestinthegrave.Thereitmustbecold...andthatis
whencecomesthyillhabitofgoingwithoutreandwine.Astome,Ilikere;itgrowsdarkheresorapidly....Thelines
ofthyeyebrowsandforeheadarequite,quiteinteresting:theyarelikeruinsofstrangepalaces,buriedinashesafter
anearthquake.Butwhydostthouwearsuchuglyandqueergarments?Ihaveseenbridegroomsinthycountry,and
theywearsuchclothes—aretheynotfunny—andterrible....Butartthouabridegroom?”
Thesunhadalreadydisappeared,amonstrousblackshadowcamerunningfromtheeast—itwasasifgiganticbare
feetbeganrumblingonthesand,andthewindsentacoldwavealongthebackbone.
“Inthedarknessthouseemeststilllarger,Lazarus,asifthouhastgrownstouterinthesemoments.Dostthoufeedon
darkness,Lazarus?Iwouldfainhavealittlere—atleastalittlere,alittlere.Ifeelsomewhatchilly,yournightsare
sobarbarouslycold....Wereitnotsodark,Ishouldsaythatthouwertlookingatme,Lazarus.Yes,itseemstome,
thouartlooking....Why,thouartlookingatme,Ifeelit,—buttherethouartsmiling.”
Nightcame,andlledtheairwithheavyblackness.
“Howwellitwillbe,whenthesunwillriseto-morrowanew....Iamagreatsculptor,thouknowest;thatishowmy
friendscallme.Icreate.Yes,thatistheword...butIneeddaylight.Igivelifetothecoldmarble,Imeltsonorous
bronzeinre,inbrighthotre....Whydidstthoutouchmewiththyhand?”
“Come”—saidLazarus—”Thouartmyguest.”
And they went to the house. And a long night enveloped the earth.
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Andtheywenttothehouse.Andalongnightenvelopedtheearth.
Theslave,seeingthathismasterdidnotcome,wenttoseekhim,whenthesunwasalreadyhighinthesky.Andhe
beheldhismastersidebysidewithLazarus:inprofoundsilenceweretheysittingrightunderthedazzlingandscorch-
ingsunraysandlookingupward.Theslavebegantoweepandcriedout:
“Mymaster,whathasbefallenthee,master?”
TheverysamedaythesculptorleftforRome.OnthewayAureliuswaspensiveandtaciturn,staringattentivelyat
everything—themen,theship,thesea,asthoughtryingtoretainsomething.Onthehighseaastormburstuponthem,
andallthroughitAureliusstayedonthedeckandeagerlyscannedtheseasloomingnearandsinkingwithathud.
AthomehisfriendswerefrightenedatthechangewhichhadtakenplaceinAurelius,buthecalmedthem,saying
meaningly:
“Ihavefoundit.”
Andwithoutchangingthedustyclothesheworeonhisjourney,hefelltowork,andthemarbleobedientlyresounded
underhissonoroushammer.Longandeagerlyworkedhe,admittingnoone,untilonemorningheannouncedthatthe
workwasreadyandorderedhisfriendstobesummoned,severecriticsandconnoisseursofart.Andtomeetthemhe
putonbrightandgorgeousgarments,thatglitteredwithyellowgold—and—scarletbyssus.
“Hereismywork,”saidhethoughtfully.
Hisfriendsglancedandashadowofprofoundsorrowcoveredtheirfaces.Itwassomethingmonstrous,deprivedofall
thelinesandshapesfamiliartotheeye,butnotwithoutahintatsomenew,strangeimage.
Onathin,crookedtwig,orratheronanuglylikenessofatwigrestedaskewablind,ugly,shapeless,outspreadmass
ofsomethingutterlyandinconceivablydistorted,amadleapofwildandbizarrefragments,allfeeblyandvainlystriv-
ingtopartfromoneanother.And,asifbychance,beneathoneofthewildly-rentsalientsabutterywaschiseledwith
divineskill,allairyloveliness,delicacy,andbeauty,withtransparentwings,whichseemedtotremblewithanimpotent
desire to take ight.
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desiretotakeight.
“Whereforethiswonderfulbuttery,Aurelius?”saidsomebodyfalteringly.
“Iknownot”—wasthesculptor’sanswer.
Butitwasnecessarytotellthetruth,andoneofhisfriendswholovedhimbestsaidrmly:
“Thisisugly,mypoorfriend.Itmustbedestroyed.Givemethehammer.”
Andwithtwostrokeshebrokethemonstrousmanintopieces,leavingonlytheinnitelydelicatebutteryuntouched.
FromthattimeonAureliuscreatednothing.Withprofoundindifferencehelookedatmarbleandbronze,andonhis
formerdivineworks,whereeverlastingbeautyrested.Withthepurposeofarousinghisformerferventpassionfor
workand,awakeninghisdeadenedsoul,hisfriendstookhimtoseeotherartists’beautifulworks,—butheremained
indifferentasbefore,andthesmiledidnotwarmuphistightenedlips.Andonlyafterlisteningtolengthytalksabout
beauty,hewouldretortwearilyandindolently:
“Butallthisisalie.”
Andbytheday,whenthesunwasshining,hewentintohismagnicent,skilfullybuiltgardenandhavingfounda
placewithoutshadow,heexposedhisbareheadtotheglareandheat.Redandwhitebutteriesutteredaround;fromthecrookedlipsofadrunkensatyr,waterstreameddownwithasplashintoamarblecistern,buthesatmotion-
lessandsilent,—likeapallidreectionofhimwho,inthefar-offdistance,attheverygatesofthestonydesert,sat
undertheerysun.
V
Andnowitcametopassthatthegreat,deiedAugustushimselfsummonedLazarus.Theimperialmessengers
dressedhimgorgeously,insolemnnuptialclothes,asifTimehadlegalizedthem,andhewastoremainuntilhisvery
deaththebridegroomofanunknownbride.Itwasasthoughanold,rottingcofnhadbeengiltandfurnishedwith
new,gaytassels.Andmen,allintrimandbrightattire,rodeafterhim,asifinbridalprocessionindeed,andthose
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, g y , g , , p ,
foremosttrumpetedloudly,biddingpeopletoclearthewayfortheemperor’smessengers.ButLazarus’waywas
deserted:hisnativelandcursedthehatefulnameofhimwhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthedead,andpeoplescat-
teredattheverynewsofhisappallingapproach.Thesolitaryvoiceofthebrasstrumpetssoundedinthemotionless
air,andthewildernessalonerespondedwithitslanguidecho.
ThenLazaruswentbysea.Andhiswasthemostmagnicentlyarrayedandthemostmournfulshipthatevermirrored
itselfintheazurewavesoftheMediterraneanSea.Manywerethetravelersaboard,butlikeatombwastheship,all
silenceandstillness,andthedespairingwatersobbedatthesteep,proudlycurvedprow.AllalonesatLazarusexpos-
inghisheadtotheblazeofthesun,silentlylisteningtothemurmurandsplashofthewavelets,andafarseamenand
messengersweresitting,avaguegroupofwearyshadows.Hadthethunderburstandthewindattackedtheredsails,
theshipswouldprobablyhaveperished,fornoneofthoseaboardhadeitherthewillorthestrengthtostruggleforlife.
Withasupremeeffortsomemarinerswouldreachtheboardandeagerlyscantheblue,transparentdeep,hopingto
seeanaiad’spinkshoulderashinthehollowofanazurewave,oradrunkengaycentaurdashalongandinfrenzy
splashthewavewithhishoof.Buttheseawaslikeawilderness,andthedeepwasdumbanddeserted.
WithutterindifferencedidLazarussethisfeetonthestreetoftheeternalcity.Asthoughallherwealth,allthemag-
nicenceofherpalacesbuiltbygiants,alltheresplendence,beauty,andmusicofherrenedlifewerebuttheechoof
thewindinthewilderness,thereectionofthedesertquicksand.Chariotsweredashing,andalongthestreetswere
movingcrowdsofstrong,fair,proudbuildersoftheeternalcityandhaughtyparticipantsinherlife;asongsounded;
fountainsandwomenlaughedapearlylaughter;drunkenphilosophersharangued,andthesoberlistenedtothem
withasmile;hoofsstruckthestonepavements.Andsurroundedbycheerfulnoise,astout,heavymanwasmoving,acoldspotofsilenceanddespair,andonhiswayhesoweddisgust,anger,andvague,gnawingweariness.Whodares
tobesadinRome,wonderedindignantlythecitizens,andfrowned.Intwodaystheentirecityalreadyknewallabout
himwhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthedead,andshunnedhimshyly.
Butsomedaringpeopletherewere,whowantedtotesttheirstrength,andLazarusobeyedtheirimprudentsummons.
Keptbusybystateaffairs,theemperorconstantlydelayedthereception,andsevendaysdidhewhohadrisenfrom
thedeadgoaboutvisitingothers.
AndLazaruscametoacheerfulEpicurean,andthehostmethimwithlaughteronhislips:
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“Drink,Lazarus,drink!”—shoutedhe.“WouldnotAugustuslaughtoseetheedrunk!”
Andhalf-nakeddrunkenwomenlaughed,androsepetalsfellonLazarus’bluehands.ButthentheEpicureanlooked
intoLazarus’eyes,andhisgaietyendedforever.Drunkardremainedhefortherestofhislife;neverdidhedrink,yetforeverwashedrunk.Butinsteadofthegayreveriewhichwinebringswithit,frightfuldreamsbegantohaunthim,the
solefoodofhisstrickenspirit.Dayandnighthelivedinthepoisonousvaporsofhisnightmares,anddeathitselfwas
notmorefrightfulthanherraving,monstrousforerunners.
AndLazaruscametoayouthandhisbeloved,wholovedeachotherandweremostbeautifulintheirpassions.
Proudlyandstronglyembracinghislove,theyouthsaidwithsereneregret:
“Lookatus,Lazarus,andshareourjoy.Isthereanythingstrongerthanlove?”
AndLazaruslooked.Andfortherestoftheirlifetheykeptonlovingeachother,buttheirpassiongrewgloomyand
joyless,likethosefuneralcypresseswhoserootsfeedonthedecayofthegravesandwhoseblacksummitsinastill
eveninghourseekinvaintoreachthesky.Thrownbytheunknownforcesoflifeintoeachother’sembraces,they
mingledtearswithkisses,voluptuouspleasureswithpain,andtheyfeltthemselvesdoublyslaves,obedientslavesto
life,andpatientservantsofthesilentNothingness.Everunited,eversevered,theyblazedlikesparksandlikesparks
lostthemselvesintheboundlessDark.
AndLazaruscametoahaughtysage,andthesagesaidtohim:
“Iknowallthehorrorsthoucanstrevealtome.Isthereanythingthoucanstfrightenmewith?”
Butbeforelongthesagefeltthattheknowledgeofhorrorwasfarfrombeingthehorroritself,andthatthevisionof
Death,wasnotDeath.AndhefeltthatwisdomandfollyareequalbeforethefaceofInnity,forInnityknowsthem
not.Anditvanished,thedividing-linebetweenknowledgeandignorance,truthandfalsehood,topandbottom,and
theshapelessthoughthungsuspendedinthevoid.Thenthesageclutchedhisgrayheadandcriedoutfrantically:
“Icannotthink!Icannotthink!”
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Thusundertheindifferentglanceforhim,whomiraculouslyhadrisenfromthedead,perishedeverythingthatasserts
life,itssignicanceandjoys.Anditwassuggestedthatitwasdangeroustolethimseetheemperor,thatitwasbetter
tokillhimand,havingburiedhimsecretly,totelltheemperorthathehaddisappearednooneknewwhither.Already
swordswerebeingwhettedandyouthsdevotedtothepublicwelfarepreparedforthemurder,whenAugustusor-deredLazarustobebroughtbeforehimnextmorning,thusdestroyingthecruelplans.
IftherewasnowayofgettingridofLazarus,atleastitwaspossibletosoftentheterribleimpressionhisfacepro-
duced.Withthisinview,skillfulpainters,barbers,andartistsweresummoned,andallnightlongtheywerebusyover
Lazarus’head.Theycroppedhisbeard,curledit,andgaveitatidy,agreeableappearance.Bymeansofpaintsthey
concealedthecorpse-likebluenessofhishandsandface.Repulsivewerethewrinklesofsufferingthatfurrowedhis
oldface,andtheywereputtied,painted,andsmoothed;then,overthesmoothbackground,wrinklesofgood-tem-
peredlaughterandpleasant,carefreemirthwereskillfullypaintedwithnebrushes.
Lazarussubmittedindifferentlytoeverythingthatwasdonetohim.Soonhewasturnedintoabecominglystout,ven-
erableoldman,intoaquietandkindgrandfatherofnumerousoffspring.Itseemedthatthesmile,withwhichonlya
whileagohewasspinningfunnyyarns,wasstilllingeringonhislips,andthatinthecornerofhiseyeserenetender-
nesswashiding,thecompanionofoldage.Butpeopledidnotdarechangehisnuptialgarments,andtheycouldnot
changehiseyes,twodarkandfrightfulglassesthroughwhichlookedatmen,theunknowableYonder.
VI
Lazaruswasnotmovedbythemagnicenceoftheimperialpalace.Itwasasthoughhesawnodifferencebetween
thecrumblinghouse,closelypressedbythedesert,andthestonepalace,solidandfair,andindifferentlyhepassed
intoit.Andthehardmarbleoftheoorsunderhisfeetgrewsimilartothequicksandofthedesert,andthemultitude
ofrichlydressedandhaughtymenbecamelikevoidairunderhisglance.Noonelookedintohisface,asLazarus
passedby,fearingtofallundertheappallinginuenceofhiseyes;butwhenthesoundofhisheavyfootstepshad
sufcientlydieddown,thecourtiersraisedtheirheadsandwithfearfulcuriosityexaminedthegureofastout,tall,
slightlybentoldman,whowasslowlypenetratingintotheveryheartoftheimperialpalace.WereDeathitselfpassing,
itwouldbefacedwithnogreaterfear:foruntilthenthedeadaloneknewDeath,andthosealiveknewLifeonly—and
therewasnobridgebetweenthem.Butthisextraordinaryman,althoughalive,knewDeath,andenigmatical,appall-
ing,washiscursedknowledge.“Woe,”peoplethought,“hewilltakethelifeofourgreat,deiedAugustus,”andthey
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g g g g g y
sentcursesafterLazarus,whomeanwhilekeptonadvancingintotheinteriorofthepalace.
AlreadydidtheemperorknowwhoLazaruswas,andpreparedtomeethim.Butthemonarchwasabraveman,and
felthisowntremendous,unconquerablepower,andinhisfatalduelwithhimwhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthedeadhewantednottoinvokehumanhelp.AndsohemetLazarusfacetoface:
“Liftnotthineeyesuponme,Lazarus,”heordered.“IheardthyfaceislikethatofMedusaandturnsintostonewhom-
soeverthoulookestat.Now,Iwishtoseetheeandtohaveatalkwiththee,beforeIturnintostone,”—addedheina
toneofkinglyjesting,notdevoidoffear.
Comingclosetohim,hecarefullyexaminedLazarus’faceandhisstrangefestalgarments.Andalthoughhehada
keeneye,hewasdeceivedbyhisappearance.
“So.Thoudostnotappearterrible,myvenerableoldman.Buttheworseforus,ifhorrorassumessucharespectable
andpleasantair.Nowletushaveatalk.”
Augustussat,andquestioningLazaruswithhiseyeasmuchaswithwords,startedtheconversation:
“Whydidstthounotgreetmeasthouenteredst?”
Lazarusansweredindifferent:
“Iknewnotitwasnecessary.”
“ArtthouaChristian?”
“No.”
Augustusapprovinglyshookhishead.
“Thatisgood.IdonotlikeChristians.Theyshakethetreeoflifebeforeitiscoveredwithfruit,anddisperseitsodor-
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ousbloomtothewinds.Butwhoartthou?”
WithavisibleeffortLazarusanswered:
“Iwasdead.”
“Ihadheardthat.Butwhoartthounow?”
Lazaruswassilent,butatlastrepeatedinatoneofwearyapathy:
“Iwasdead.”
“Listentome,stranger,”saidtheemperor,distinctlyandseverelygivingutterancetothethoughtthathadcometo
himatthebeginning,“myrealmistherealmofLife,mypeopleareoftheliving,notofthedead.Thouarthereonetoo
many.Iknownotwhothouartandwhatthousawestthere;but,ifthouliest,Ihatethylies,andifthoutellstthetruth,I
hatethytruth.InmybosomIfeelthethroboflife;Ifeelstrengthinmyarm,andmyproudthoughts,likeeagles,pierce
thespace.Andyonderintheshelterofmyrule,undertheprotectionoflawscreatedbyme,peopleliveandtoiland
rejoice.Dostthouhearthebattle-cry,thechallengementhrowintothefaceofthefuture?”
Augustus,asinprayer,stretchedforthhisarmsandexclaimedsolemnly:
“Beblessed,OgreatanddivineLife!”
Lazaruswassilent,andwithgrowingsternnesstheemperorwenton:
“Thouartnotwantedhere,miserableremnant,snatchedfromunderDeath’steeth,thouinspirestwearinessanddis-
gustwithlife;likeacaterpillarintheelds,thougloatestontherichearofjoyandbelchestoutthedrivelofdespair
andsorrow.Thytruthislikearustyswordinthehandsofanightlymurderer,—andasamurdererthoushaltbeex-
ecuted.Butbeforethat,letmelookintothineeyes.Perchance,onlycowardsareafraidofthem,butinthebravethey
awakethethirstforstrifeandvictory;thenthoushaltberewarded,notexecuted....Now,lookatme,Lazarus.”
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AtrstitappearedtothedeiedAugustusthatafriendwaslookingathim,—sosoft,sotenderlyfascinatingwasLaza-
rus’glance.Itpromisednothorror,butsweetrestandtheInniteseemedtohimatendermistress,acompassionate
sister,amother.Butstrongerandstrongergrewitsembraces,andalreadythemouth,greedyofhissingkisses,in-
terferedwiththemonarch’sbreathing,andalreadytothesurfaceofthesofttissuesofthebodycametheironofthebonesandtighteneditsmercilesscircle,—andunknownfangs,bluntandcold,touchedhisheartandsankintoitwith
slowindolence.
“Itpains,”saidthedeiedAugustus,growingpale.“Butlookatme,Lazarus,look.”
Itwasasthoughsomeheavygates,everclosed,wereslowlymovingapart,andthroughthegrowingintersticetheap-
pallinghorroroftheInnitepouredinslowlyandsteadily.Liketwoshadowsthereenteredtheshorelessvoidandthe
unfathomabledarkness;theyextinguishedthesun,ravishedtheearthfromunderthefeet,andtherooffromoverthe
head.Nomoredidthefrozenheartache.
“Look,look,Lazarus,”orderedAugustustottering.
Timestoodstill,andthebeginningofeachthinggrewfrightfullyneartoitsend.Augustus’thronejusterected,crum-
bleddown,andthevoidwasalreadyintheplaceofthethroneandofAugustus.NoiselesslydidRomecrumbledown,
andanewcitystoodonitssiteandittoowasswallowedbythevoid.Likefantasticgiants,cities,states,andcountries
felldownandvanishedinthevoiddarkness—andwithuttermostindifferencedidtheinsatiableblackwomboftheIn-
niteswallowthem.
“Halt!”—orderedtheemperor.
Inhisvoicesoundedalreadyanoteofindifference,hishandsdroppedinlanguor,andinthevainstrugglewiththe
onrushingdarknesshiseryeyesnowblazedup,andnowwentout.
“Mylifethouhasttakenfromme,Lazarus,”—saidheinaspiritless,feeblevoice.
Andthesewordsofhopelessnesssavedhim.Herememberedhispeople,whoseshieldhewasdestinedtobe,and
keensalutarypainpiercedhisdeadenedheart.“Theyaredoomedtodeath,”hethoughtwearily.“Sereneshadows
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inthedarknessoftheInnite,”thoughthe,andhorrorgrewuponhim.“Frailvesselswithlivingseethingbloodwitha
heartthatknowssorrowandalsogreatjoy,”saidheinhisheart,andtendernesspervadedit.
ThusponderingandoscillatingbetweenthepolesofLifeandDeath,heslowlycamebacktolife,tondinitssufferingandinitsjoysashieldagainstthedarknessofthevoidandthehorroroftheInnite.
“No,thouhastnotmurderedme,Lazarus,”saidhermly,“butIwilltakethylife.Begone.”
ThateveningthedeiedAugustuspartookofhismeatsanddrinkswithparticularjoy.Nowandthenhisliftedhand
remainedsuspendedintheair,andadullglimmerreplacedthebrightsheenofhiseryeye.Itwasthecoldwaveof
Horrorthatsurgedathisfeet.Defeated,butnotundone,everawaitingitshour,thatHorrorstoodattheemperor’s
bedside,likeablackshadowallthroughhislife;itswayedhisnights,butyieldedthedaystothesorrowsandjoysof
life.
Thefollowingday,thehangmanwithahotironburnedoutLazarus’eyes.Thenhewassenthome.ThedeiedAu-
gustusdarednotkillhim.
Lazarusreturnedtothedesert,andthewildernessmethimwithhissinggustsofwindandtheheatoftheblazing
sun.Againhewassittingonastone,hisrough,bushybeardliftedup;andthetwoblackholesinplaceofhiseyes
lookedattheskywithanexpressionofdullterror.Afar-offtheholycitystirrednoisilyandrestlessly,butaroundhim
everythingwasdesertedanddumb.Nooneapproachedtheplacewherelivedhewhohadmiraculouslyrisenfromthedead,andlongsincehisneighborshadforsakentheirhouses.Drivenbythehotironintothedepthofhisskull,
hiscursedknowledgehidthereinanambush.Asthoughleapingoutfromanambushitplungeditsthousandinvisible
eyesintotheman,—andnoonedaredlookatLazarus.
Andintheevening,whenthesun,reddeningandgrowingwider,wouldcomenearerandnearerthewesternhorizon,
theblindLazaruswouldslowlyfollowit.Hewouldstumbleagainststonesandfall,stoutandweakashewas;would
riseheavilytohisfeetandwalkonagain;andontheredscreenofthesunsethisblackbodyandoutspreadhands
wouldformamonstrouslikenessofacross.
Anditcametopassthatoncehewentoutanddidnotcomeback.Thusseeminglyendedthesecondlifeofhimwho
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forthreedayshadbeenundertheenigmaticalswayofdeath,androsemiraculouslyfromthedead.
The Beast with Five Fingers
ByW.F.HARVEY
FromTheNewDecameron,byVariousHands.Copyright,1919,byRobertM.McBrideandCompany.Bypermissionofthepublishers.
WhenIwasalittleboyIoncewentwithmyfathertocallonAdrianBorlsover.Iplayedontheoorwithablackspan-
ielwhilemyfatherappealedforasubscription.Justbeforeweleftmyfathersaid,“Mr.Borlsover,maymysonhere
shakehandswithyou?Itwillbeathingtolookbackuponwithpridewhenhegrowstobeaman.”
Icameuptothebedonwhichtheoldmanwaslyingandputmyhandinhis,awedbythestillbeautyofhisface.He
spoketomekindly,andhopedthatIshouldalwaystrytopleasemyfather.Thenheplacedhisrighthandonmyhead
andaskedforablessingtorestuponme.“Amen!”saidmyfather,andIfollowedhimoutoftheroom,feelingasifI
wantedtocry.Butmyfatherwasinexcellentspirits.
“Thatoldgentleman,Jim,”saidhe,“isthemostwonderfulmaninthewholetown.Fortenyearshehasbeenquite
blind.”
“ButIsawhiseyes,”Isaid.“Theywereeversoblackandshiny;theyweren’tshutuplikeNora’spuppies.Can’the
seeatall?”
AndsoIlearntforthersttimethatamanmighthaveeyesthatlookeddarkandbeautifulandshiningwithoutbeing
abletosee.
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“JustlikeMrs.Tomlinsonhasbigears,”Isaid,“andcan’thearatallexceptwhenMr.Tomlinsonshouts.”
“Jim,”saidmyfather,“it’snotrighttotalkaboutalady’sears.RememberwhatMr.Borlsoversaidaboutpleasingmeandbeingagoodboy.”
ThatwastheonlytimeIsawAdrianBorlsover.Isoonforgotabouthimandthehandwhichhelaidinblessingonmy
head.ButforaweekIprayedthatthosedarktendereyesmightsee.
“Hisspanielmayhavepuppies,”Isaidinmyprayers,“andhewillneverbeabletoknowhowfunnytheylookwith
theireyesallclosedup.PleaseletoldMr.Borlsoversee.”
AdrianBorlsover,asmyfatherhadsaid,wasawonderfulman.Hecameofaneccentricfamily.Borlsovers’sons,forsomereason,alwaysseemedtomarryveryordinarywomen,whichperhapsaccountedforthefactthatnoBorlsover
hadbeenagenius,andonlyoneBorlsoverhadbeenmad.Buttheyweregreatchampionsoflittlecauses,generous
patronsofoddsciences,foundersofqueruloussects,trustworthyguidestothebypathmeadowsoferudition.
Adrianwasanauthorityonthefertilizationoforchids.HehadheldatonetimethefamilylivingatBorlsoverConyers,
untilacongenitalweaknessofthelungsobligedhimtoseekalessrigorousclimateinthesunnysouthcoastwater-
ing-placewhereIhadseenhim.Occasionallyhewouldrelieveoneorotherofthelocalclergy.Myfatherdescribed
himasanepreacher,whogavelongandinspiringsermonsfromwhatmanymenwouldhaveconsideredunprot-abletexts.“Anexcellentproof,”hewouldadd,“ofthetruthofthedoctrineofdirectverbalinspiration.”
AdrianBorlsoverwasexceedinglycleverwithhishands.Hispenmanshipwasexquisite.Heillustratedallhisscientic
papers,madehisownwoodcuts,andcarvedthereredosthatisatpresentthechieffeatureofinterestinthechurch
atBorlsoverConyers.Hehadanexceedinglycleverknackincuttingsilhouettesforyoungladiesandpaperpigsand
cowsforlittlechildren,andmademorethanonecomplicatedwindinstrumentofhisowndevising.
WhenhewasftyyearsoldAdrianBorlsoverlosthissight.Inawonderfullyshorttimehehadadaptedhimselftothe
newconditionsoflife.HequicklylearnedtoreadBraille.Somarvelousindeedwashissenseoftouchthathewasstill
abletomaintainhisinterestinbotany.Themerepassingofhislongsupplengersoveraowerwassufcientmeans
f i id i i h h i ll h ld hi li I h f d l l f hi f h ’
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foritsidentication,thoughoccasionallyhewouldusehislips.Ihavefoundseverallettersofhisamongmyfather’s
correspondence.Innocasewasthereanythingtoshowthathewasafictedwithblindnessandthisinspiteofthe
factthatheexercisedundueeconomyinthespacingoflines.Towardsthecloseofhislifetheoldmanwascredited
withpowersoftouchthatseemedalmostuncanny:ithasbeensaidthathecouldtellatoncethecolorofaribbonplacedbetweenhisngers.Myfatherwouldneitherconrmnordenythestory.
I
AdrianBorlsoverwasabachelor.HiselderbrotherGeorgehadmarriedlateinlife,leavingoneson,Eustace,who
livedinthegloomyGeorgianmansionatBorlsoverConyers,wherehecouldworkundisturbedincollectingmaterial
forhisgreatbookonheredity.
Likehisuncle,hewasaremarkableman.TheBorlsovershadalwaysbeenbornnaturalists,butEustacepossessedinaspecialdegreethepowerofsystematizinghisknowledge.HehadreceivedhisuniversityeducationinGermany,
andthen,afterpost-graduateworkinViennaandNaples,hadtraveledforfouryearsinSouthAmericaandtheEast,
gettingtogetherahugestoreofmaterialforanewstudyintotheprocessesofvariation.
HelivedaloneatBorlsoverConyerswithSaundershissecretary,amanwhoboreasomewhatdubiousreputationin
thedistrict,butwhosepowersasamathematician,combinedwithhisbusinessabilities,wereinvaluabletoEustace.
Uncleandnephewsawlittleofeachother.ThevisitsofEustacewereconnedtoaweekinthesummerorautumn:longweeks,thatdraggedalmostasslowlyasthebath-chairinwhichtheoldmanwasdrawnalongthesunnysea
front.Intheirwaythetwomenwerefondofeachother,thoughtheirintimacywoulddoubtlesshavebeengreaterhad
theysharedthesamereligiousviews.Adrianheldtotheold-fashionedevangelicaldogmasofhisearlymanhood;
hisnephewformanyyearshadbeenthinkingofembracingBuddhism.Bothmenpossessed,too,thereticencethe
Borlsovershadalwaysshown,andwhichtheirenemiessometimescalledhypocrisy.WithAdrianitwasareticenceas
tothethingshehadleftundone;butwithEustaceitseemedthatthecurtainwhichhewassocarefultoleaveundrawn
hidsomethingmorethanahalf-emptychamber.
TwoyearsbeforehisdeathAdrianBorlsoverdeveloped,unknowntohimself,thenotuncommonpowerofautomatic
writing.Eustacemadethediscoverybyaccident.Adrianwassittingreadinginbed,theforengerofhislefthandtrac-
i th B ill h t h hi h ti d th t il th ld h ld i hi i ht h d i l l
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ingtheBraillecharacters,whenhisnephewnoticedthatapenciltheoldmanheldinhisrighthandwasmovingslowly
alongtheoppositepage.Helefthisseatinthewindowandsatdownbesidethebed.Therighthandcontinuedto
move,andnowhecouldseeplainlythattheywerelettersandwordswhichitwasforming.
“AdrianBorlsover,”wrotethehand,“EustaceBorlsover,GeorgeBorlsover,FrancisBorlsoverSigismundBorlsover,
AdrianBorlsover,EustaceBorlsover,SavilleBorlsover.B,forBorlsover.HonestyistheBestPolicy.BeautifulBelinda
Borlsover.”
“Whatcuriousnonsense!”saidEustacetohimself.
“KingGeorgetheThirdascendedthethronein1760,”wrotethehand.“Crowd,anounofmultitude;acollectionof
individuals—AdrianBorlsover,EustaceBorlsover.”
“Itseemstome,”saidhisuncle,closingthebook,“thatyouhadmuchbettermakethemostoftheafternoonsunshine
andtakeyourwalknow.”“IthinkperhapsIwill,”Eustaceansweredashepickedupthevolume.“Iwon’tgofar,and
whenIcomebackIcanreadtoyouthosearticlesinNatureaboutwhichwewerespeaking.”
Hewentalongthepromenade,butstoppedattherstshelter,andseatinghimselfinthecornerbestprotectedfrom
thewind,heexaminedthebookatleisure.Nearlyeverypagewasscoredwithameaninglessjungleofpencilmarks:
rowsofcapitalletters,shortwords,longwords,completesentences,copy-booktags.Thewholething,infact,hadthe
appearanceofacopy-book,andonamorecarefulscrutinyEustacethoughtthattherewasampleevidencetoshowthatthehandwritingatthebeginningofthebook,goodthoughitwaswasnotnearlysogoodasthehandwritingatthe
end.
HelefthisuncleattheendofOctober,withapromisetoreturnearlyinDecember.Itseemedtohimquiteclearthat
theoldman’spowerofautomaticwritingwasdevelopingrapidly,andforthersttimehelookedforwardtoavisitthat
combineddutywithinterest.
Butonhisreturnhewasatrstdisappointed.Hisuncle,hethought,lookedolder.Hewaslistlesstoo,preferringoth-
erstoreadtohimanddictatingnearlyallhisletters.NotuntilthedaybeforehelefthadEustaceanopportunityof
observingAdrianBorlsover’snew-foundfaculty.
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Theoldman,proppedupinbedwithpillows,hadsunkintoalightsleep.Histwohandslayonthecoverlet,hisleft
handtightlyclaspinghisright.Eustacetookanemptymanuscriptbookandplacedapencilwithinreachofthengers
oftherighthand.Theysnatchedatiteagerly;thendroppedthepenciltounloosethelefthandfromitsrestraininggrasp.
“PerhapstopreventinterferenceIhadbetterholdthathand,”saidEustacetohimself,ashewatchedthepencil.Al-
mostimmediatelyitbegantowrite.
“BlunderingBorlsovers,unnecessarilyunnatural,extraordinarilyeccentric,culpablycurious.”
“Whoareyou?”askedEustace,inalowvoice.
“Neveryoumind,”wrotethehandofAdrian.
“Isitmyunclewhoiswriting?”
“Oh,mypropheticsoul,mineuncle.”
“IsitanyoneIknow?”
“SillyEustace,you’llseemeverysoon.”
“WhenshallIseeyou?”
“WhenpooroldAdrian’sdead.”
“WhereshallIseeyou?”
“Whereshallyounot?”
Instead of speaking his next question Borlsover wrote it “What is the time?”
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Insteadofspeakinghisnextquestion,Borlsoverwroteit.“Whatisthetime?”
Thengersdroppedthepencilandmovedthreeorfourtimesacrossthepaper.Then,pickingupthepencil,they
wrote:
“Tenminutesbeforefour.Putyourbookaway,Eustace.Adrianmustn’tndusworkingatthissortofthing.Hedoesn’t
knowwhattomakeofit,andIwon’thavepooroldAdriandisturbed.Aurevoir.”
AdrianBorlsoverawokewithastart.
“I’vebeendreamingagain,”hesaid;“suchqueerdreamsofleagueredcitiesandforgottentowns.Youweremixedup
inthisone,Eustace,thoughIcan’trememberhow.Eustace,Iwanttowarnyou.Don’twalkindoubtfulpaths.Choose
yourfriendswell.Yourpoorgrandfather——”
Atofcoughingputanendtowhathewassaying,butEustacesawthatthehandwasstillwriting.Hemanagedun-
noticedtodrawthebookaway.“I’lllightthegas,”hesaid,“andringfortea.”Ontheothersideofthebedcurtainhe
sawthelastsentencesthathadbeenwritten.
“It’stoolate,Adrian,”heread.“We’refriendsalready;aren’twe,EustaceBorlsover?”
OnthefollowingdayEustaceBorlsoverleft.Hethoughthisunclelookedillwhenhesaidgood-by,andtheoldmanspokedespondentlyofthefailurehislifehadbeen.
“Nonsense,uncle!”saidhisnephew.“Youhavegotoveryourdifcultiesinawaynotoneinahundredthousand
wouldhavedone.Everyonemarvelsatyoursplendidperseveranceinteachingyourhandtotaketheplaceofyour
lostsight.Tomeit’sbeenarevelationofthepossibilitiesofeducation.”
“Education,”saidhisuncledreamily,asifthewordhadstartedanewtrainofthought,“educationisgoodsolongas
youknowtowhomandforwhatpurposeyougiveit.Butwiththelowerordersofmen,thebaseandmoresordidspir-
its,Ihavegravedoubtsastoitsresults.Well,good-by,Eustace,Imaynotseeyouagain.YouareatrueBorlsover,
withalltheBorlsoverfaults.Marry,Eustace.Marrysomegood,sensiblegirl.AndifbyanychanceIdon’tseeyou
again my will is at my solicitor’s I’ve not left you any legacy because I know you’re well provided for but I thought
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again,mywillisatmysolicitor s.I venotleftyouanylegacy,becauseIknowyou rewellprovidedfor,butIthought
youmightliketohavemybooks.Oh,andthere’sjustoneotherthing.Youknow,beforetheendpeopleoftenlose
controloverthemselvesandmakeabsurdrequests.Don’tpayanyattentiontothem,Eustace.Good-by!”andheheld
outhishand.Eustacetookit.Itremainedinhisafractionofasecondlongerthanhehadexpected,andgrippedhimwithavirilitythatwassurprising.Therewas,too,initstouchasubtlesenseofintimacy.
“Why,uncle!”hesaid,“Ishallseeyoualiveandwellformanylongyearstocome.”
TwomonthslaterAdrianBorlsoverdied.
II
EustaceBorlsoverwasinNaplesatthetime.HereadtheobituarynoticeintheMorningPostonthedayannouncedforthefuneral.
“Pooroldfellow!”hesaid.“IwonderwhereIshallndroomforallhisbooks.”
Thequestionoccurredtohimagainwithgreaterforcewhenthreedayslaterhefoundhimselfstandinginthelibraryat
BorlsoverConyers,ahugeroombuiltforuse,andnotforbeauty,intheyearofWaterloobyaBorlsoverwhowasan
ardentadmirerofthegreatNapoleon.Itwasarrangedontheplanofmanycollegelibraries,withtall,projectingbook-
casesformingdeeprecessesofdustysilence,tgravesfortheoldhatesofforgottencontroversy,thedeadpassionsofforgottenlives.Attheendoftheroom,behindthebustofsomeunknowneighteenth-centurydivine,anuglyiron
corkscrewstairledtoashelf-linedgallery.Nearlyeveryshelfwasfull.
“ImusttalktoSaundersaboutit,”saidEustace.“Isupposethatitwillbenecessarytohavethebilliard-roomttedup
withbookcases.”
Thetwomenmetforthersttimeaftermanyweeksinthedining-roomthatevening.
“Hullo!”saidEustace,standingbeforetherewithhishandsinhispockets.“Howgoestheworld,Saunders?Why
thesedresstogs?”Hehimselfwaswearinganoldshooting-jacket.Hedidnotbelieveinmourning,ashehadtoldhis
uncle on his last visit; and though he usually went in for quiet colored ties he wore this evening one of an ugly red
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uncleonhislastvisit;andthoughheusuallywentinforquiet-coloredties,heworethiseveningoneofanuglyred,
inordertoshockMortonthebutler,andtomakethemthrashoutthewholequestionofmourningforthemselvesin
theservants’hall.EustacewasatrueBorlsover.“Theworld,”saidSaunders,“goesthesameasusual,confoundedly
slow.ThedresstogsareaccountedforbyaninvitationfromCaptainLockwoodtobridge.”
“Howareyougettingthere?”
“I’vetoldyourcoachmantodrivemeinyourcarriage.Anyobjection?”
“Oh,dearme,no!We’vehadallthingsincommonforfartoomanyyearsformetoraiseobjectionsatthishourofthe
day.”
“You’llndyourcorrespondenceinthelibrary,”wentonSaunders.“MostofitI’veseento.Thereareafewprivatelet-tersIhaven’topened.There’salsoaboxwitharat,orsomething,insideitthatcamebytheeveningpost.Verylikely
it’sthesix-toedalbino.Ididn’tlook,becauseIdidn’twanttomessupmythingsbutIshouldgatherfromthewayit’s
jumpingaboutthatit’sprettyhungry.”
“Oh,I’llseetoit,”saidEustace,“whileyouandtheCaptainearnanhonestpenny.”
DinneroverandSaundersgone,Eustacewentintothelibrary.Thoughtherehadbeenlittheroomwasbyno
meanscheerful.
“We’llhaveallthelightsonatanyrate,”hesaid,asheturnedtheswitches.“And,Morton,”headded,whenthebutler
broughtthecoffee,“getmeascrewdriverorsomethingtoundothisbox.Whatevertheanimalis,he’skickingupthe
deuceofarow.Whatisit?Whyareyoudawdling?”
“Ifyouplease,sir,whenthepostmanbroughtithetoldmethatthey’dboredtheholesinthelidatthepost-ofce.
Therewerenobreathin’holesinthelid,sir,andtheydidn’twanttheanimaltodie.Thatisall,sir.”
“It’sculpablycarelessoftheman,whoeverhewas,”saidEustace,asheremovedthescrews,“packingananimallike
thisinawoodenboxwithnomeansofgettingair.Confounditall!ImeanttoaskMortontobringmeacagetoputitin.
Now I suppose I shall have to get one myself ”
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NowIsupposeIshallhavetogetonemyself.
Heplacedaheavybookonthelidfromwhichthescrewshadbeenremoved,andwentintothebilliard-room.Ashe
camebackintothelibrarywithanemptycageinhishandheheardthesoundofsomethingfalling,andthenofsome-thingscuttlingalongtheoor.
“Botherit!Thebeast’sgotout.HowintheworldamItonditagaininthislibrary!”
Tosearchforitdidindeedseemhopeless.Hetriedtofollowthesoundofthescuttlinginoneoftherecesseswhere
theanimalseemedtoberunningbehindthebooksintheshelves,butitwasimpossibletolocateit.Eustaceresolved
togoonquietlyreading.Verylikelytheanimalmightgaincondenceandshowitself.Saundersseemedtohavedealt
inhisusualmethodicalmannerwithmostofthecorrespondence.Therewerestilltheprivateletters.
Whatwasthat?Twosharpclicksandthelightsinthehideouscandelabrathathungfromtheceilingsuddenlywent
out.
“Iwonderifsomethinghasgonewrongwiththefuse,”saidEustace,ashewenttotheswitchesbythedoor.Thenhe
stopped.Therewasanoiseattheotherendoftheroom,asifsomethingwascrawlinguptheironcorkscrewstair.“If
it’sgoneintothegallery,”hesaid,“wellandgood.”Hehastilyturnedonthelights,crossedtheroom,andclimbedup
thestair.Buthecouldseenothing.Hisgrandfatherhadplacedalittlegateatthetopofthestair,sothatchildrencould
runandrompinthegallerywithoutfearofaccident.ThisEustaceclosed,andhavingconsiderablynarrowedthecircleofhissearch,returnedtohisdeskbythere.
Howgloomythelibrarywas!Therewasnosenseofintimacyabouttheroom.Thefewbuststhataneighteenth-cen-
turyBorlsoverhadbroughtbackfromthegrandtour,mighthavebeeninkeepingintheoldlibrary.Heretheyseemed
outofplace.Theymadetheroomfeelcold,inspiteoftheheavyreddamaskcurtainsandgreatgiltcornices.
Withacrashtwoheavybooksfellfromthegallerytotheoor;then,asBorlsoverlooked,anotherandyetanother.
“Verywell;you’llstarveforthis,mybeauty!”hesaid.“We’lldosomelittleexperimentsonthemetabolismofratsde-
privedofwater.Goon!Chuckthemdown!IthinkI’vegottheupperhand.”Heturnedonceagaintohiscorrespon-
dence The letter was from the family solicitor It spoke of his uncle’s death and of the valuable collection of books that
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dence.Theletterwasfromthefamilysolicitor.Itspokeofhisuncle sdeathandofthevaluablecollectionofbooksthat
hadbeenlefttohiminthewill.
“Therewasonerequest,”heread,“whichcertainlycameasasurprisetome.Asyouknow,Mr.AdrianBorlsoverhadleftinstructionsthathisbodywastobeburiedinassimpleamanneraspossibleatEastbourne.Heexpresseda
desirethatthereshouldbeneitherwreathsnorowersofanykind,andhopedthathisfriendsandrelativeswouldnot
consideritnecessarytowearmourning.Thedaybeforehisdeathwereceivedalettercancelingtheseinstructions.
Hewishedhisbodytobeembalmed(hegaveustheaddressofthemanweweretoemploy—Pennifer,LudgateHill),
withordersthathisrighthandwastobesenttoyou,statingthatitwasatyourspecialrequest.Theotherarrange-
mentsastothefuneralremainedunaltered.”
“GoodLord!”saidEustace;“whatintheworldwastheoldboydrivingat?Andwhatinthenameofallthat’sholyis
that?”
Someonewasinthegallery.Someonehadpulledthecordattachedtooneoftheblinds,andithadrolledupwitha
snap.Someonemustbeinthegallery,forasecondblinddidthesame.Someonemustbewalkingroundthegallery,
foroneaftertheothertheblindssprangup,lettinginthemoonlight.
“Ihaven’tgottothebottomofthisyet,”saidEustace,“butIwilldobeforethenightisverymucholder,”andhehurried
upthecorkscrewstair.Hehadjustgottothetopwhenthelightswentoutasecondtime,andheheardagainthescut-
tlingalongtheoor.Quicklyhestoleontiptoeinthedimmoonshineinthedirectionofthenoise,feelingashewentforoneoftheswitches.Hisngerstouchedthemetalknobatlast.Heturnedontheelectriclight.
Abouttenyardsinfrontofhim,crawlingalongtheoor,wasaman’shand.Eustacestaredatitinutterastonishment.
Itwasmovingquickly,inthemannerofageometercaterpillar,thengershumpeduponemoment,attenedoutthe
next;thethumbappearedtogiveacrab-likemotiontothewhole.Whilehewaslooking,toosurprisedtostir,thehand
disappearedroundthecornerEustaceranforward.Henolongersawit,buthecouldhearitasitsqueezeditsway
behindthebooksononeoftheshelves.Aheavyvolumehadbeendisplaced.Therewasagapintherowofbooks
whereithadgotin.Inhisfearlestitshouldescapehimagain,heseizedtherstbookthatcametohishandand
pluggeditintothehole.Then,emptyingtwoshelvesoftheircontents,hetookthewoodenboardsandproppedthem
upinfronttomakehisbarrierdoublysure.
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“IwishSaunderswasback,”hesaid;“onecan’ttacklethissortofthingalone.”Itwasaftereleven,andthereseemed
littlelikelihoodofSaundersreturningbeforetwelve.Hedidnotdaretoleavetheshelfunwatched,eventorundown-
stairstoringthebell.Mortonthebutleroftenusedtocomeroundabouteleventoseethatthewindowswerefas-tened,buthemightnotcome.Eustacewasthoroughlyunstrung.Atlastheheardstepsdownbelow.
“Morton!”heshouted;“Morton!”
“Sir?”
“HasMr.Saundersgotbackyet?”
“Notyet,sir.”
“Well,bringmesomebrandy,andhurryupaboutit.I’muphereinthegallery,youduffer.”
“Thanks,”saidEustace,asheemptiedtheglass.“Don’tgotobedyet,Morton.Therearealotofbooksthathave
fallendownbyaccident;bringthemupandputthembackintheirshelves.”
MortonhadneverseenBorlsoverinsotalkativeamoodasonthatnight.“Here,”saidEustace,whenthebookshad
beenputbackanddusted,“youmightholduptheseboardsforme,Morton.Thatbeastintheboxgotout,andI’vebeenchasingitallovertheplace.”
“IthinkIcanhearitchawingatthebooks,sir.They’renotvaluable,Ihope?Ithinkthat’sthecarriage,sir;I’llgoand
callMr.Saunders.”
ItseemedtoEustacethathewasawayforveminutes,butitcouldhardlyhavebeenmorethanonewhenhere-
turnedwithSaunders.“Allright,Morton,youcangonow.I’muphere,Saunders.”
“What’salltherow?”askedSaunders,asheloungedforwardwithhishandsinhispockets.Theluckhadbeenwith
himalltheevening.Hewascompletelysatised,bothwithhimselfandwithCaptainLockwood’stasteinwines.
“What’s the matter? You look to me to be in an absolute blue funk ”
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What sthematter?Youlooktometobeinanabsolutebluefunk.
“Thatolddevilofanuncleofmine,”beganEustace—”oh,Ican’texplainitall.It’shishandthat’sbeenplayingoldHarry
alltheevening.ButI’vegotitcorneredbehindthesebooks.You’vegottohelpmecatchit.”
“What’supwithyou,Eustace?What’sthegame?”
“It’snogame,yousillyidiot!Ifyoudon’tbelievemetakeoutoneofthosebooksandputyourhandinandfeel.”
“Allright,”saidSaunders;“butwaittillI’verolledupmysleeve.Theaccumulateddustofcenturies,eh?”Hetookoff
hiscoat,kneltdown,andthrusthisarmalongtheshelf.
“There’ssomethingthererightenough,”hesaid.“It’sgotafunnystumpyendtoit,whateveritis,andnipslikeacrab. Ah,no,youdon’t!”Hepulledhishandoutinaash.“Shoveinabookquickly.Nowitcan’tgetout.”
“Whatwasit?”askedEustace.
“Itwassomethingthatwantedverymuchtogetholdofme.Ifeltwhatseemedlikeathumbandforenger.Giveme
somebrandy.”
“Howarewetogetitoutofthere?”
“Whataboutalandingnet?”
“Nogood.Itwouldbetoosmartforus.Itellyou,Saunders,itcancoverthegroundfarfasterthanIcanwalk.ButI
thinkIseehowwecanmanageit.Thetwobooksattheendoftheshelfarebigonesthatgorightbackagainstthe
wall.Theothersareverythin.I’lltakeoutoneatatime,andyouslidetherestalonguntilwehaveitsquashedbe-
tweentheendtwo.”
Itcertainlyseemedtobethebestplan.Onebyone,astheytookoutthebooks,thespacebehindgrewsmallerand
smaller.Therewassomethinginitthatwascertainlyverymuchalive.Oncetheycaughtsightofngerspressingout-
ward for a way of escape At last they had it pressed between the two big books
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wardforawayofescape.Atlasttheyhaditpressedbetweenthetwobigbooks.
“There’smusclethere,ifthereisn’teshandblood,”saidSaunders,asheheldthemtogether.“Itseemstobeahand
rightenough,too.Isupposethisisasortofinfectioushallucination.I’vereadaboutsuchcasesbefore.”
“Infectiousddlesticks!”saidEustace,hisfacewhitewithanger;“bringthethingdownstairs.We’llgetitbackintothe
box.”
Itwasnotaltogethereasy,buttheyweresuccessfulatlast.“Driveinthescrews,”saidEustace,“wewon’trunany
risks.Puttheboxinthisolddeskofmine.There’snothinginitthatIwant.Here’sthekey.Thankgoodness,there’s
nothingwrongwiththelock.”
“Quitealivelyevening,”saidSaunders.“Nowlet’shearmoreaboutyouruncle.”
Theysatuptogetheruntilearlymorning.Saundershadnodesireforsleep.Eustacewastryingtoexplainandtofor-
get:toconcealfromhimselfafearthathehadneverfeltbefore—thefearofwalkingalonedownthelongcorridortohis
bedroom.
III
“Whateveritwas,”saidEustacetoSaundersonthefollowingmorning,“Iproposethatwedropthesubject.There’snothingtokeepushereforthenexttendays.We’llmotoruptotheLakesandgetsomeclimbing.”
“Andseenobodyallday,andsitboredtodeathwitheachothereverynight.Notformethanks.Whynotrunupto
town?Run’stheexactwordinthiscase,isn’tit?We’rebothinsuchablessedfunk.PullyourselftogetherEustace,
andlet’shaveanotherlookatthehand.”
“Asyoulike,”saidEustace;“there’sthekey.”Theywentintothelibraryandopenedthedesk.Theboxwasasthey
hadleftitonthepreviousnight.
“Whatareyouwaitingfor?”askedEustace.
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“Iamwaitingforyoutovolunteertoopenthelid.However,sinceyouseemtofunkit,allowme.Theredoesn’tseemto
bethelikelihoodofanyrumpusthismorning,atallevents.”Heopenedthelidandpickedoutthehand.
“Cold?”askedEustace.
“Tepid.Abitbelowblood-heatbythefeel.Softandsuppletoo.Ifit’stheembalming,it’sasortofembalmingI’venev-
erseenbefore.Isityouruncle’shand?”
“Oh,yes,it’shisallright,”saidEustace.“Ishouldknowthoselongthinngersanywhere.Putitbackinthebox,Saun-
ders.Nevermindaboutthescrews.I’lllockthedesk,sothatthere’llbenochanceofitsgettingout.We’llcompromise
bymotoringuptotownforaweek.IfwegetoffsoonafterlunchweoughttobeatGranthamorStamfordbynight.”
“Right,”saidSaunders;“andto-morrow—Oh,well,byto-morrowweshallhaveforgottenallaboutthisbeastlything.”
Ifwhenthemorrowcametheyhadnotforgotten,itwascertainlytruethatattheendoftheweektheywereabletotell
averyvividghoststoryatthelittlesupperEustacegaveonHallowE’en.
“Youdon’twantustobelievethatit’strue,Mr.Borlsover?Howperfectlyawful!”
“I’lltakemyoathonit,andsowouldSaundershere;wouldn’tyou,oldchap?”
“Anynumberofoaths,”saidSaunders.“Itwasalongthinhand,youknow,anditgrippedmejustlikethat.”
“Don’tMr.Saunders!Don’t!Howperfectlyhorrid!Nowtellusanotherone,do.Onlyareallycreepyone,please!”
“Here’saprettymess!”saidEustaceonthefollowingdayashethrewaletteracrossthetabletoSaunders.“It’syour
affair,though.Mrs.Merrit,ifIunderstandit,givesamonth’snotice.”
“Oh,that’squiteabsurdonMrs.Merrit’spart,”Saundersreplied.“Shedoesn’tknowwhatshe’stalkingabout.Let’s
seewhatshesays.”
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“DearSir,”heread,“thisistoletyouknowthatImustgiveyouamonth’snoticeasfromTuesdaythe13th.Foralong
timeI’vefelttheplacetoobigforme,butwhenJanePart,andEmmaLaidlawgooffwithscarcelyasmuchasan‘if
youplease,’afterfrighteningthewitsoutoftheothergirls,sothattheycan’tturnoutaroombythemselvesorwalk
alonedownthestairsforfearoftreadingonhalf-frozentoadsorhearingitrunalongthepassagesatnight,allIcan
sayisthatit’snoplaceforme.SoImustaskyou,Mr.Borlsover,sir,tondanewhousekeeperthathasnoobjection
tolargeandlonelyhouses,whichsomepeopledosay,notthatIbelievethemforaminute,mypoormotheralways
havingbeenaWesleyan,arehaunted.
“Yoursfaithfully,
ElizabethMerrit.
“P.S.—IshouldbeobligedifyouwouldgivemyrespectstoMr.Saunders.Ihopethathewon’trunnoriskswithhiscold.”
“Saunders,”saidEustace,“you’vealwayshadawonderfulwaywithyouindealingwithservants.Youmustn’tletpoor
oldMerritgo.”
“Ofcoursesheshan’tgo,”saidSaunders.“She’sprobablyonlyanglingforariseinsalary.I’llwritetoherthismorn-
ing.”
“No;there’snothinglikeapersonalinterview.We’vehadenoughoftown.We’llgobackto-morrow,andyoumust
workyourcoldforallit’sworth.Don’tforgetthatit’sgotontothechest,andwillrequireweeksoffeedingupandnurs-
ing.”
“Allright.IthinkIcanmanageMrs.Merrit.”
ButMrs.Merritwasmoreobstinatethanhehadthought.ShewasverysorrytohearofMr.Saunders’scold,andhow
helayawakeallnightinLondoncoughing;verysorryindeed.She’dchangehisroomforhimgladly,andgetthesouth
roomaired.Andwouldn’thehaveabasinofhotbreadandmilklastthingatnight?Butshewasafraidthatshewould
havetoleaveattheendofthemonth.
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“Tryherwithanincreaseofsalary,”wastheadviceofEustace.
Itwasnouse.Mrs.Merritwasobdurate,thoughsheknewofaMrs.HandysidewhohadbeenhousekeepertoLord
Gargrave,whomightbegladtocomeatthesalarymentioned.
“What’sthematterwiththeservants,Morton?”askedEustacethateveningwhenhebroughtthecoffeeintotheli-
brary.“What’sallthisaboutMrs.Merritwantingtoleave?”
“Ifyouplease,sir,Iwasgoingtomentionitmyself.Ihaveaconfessiontomake,sir.WhenIfoundyournoteasking
metoopenthatdeskandtakeouttheboxwiththerat,Ibrokethelockasyoutoldme,andwasgladtodoit,because
Icouldheartheanimalintheboxmakingagreatnoise,andIthoughtitwantedfood.SoItookoutthebox,sir,and
gotacage,andwasgoingtotransferit,whentheanimalgotaway.”
“Whatintheworldareyoutalkingabout?Ineverwroteanysuchnote.”
“Excuseme,sir,itwasthenoteIpickeduphereontheooronthedayyouandMr.Saundersleft.Ihaveitinmy
pocketnow.”
ItcertainlyseemedtobeinEustace’shandwriting.Itwaswritteninpencil,andbegansomewhatabruptly.
“Getahammer,Morton,”heread,“orsomeothertool,andbreakopenthelockintheolddeskinthelibrary.Takeout
theboxthatisinside.Youneednotdoanythingelse.Thelidisalreadyopen.EustaceBorlsover.”
“Andyouopenedthedesk?”
“Yes,sir;andasIwasgettingthecagereadytheanimalhoppedout.”
“Whatanimal?”
“Theanimalinsidethebox,sir.”
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“Whatdiditlooklike?”
“Well,sir,Icouldn’ttellyou,”saidMortonnervously;“mybackwasturned,anditwashalfwaydowntheroomwhenI
lookedup.”
“Whatwasitscolor?”askedSaunders;“black?”
“Oh,no,sir,agrayishwhite.Itcreptalonginaveryfunnyway,sir.Idon’tthinkithadatail.”
“Whatdidyoudothen?”
“Itriedtocatchit,butitwasnouse.SoIsettherat-trapsandkeptthelibraryshut.ThenthatgirlEmmaLaidlawleftthedooropenwhenshewascleaning,andIthinkitmusthaveescaped.”
“Andyouthinkitwastheanimalthat’sbeenfrighteningthemaids?”
“Well,no,sir,notquite.Theysaiditwas—you’llexcuseme,sir—ahandthattheysaw.Emmatrodonitonceatthebot-
tomofthestairs.Shethoughtthenitwasahalf-frozentoad,onlywhite.AndthenPartwaswashingupthedishesin
thescullery.Shewasn’tthinkingaboutanythinginparticular.Itwascloseondusk.Shetookherhandsoutofthewa-
terandwasdryingthemabsent-mindedlikeontherollertowel,whenshefoundthatshewasdryingsomeoneelse’shandaswell,onlycolderthanhers.”
“Whatnonsense!”exclaimedSaunders.
“Exactly,sir;that’swhatItoldher;butwecouldn’tgethertostop.”
“Youdon’tbelieveallthis?”saidEustace,turningsuddenlytowardsthebutler.
“Me,sir?Oh,no,sir!I’venotseenanything.”
“Norheardanything?”
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y g
“Well,sir,ifyoumustknow,thebellsdoringatoddtimes,andthere’snobodytherewhenwego;andwhenwego
roundtodrawtheblindsofanight,asoftenasnotsomebody’sbeentherebeforeus.ButasIsaystoMrs.Merrit,a
youngmonkeymightdowonderfulthings,andweallknowthatMr.Borlsoverhashadsomestrangeanimalsabout
theplace.”
“Verywell,Morton,thatwilldo.”
“Whatdoyoumakeofit?”askedSaunderswhentheywerealone.“Imeanoftheletterhesaidyouwrote.”
“Oh,that’ssimpleenough,”saidEustace.“Seethepaperit’swrittenon?Istoppedusingthatyearsago,butthere
wereafewoddsheetsandenvelopesleftintheolddesk.Weneverfastenedupthelidoftheboxbeforelockingitin.Thehandgotout,foundapencil,wrotethisnote,andshoveditthroughacrackontotheoorwhereMortonfoundit.
That’splainasdaylight.”
“Butthehandcouldn’twrite?”
“Couldn’tit?You’venotseenitdothethingsI’veseen,”andhetoldSaundersmoreofwhathadhappenedatEast-
bourne.
“Well,”saidSaunders,“inthatcasewehaveatleastanexplanationofthelegacy.Itwasthehandwhichwroteun-
knowntoyourunclethatlettertoyoursolicitor,bequeathingitselftoyou.Yourunclehadnomoretodowiththatre-
questthanI.Infact,itwouldseemthathehadsomeideaofthisautomaticwriting,andfearedit.”
“Thenifit’snotmyuncle,whatisit?”
“Isupposesomepeoplemightsaythatadisembodiedspirithadgotyouruncletoeducateandpreparealittlebody
forit.Nowit’sgotintothatlittlebodyandisoffonitsown.”
“Well,whatarewetodo?”
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“We’llkeepoureyesopen,”saidSaunders,“andtrytocatchit.Ifwecan’tdothat,weshallhavetowaittillthebally
clockworkrunsdown.Afterall,ifit’seshandblood,itcan’tliveforever.”
Fortwodaysnothinghappened.ThenSaunderssawitslidingdownthebanisterinthehall.Hewastakenunawares,
andlostafullsecondbeforehestartedinpursuit,onlytondthatthethinghadescapedhim.Threedayslater,Eu-
stace,writingaloneinthelibraryatnight,sawitsittingonanopenbookattheotherendoftheroom.Thengerscrept
overthepage,feelingtheprintasifitwerereading;butbeforehehadtimetogetupfromhisseat,ithadtakenthe
alarmandwaspullingitselfupthecurtains.Eustacewatcheditgrimlyasithungontothecornicewiththreengers,
ickingthumbandforengerathiminanexpressionofscornfulderision.
“IknowwhatI’lldo,”hesaid.“IfIonlygetitintotheopenI’llsetthedogsontoit.”
HespoketoSaundersofthesuggestion.
“It’sjollygoodidea,”hesaid;“onlywewon’twaittillwenditoutofdoors.We’llgetthedogs.Therearethetwoter-
riersandtheunder-keeper’sIrishmongrelthat’sontoratslikeaash.Yourspanielhasnotgotspiritenoughforthis
sortofgame.”Theybroughtthedogsintothehouse,andthekeeper’sIrishmongrelcheweduptheslippers,andthe
terrierstrippedupMortonashewaitedattable;butallthreewerewelcome.Evenfalsesecurityisbetterthannose-
curityatall.
Forafortnightnothinghappened.Thenthehandwascaught,notbythedogs,butbyMrs.Merrit’sgrayparrot.The
birdwasinthehabitofperiodicallyremovingthepinsthatkeptitsseedandwatertinsinplace,andofescaping
throughtheholesinthesideofthecage.WhenonceatlibertyPeterwouldshownoinclinationtoreturn,andwould
oftenbeaboutthehousefordays.Now,aftersixconsecutiveweeksofcaptivity,Peterhadagaindiscoveredanew
meansofunloosinghisboltsandwasatlarge,exploringthetapestriedforestsofthecurtainsandsingingsongsin
praiseoflibertyfromcorniceandpicturerail.
“It’snouseyourtryingtocatchhim,”saidEustacetoMrs.Merrit,asshecameintothestudyoneafternoontowards
duskwithastep-ladder.“You’dmuchbetterleavePeteralone.Starvehimintosurrender,Mrs.Merrit,anddon’tleave
bananasandseedaboutforhimtopeckatwhenhefancieshe’shungry.You’refartoosofthearted.”
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“Well,sir,Iseehe’srightoutofreachnowonthatpicturerail,soifyouwouldn’tmindclosingthedoor,sir,whenyou
leavetheroom,I’llbringhiscageinto-nightandputsomemeatinsideit.He’sthatfondofmeat,thoughitdoesmake
himpullouthisfeatherstosuckthequills.Theydosaythatifyoucook—”
“Nevermind,Mrs.Merrit,”saidEustace,whowasbusywriting.“Thatwilldo;I’llkeepaneyeonthebird.”
Therewassilenceintheroom,unbrokenbutforthecontinuouswhisperofhispen.
“ScratchpoorPeter,”saidthebird.“ScratchpooroldPeter!”
“Bequiet,youbeastlybird!”
“PooroldPeter!ScratchpoorPeter,do.”
“I’mmorelikelytowringyourneckifIgetholdofyou.”Helookedupatthepicturerail,andtherewasthehandhold-
ingontoahookwiththreengers,andslowlyscratchingtheheadoftheparrotwiththefourth.Eustacerantothe
bellandpressedithard;thenacrosstothewindow,whichheclosedwithabang.Frightenedbythenoisetheparrot
shookitswingspreparatorytoight,andasitdidsothengersofthehandgotholdofitbythethroat.Therewasa
shrillscreamfromPeterasheutteredacrosstheroom,wheelingroundincirclesthateverdescended,bornedown
undertheweightthatclungtohim.Thebirddroppedatlastquitesuddenly,andEustacesawngersandfeathersrolledintoaninextricablemassontheoor.Thestruggleabruptlyceasedasngerandthumbsqueezedtheneck;the
bird’seyesrolleduptoshowthewhites,andtherewasafaint,half-chokedgurgle.Butbeforethengershadtimeto
loosetheirhold,Eustacehadtheminhisown.
“SendMr.Saundershereatonce,”hesaidtothemaidwhocameinanswertothebell.“TellhimIwanthimimmedi-
ately.”
Thenhewentwiththehandtothere.Therewasaraggedgashacrossthebackwherethebird’sbeakhadtornit,
butnobloodoozedfromthewound.Henoticedwithdisgustthatthenailshadgrownlonganddiscolored.
“I’llburnthebeastlything,”hesaid.Buthecouldnotburnit.Hetriedtothrowitintotheames,buthisownhands,as
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ifrestrainedbysomeoldprimitivefeeling,wouldnotlethim.AndsoSaundersfoundhimpaleandirresolute,withthe
handstillclaspedtightlyinhisngers.
“I’vegotitatlast,”hesaidinatoneoftriumph.
“Good;let’shavealookatit.”
“Notwhenit’sloose.Getmesomenailsandahammerandaboardofsomesort.”
“Canyouholditallright?”
“Yes,thething’squitelimp;tiredoutwiththrottlingpooroldPeter,Ishouldsay.”
“Andnow,”saidSaunderswhenhereturnedwiththethings,“whatarewegoingtodo?”
“Driveanailthroughitrst,sothatitcan’tgetaway;thenwecantakeourtimeoverexaminingit.”
“Doityourself,”saidSaunders.“Idon’tmindhelpingyouwithguinea-pigsoccasionallywhenthere’ssomethingtobe
learned;partlybecauseIdon’tfearaguinea-pig’srevenge.Thisthing’sdifferent.”
“Allright,youmiserableskunk.Iwon’tforgetthewayyou’vestoodbyme.”
Hetookupanail,andbeforeSaundershadrealisedwhathewasdoinghaddrivenitthroughthehand,deepintothe
board.
“Oh,myaunt,”hegiggledhysterically,“lookatitnow,”forthehandwaswrithinginagonizedcontortions,squirming
andwrigglinguponthenaillikeawormuponthehook.
“Well,”saidSaunders,“you’vedoneitnow.I’llleaveyoutoexamineit.”
“Don’tgo,inheaven’sname.Coveritup,man,coveritup!Shoveaclothoverit!Here!”andhepulledofftheantima-
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cassarfromthebackofachairandwrappedtheboardinit.“Nowgetthekeysfrommypocketandopenthesafe.
Chucktheotherthingsout.Oh,Lord,it’sgettingitselfintofrightfulknots!andopenitquick!”Hethrewthethinginand
bangedthedoor.
“We’llkeepittheretillitdies,”hesaid.“MayIburninhellifIeveropenthedoorofthatsafeagain.”
Mrs.Merritdepartedattheendofthemonth.Hersuccessorcertainlywasmoresuccessfulinthemanagementof
theservants.Earlyinherruleshedeclaredthatshewouldstandnononsense,andgossipsoonwitheredanddied.
EustaceBorlsoverwentbacktohisoldwayoflife.Oldhabitscreptoverandcoveredhisnewexperience.Hewas,if
anything,lessmorose,andshowedagreaterinclinationtotakehisnaturalpartincountrysociety.
“Ishouldn’tbesurprisedifhemarriesoneofthesedays,”saidSaunders.“Well,I’minnohurryforsuchanevent.IknowEustacefartoowellforthefutureMrs.BorlsovertolikemeItwillbethesameoldstoryagain:alongfriendship
slowlymade—marriage—andalongfriendshipquicklyforgotten.”
IV
ButEustaceBorlsoverdidnotfollowtheadviceofhisuncleandmarry.Hewastoofondofoldslippersandtobacco.
Thecooking,too,underMrs.Handyside’smanagementwasexcellent,andsheseemed,too,tohaveaheaven-sent
facultyinknowingwhentostopdusting.
Littlebylittletheoldliferesumeditsoldpower.Thencametheburglary.Themen,itwassaid,brokeintothehouseby
wayoftheconservatory.Itwasreallylittlemorethananattempt,fortheyonlysucceededincarryingawayafewpiec-
esofplatefromthepantry.Thesafeinthestudywascertainlyfoundopenandempty,but,asMr.Borlsoverinformed
thepoliceinspector,hehadkeptnothingofvalueinitduringthelastsixmonths.
“Thenyou’reluckyingettingoffsoeasily,sir,”themanreplied.“Bythewaytheyhavegoneabouttheirbusiness,I
shouldsaytheywereexperiencedcracksmen.Theymusthavecaughtthealarmwhentheywerejustbeginningtheir
evening’swork.”
“Yes,”saidEustace,“IsupposeIamlucky.”
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“I’venodoubt,”saidtheinspector,“thatweshallbeabletotracethemen.I’vesaidthattheymusthavebeenold
handsatthegame.Thewaytheygotinandopenedthesafeshowsthat.Butthere’sonelittlethingthatpuzzlesme.
Oneofthemwascarelessenoughnottoweargloves,andI’mbotheredifIknowwhathewastryingtodo.I’vetraced
hisnger-marksonthenewvarnishonthewindowsashesineveryoneofthedownstairsrooms.Theyareverydis-
tinctonestoo.”
“Righthandorleft,orboth?”askedEustace.
“Oh,righteverytime.That’sthefunnything.Hemusthavebeenafoolhardyfellow,andIratherthinkitwashimthat
wrotethat.”Hetookoutaslipofpaperfromhispocket.“That’swhathewrote,sir.‘I’vegotout,EustaceBorlsover,but
I’llbebackbeforelong.’Somegaolbirdjustescaped,Isuppose.Itwillmakeitalltheeasierforustotracehim.Doyouknowthewriting,sir?”
“No,”saidEustace;“it’snotthewritingofanyoneIknow.”
“I’mnotgoingtostayhereanylonger,”saidEustacetoSaundersatluncheon.“I’vegotonfarbetterduringthelastsix
monthsthaneverIexpected,butI’mnotgoingtoruntheriskofseeingthatthingagain.Ishallgouptotownthisafter-
noon.GetMortontoputmythingstogether,andjoinmewiththecaratBrightononthedayafterto-morrow.Andbring
theproofsofthosetwopaperswithyou.We’llrunoverthemtogether.”
“Howlongareyougoingtobeaway?”
“Ican’tsayforcertain,butbepreparedtostayforsometime.We’vestucktoworkprettycloselythroughthesummer,
andIforoneneedaholiday.I’llengagetheroomsatBrighton.You’llnditbesttobreakthejourneyatHitchin.I’ll
wiretoyouthereattheCrowntotellyoutheBrightonaddress.”
ThehousehechoseatBrightonwasinaterrace.Hehadbeentherebefore.Itwaskeptbyhisoldcollegegyp,aman
ofdiscreetsilence,whowasadmirablypartneredbyanexcellentcook.Theroomswereontherstoor.Thetwo
bedroomswereattheback,andopenedoutofeachother.“Saunderscanhavethesmallerone,thoughitistheonly
onewithareplace,”hesaid.“I’llsticktothelargerofthetwo,sinceit’sgotabathroomadjoining.Iwonderwhattime
h ’ll i i h h ”
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he’llarrivewiththecar.”
Saunderscameaboutseven,coldandcrossanddirty.“We’lllightthereinthedining-room,”saidEustace,“andget
Princetounpacksomeofthethingswhileweareatdinner.Whatweretheroadslike?”
“Rotten;swimmingwithmud,andabeastlycoldwindagainstusallday.AndthisisJuly.DearoldEngland!”
“Yes,”saidEustace,“IthinkwemightdoworsethanleavedearoldEnglandforafewmonths.”
Theyturnedinsoonaftertwelve.
“Yououghtn’ttofeelcold,Saunders,”saidEustace,“whenyoucanaffordtosportagreatcat-skinlinedcoatlikethis.Youdoyourselfverywell,allthingsconsidered.Lookatthosegloves,forinstance.Whocouldpossiblyfeelcoldwhen
wearingthem?”
“Theyarefartooclumsythoughfordriving.Trythemonandsee,”andhetossedthemthroughthedoorontoEu-
stace’sbed,andwentonwithhisunpacking.Aminutelaterheheardashrillcryofterror.“Oh,Lord,”heheard,“it’s
intheglove!Quick,Saunders,quick!”Thencameasmackingthud.Eustacehadthrownitfromhim.“I’vechuckedit
intothebathroom,”hegasped,“it’shitthewallandfallenintothebath.Comenowifyouwanttohelp.”Saunders,with
alightedcandleinhishand,lookedovertheedgeofthebath.Thereitwas,oldandmaimed,dumbandblind,witharaggedholeinthemiddle,crawling,staggering,tryingtocreepuptheslipperysides,onlytofallbackhelpless.
“Staythere,”saidSaunders.“I’llemptyacollarboxorsomething,andwe’lljamitin.Itcan’tgetoutwhileI’maway.”
“Yes,itcan,”shoutedEustace.“It’sgettingoutnow.It’sclimbinguptheplugchain.No,youbrute,youlthybrute,you
don’t!Comeback,Saunders,it’sgettingawayfromme.Ican’tholdit;it’sallslippery.Curseitsclaw!Shutthewindow,
youidiot!Thetoptoo,aswellasthebottom.Youutteridiot!It’sgotout!”Therewasthesoundofsomethingdropping
ontothehardagstonesbelow,andEustacefellbackfainting.
Forafortnighthewasill.
“I d ’ k h k f i ” h d id S d “I l h M B l h ff d
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“Idon’tknowwhattomakeofit,”thedoctorsaidtoSaunders.“IcanonlysupposethatMr.Borlsoverhassuffered
somegreatemotionalshock.Youhadbetterletmesendsomeonetohelpyounursehim.Andbyallmeansindulge
thatwhimofhisnevertobeleftaloneinthedark.IwouldkeepalightburningallnightifIwereyou.Buthemusthave
morefreshair.It’sperfectlyabsurdthishatredofopenwindows.”
Eustace,however,wouldhavenoonewithhimbutSaunders.“Idon’twanttheothermen,”hesaid.“They’dsmuggle
itinsomehow.Iknowtheywould.”
“Don’tworryaboutit,oldchap.Thissortofthingcan’tgoonindenitely.YouknowIsawitthistimeaswellasyou.It
wasn’thalfsoactive.Itwon’tgoonlivingmuchlonger,especiallyafterthatfall.Iheardithittheagsmyself.Assoon
asyou’reabitstrongerwe’llleavethisplace;notbagandbaggage,butwithonlytheclothesonourbacks,sothatit
won’tbeabletohideanywhere.We’llescapeitthatway.Wewon’tgiveanyaddress,andwewon’thaveanyparcelssentafterus.Cheerup,Eustace!You’llbewellenoughtoleaveinadayortwo.ThedoctorsaysIcantakeyououtin
achairto-morrow.”
“WhathaveIdone?”askedEustace.“Whydoesitcomeafterme?I’mnoworsethanothermen.I’mnoworsethan
you,Saunders;youknowI’mnot.ItwasyouwhowereatthebottomofthatdirtybusinessinSanDiego,andthatwas
fteenyearsago.”
“It’snotthat,ofcourse,”saidSaunders.“Weareinthetwentiethcentury,andeventheparsonshavedroppedtheideaofyouroldsinsndingyouout.Beforeyoucaughtthehandinthelibraryitwaslledwithpuremalevolence—to
youandallmankind.Afteryouspikeditthroughwiththatnailitnaturallyforgotaboutotherpeople,andconcentrated
itsattentiononyou.Itwasshutupinthesafe,youknow,fornearlysixmonths.Thatgivesplentyoftimeforthinking
ofrevenge.”
EustaceBorlsoverwouldnotleavehisroom,buthethoughtthattheremightbesomethinginSaunders’ssuggestion
toleaveBrightonwithoutnotice.Hebeganrapidlytoregainhisstrength.
“We’llgoontherstofSeptember,”hesaid.
TheeveningofAugust31stwasoppressivelywarm.Thoughatmiddaythewindowshadbeenwideopen,theyhad
b h t h b f d k M P i h d l i d t d t th t h bit f th tl
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beenshutanhourorsobeforedusk.Mrs.Princehadlongsinceceasedtowonderatthestrangehabitsofthegentle-
menontherstoor.Soonaftertheirarrivalshehadbeentoldtotakedowntheheavywindowcurtainsinthetwo
bedrooms,anddaybydaytheroomshadseemedtogrowmorebare.Nothingwasleftlyingabout.
“Mr.Borlsoverdoesn’tliketohaveanyplacewheredirtcancollect,”Saundershadsaidasanexcuse.“Helikestosee
intoallthecornersoftheroom.”
“Couldn’tIopenthewindowjustalittle?”hesaidtoEustacethatevening.“We’resimplyroastinginhere,youknow.”
“No,leavewellalone.We’renotacoupleofboarding-schoolmissesfreshfromacourseofhygienelectures.Getthe
chessboardout.”
Theysatdownandplayed.Atteno’clockMrs.Princecametothedoorwithanote.“IamsorryIdidn’tbringitbefore,”
shesaid,“butitwasleftintheletter-box.”
“Openit,Saunders,andseeifitwantsanswering.”
Itwasverybrief.Therewasneitheraddressnorsignature.
“Willeleveno’clockto-nightbesuitableforourlastappointment?”
“Whoisitfrom?”askedBorlsover.
“Itwasmeantforme,”saidSaunders.“There’snoanswer,Mrs.Prince,”andheputthepaperintohispocket.“Adun-
ningletterfromatailor;Isupposehemusthavegotwindofourleaving.”
Itwasacleverlie,andEustaceaskednomorequestions.Theywentonwiththeirgame.
OnthelandingoutsideSaunderscouldhearthegrandfather’sclockwhisperingtheseconds,blurtingoutthequarter-
hours.
“Ch k!” id E t Th l k t k l At th ti th tl k ki th d it d
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“Check!”saidEustace.Theclockstruckeleven.Atthesametimetherewasagentleknockingonthedoor;itseemed
tocomefromthebottompanel.
“Who’sthere?”askedEustace.
Therewasnoanswer.
“Mrs.Prince,isthatyou?”
“Sheisupabove,”saidSaunders;“Icanhearherwalkingabouttheroom.”
“Thenlockthedoor;boltittoo.Yourmove,Saunders.”
WhileSaunderssatwithhiseyesonthechessboard,Eustacewalkedovertothewindowandexaminedthefasten-
ings.HedidthesameinSaunders’sroomandthebathroom.Therewerenodoorsbetweenthethreerooms,orhe
wouldhaveshutandlockedthemtoo.
“Now,Saunders,”hesaid,“don’tstayallnightoveryourmove.I’vehadtimetosmokeonecigarettealready.It’sbad
tokeepaninvalidwaiting.There’sonlyonepossiblethingforyoutodo.Whatwasthat?”
“Theivyblowingagainstthewindow.There,it’syourmovenow,Eustace.”
“Itwasn’ttheivy,youidiot.Itwassomeonetappingatthewindow,”andhepulleduptheblind.Ontheoutersideof
thewindow,clingingtothesash,wasthehand.
“Whatisitthatit’sholding?”
“It’sapocket-knife.It’sgoingtotrytoopenthewindowbypushingbackthefastenerwiththeblade.”
“Well,letittry,”saidEustace.“Thosefastenersscrewdown;theycan’tbeopenedthatway.Anyhow,we’llclosethe
shutters.It’syourmove,Saunders.I’veplayed.”
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ButSaundersfounditimpossibletoxhisattentiononthegame.HecouldnotunderstandEustace,whoseemedall
atoncetohavelosthisfear.“Whatdoyousaytosomewine?”heasked.“Youseemtobetakingthingscoolly,butI
don’tmindconfessingthatI’minablessedfunk.”
“You’venoneedtobe.There’snothingsupernaturalaboutthathand,Saunders.Imeanitseemstobegoverned
bythelawsoftimeandspace.It’snotthesortofthingthatvanishesintothinairorslidesthroughoakendoors.And
sincethat’sso,Idefyittogetinhere.We’llleavetheplaceinthemorning.Iforonehavebottomedthedepthsoffear.
Fillyourglass,man!Thewindowsareallshuttered,thedoorislockedandbolted.PledgememyuncleAdrian!Drink,
man!Whatareyouwaitingfor?”
Saunderswasstandingwithhisglasshalfraised.“Itcangetin,”hesaidhoarsely;“itcangetin!We’veforgotten.There’sthereplaceinmybedroom.Itwillcomedownthechimney.”
“Quick!”saidEustace,asherushedintotheotherroom;“wehaven’taminutetolose.Whatcanwedo?Lightthere,
Saunders.Givemeamatch,quick!”
“Theymustbeallintheotherroom.I’llgetthem.”
“Hurry,man,forgoodness’sake!Lookinthebookcase!Lookinthebathroom!Here,comeandstandhere;I’lllook.”
“Bequick!”shoutedSaunders.“Icanhearsomething!”
“Thenplugasheetfromyourbedupthechimney.No,here’samatch.”Hehadfoundoneatlastthathadslippedinto
acrackintheoor.
“Istherelaid?Good,butitmaynotburn.Iknow—theoilfromthatoldreading-lampandthiscotton-wool.Nowthe
match,quick!Pullthesheetaway,youfool!Wedon’twantitnow.”
Therewasagreatroarfromthegrateastheamesshotup.Saundershadbeenafractionofasecondtoolatewith
thesheet.Theoilhadfallenontoit.It,too,wasburning.
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“Thewholeplacewillbeonre!”criedEustace,ashetriedtobeatouttheameswithablanket.“It’snogood!Ican’t
manageit.Youmustopenthedoor,Saunders,andgethelp.”
Saundersrantothedoorandfumbledwiththebolts.Thekeywasstiffinthelock.
“Hurry!”shoutedEustace;“thewholeplaceisablaze!”
Thekeyturnedinthelockatlast.ForhalfasecondSaundersstoppedtolookback.Afterwardshecouldneverbe
quitesureastowhathehadseen,butatthetimehethoughtthatsomethingblackandcharredwascreepingslowly,
veryslowly,fromthemassofamestowardsEustaceBorlsover.Foramomenthethoughtofreturningtohisfriend,
butthenoiseandthesmelloftheburningsenthimrunningdownthepassagecrying,“Fire!Fire!”Herushedtothetelephonetosummonhelp,andthenbacktothebathroom—heshouldhavethoughtofthatbefore—forwater.Ashe
burstopenthebedroomdoortherecameascreamofterrorwhichendedsuddenly,andthenthesoundofaheavy
fall.
The Mass of Shadows
ByAnatoleFrance
FromMotherofPearl,byAnatoleFrance.CopyrightbyJohnLaneCompany.Bypermissionofthepublishers.
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ThistalethesacristanofthechurchofSt.EulalieatNeuvilled’Aumonttoldme,aswesatunderthearboroftheWhite
Horse,onenesummerevening,drinkingabottleofoldwinetothehealthofthedeadman,nowverymuchathisease,whomthatverymorninghehadbornetothegravewithfullhonors,beneathapallpowderedwithsmartsilver
tears.
“Mypoorfatherwhoisdead”(itisthesacristanwhoisspeaking,)“wasinhislifetimeagrave-digger.Hewasofan
agreeabledisposition,theresult,nodoubt,ofthecallinghefollowed,forithasoftenbeenpointedoutthatpeoplewho
workincemeteriesareofajovialturn.Deathhasnoterrorsforthem;theynevergiveitathought.I,forinstance,mon-
sieur,enteracemeteryatnightaslittleperturbedasthoughitwerethearboroftheWhiteHorse.AndifbychanceI
meetwithaghost,Idon’tdisturbmyselfintheleastaboutit,forIreectthathemayjustaslikelyhavebusinessof
hisowntoattendtoasI.Iknowthehabitsofthedead,andIknowtheircharacter.Indeed,sofarasthatgoes,Iknow
thingsofwhichtheprieststhemselvesareignorant.IfIweretotellyouallIhaveseen,youwouldbeastounded.But
astilltonguemakesawisehead,andmyfather,who,allthesame,delightedinspinningayarn,didnotdisclosea
twentiethpartofwhatheknew.Tomakeupforthisheoftenrepeatedthesamestories,andtomyknowledgehetold
thestoryofCatherineFontaineatleastahundredtimes.
“CatherineFontainewasanoldmaidwhomhewellrememberedhavingseenwhenhewasamerechild.Ishouldnot
besurprisediftherewerestill,perhaps,threeoldfellowsinthedistrictwhocouldrememberhavingheardfolksspeak
ofher,forshewasverywellknownandofexcellentreputation,thoughpoorenough.ShelivedatthecorneroftheRueauxNonnes,intheturretwhichisstilltobeseenthere,andwhichformedpartofanoldhalf-ruinedmansionlook-
ingontothegardenoftheUrsulinenuns.Onthatturretcanstillbetracedcertainguresandhalf-obliteratedinscrip-
tions.ThelatecuréofSt.Eulalie,MonsieurLevasseur,assertedthattherearethewordsinLatin,Loveisstronger
thandeath,‘whichistobeunderstood,’sohewouldadd,‘ofdivinelove.’
“CatherineFontainelivedbyherselfinthistinyapartment.Shewasalace-maker.Youknow,ofcourse,thatthelace
madeinourpartoftheworldwasformerlyheldinhighesteem.Nooneknewanythingofherrelativesorfriends.It
wasreportedthatwhenshewaseighteenyearsofageshehadlovedtheyoungChevalierd’Aumont-Cléry,andhad
beensecretlyafancedtohim.Butdecentfolkdidn’tbelieveawordofit,andsaiditwasnothingbutataleconcocted
becauseCatherineFontaine’sdemeanorwasthatofaladyratherthanthatofaworkingwoman,andbecause,more-
over,shepossessedbeneathherwhitelockstheremainsofgreatbeauty.Herexpressionwassorrowful,andonone
nger she wore one of those rings fashioned by the goldsmith into the semblance of two tiny hands clasped together
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ngersheworeoneofthoseringsfashionedbythegoldsmithintothesemblanceoftwotinyhandsclaspedtogether.
Informerdaysfolkswereaccustomedtoexchangesuchringsattheirbetrothalceremony.Iamsureyouknowthe
sortofthingImean.
“CatherineFontainelivedasaintlylife.Shespentagreatdealoftimeinchurches,andeverymorning,whatevermight
betheweather,shewenttoassistatthesixo’clockMassatSt.Eulalie.
“NowoneDecembernight,whilstshewasinherlittlechamber,shewasawakenedbythesoundofbells,andnothing
doubtingthattheywereringingfortherstMass,thepiouswomandressedherself,andcamedownstairsandoutinto
thestreet.Thenightwassoobscurethatnoteventhewallsofthehouseswerevisible,andnotarayoflightshone
fromthemurkysky.Andsuchwasthesilenceamidthisblackdarkness,thattherewasnoteventhesoundofadis-
tantdogbarking,andafeelingofaloofnessfromeverylivingcreaturewasperceptible.ButCatherineFontaineknewwelleverysinglestoneshesteppedon,and,asshecouldhavefoundherwaytothechurchwithhereyesshut,she
reachedwithoutdifcultythecorneroftheRueauxNonnesandtheRuedelaParoisse,wherethetimberedhouse
standswiththetreeofJessecarvedononeofitsmassivebeams.Whenshereachedthisspotsheperceivedthatthe
churchdoorswereopen,andthatagreatlightwasstreamingoutfromthewaxtapers.Sheresumedherjourney,and
whenshehadpassedthroughtheporchshefoundherselfinthemidstofavastcongregationwhichentirelylledthe
church.Butshedidnotrecognizeanyoftheworshipersandwassurprisedtoobservethatallofthesepeoplewere
dressedinvelvetsandbrocades,withfeathersintheirhats,andthattheyworeswordsinthefashionofdaysgoneby.
Hereweregentlemenwhocarriedtallcaneswithgoldknobs,andladieswithlacecapsfastenedwithcoronet-shapedcombs.ChevaliersoftheOrderofSt.Louisextendedtheirhandstotheseladies,whoconcealedbehindtheirfans
paintedfaces,ofwhichonlythepowderedbrowandthepatchatthecorneroftheeyewerevisible!Allofthempro-
ceededtotaketheirplaceswithouttheslightestsound,andastheymovedneitherthesoundoftheirfootstepsonthe
pavement,northerustleoftheirgarmentscouldbeheard.Thelowerplaceswerelledwithacrowdofyoungartisans
inbrownjackets,dimitybreeches,andbluestockings,withtheirarmsroundthewaistsofprettyblushinggirlswho
loweredtheireyes.Neartheholywaterstoupspeasantwomen,inscarletpetticoatsandlacedbodices,satuponthe
groundasimmovableasdomesticanimals,whilstyounglads,standingupbehindthem,staredoutfromwide-open
eyesandtwirledtheirhatsroundandroundontheirngers,andallthesesorrowfulcountenancesseemedcentred
irremovablyononeandthesamethought,atoncesweetandsorrowful.Onherknees,inheraccustomedplace,
CatherineFontainesawthepriestadvancetowardthealtar,precededbytwoservers.Sherecognizedneitherpriest
norclerks.TheMassbegan.ItwasasilentMass,duringwhichneitherthesoundofthemovinglipsnorthetinkleof
the bell was audible Catherine Fontaine felt that she was under the observation and the inuence also of her mysteri-
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thebellwasaudible.CatherineFontainefeltthatshewasundertheobservationandtheinuencealsoofhermysteri-
ousneighbor,andwhen,scarcelyturningherhead,shestoleaglanceathim,sherecognizedtheyoungChevalier
d’Aumont-Cléry,whohadoncelovedher,andwhohadbeendeadforveandfortyyears.Sherecognizedhimbya
smallmarkwhichhehadovertheleftear,andaboveallbytheshadowwhichhislongblackeyelashescastuponhis
cheeks.Hewasdressedinhishuntingclothes,scarletwithgoldlace,theveryclothesheworethatdaywhenhemet
herinSt.Leonard’sWood,beggedofheradrink,andstoleakiss.Hehadpreservedhisyouthandgoodlooks.When
hesmiled,hestilldisplayedmagnicentteeth.Catherinesaidtohiminanundertone:
“’Monseigneur,youwhoweremyfriend,andtowhomindaysgonebyIgaveallthatagirlholdsmostdear,mayGod
keepyouinHisgrace!O,thatHewouldatlengthinspiremewithregretforthesinIcommittedinyieldingtoyou;for
itisafactthat,thoughmyhairiswhiteandIapproachmyend,Ihavenotyetrepentedofhavinglovedyou.But,dear
deadfriendandnobleseigneur,tellme,whoarethesefolk,habitedaftertheantiquefashion,whoarehereassistingatthissilentMass?’
“TheChevalierd’Aumont-Cléryrepliedinavoicefeeblerthanabreath,butnonethelesscrystalclear:
“’Catherine,thesemenandwomenaresoulsfrompurgatorywhohavegrievedGodbysinningasweourselves
sinnedthroughloveofthecreature,butwhoarenotonthataccountcastoffbyGod,inasmuchastheirsin,likeours,
wasnotdeliberate.
“’Whilstseparatedfromthosewhomtheyloveduponearth,theyarepuriedinthecleansingresofpurgatory,they
sufferthepangsofabsence,whichisforthemthemostcrueloftortures.Theyaresounhappythatanangelfrom
heaventakespityupontheirlove-torment.BythepermissionoftheMostHigh,foronehourinthenight,hereunites
eachyearlovertolovedintheirparishchurch,wheretheyarepermittedtoassistattheMassofShadows,hand
claspedinhand.Thesearethefacts.Ifithasbeengrantedtometoseetheebeforethydeath,Catherine,itisaboon
whichisbestowedbyGod’sspecialpermission.’
“AndCatherineFontaineansweredhim:
“’Iwoulddiegladlyenough,dear,deadlord,ifImightrecoverthebeautythatwasminewhenIgaveyoutodrinkin
theforest.’
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“Whilsttheythusconversedundertheirbreath,averyoldcanonwastakingthecollectionandprofferingtothewor-
shipersagreatcopperdish,whereintheyletfall,eachinhisturn,ancientcoinswhichhavelongsinceceasedtopass
current:écusofsixlivres,orins,ducatsandducatoons,jacobusesandrose-nobles,andthepiecesfellsilentlyinto
thedish.WhenatlengthitwasplacedbeforetheChevalier,hedroppedintoitalouiswhichmadenomoresound
thanhadtheotherpiecesofgoldandsilver.
“ThentheoldcanonstoppedbeforeCatherineFontaine,whofumbledinherpocketwithoutbeingabletondafar-
thing.Then,beingunwillingtoallowthedishtopasswithoutanofferingfromherself,sheslippedfromherngerthe
ringwhichtheChevalierhadgivenherthedaybeforehisdeath,andcastitintothecopperbowl.Asthegoldenring
fell,asoundliketheheavyclangofabellrangout,andonthestrokeofthisreverberationtheChevalier,thecanon,
thecelebrant,theservers,theladiesandtheircavaliers,thewholeassemblyvanishedutterly;thecandlesgutteredout,andCatherineFontainewasleftaloneinthedarkness.”
Havingconcludedhisnarrativeafterthisfashion,thesacristandrankalongdraughtofwine,remainedpensivefora
moment,andthenresumedhistalkinthesewords:
“Ihavetoldyouthistaleexactlyasmyfatherhastoldittomeoverandoveragain,andIbelievethatitisauthentic,
becauseitagreesinallrespectswithwhatIhaveobservedofthemannersandcustomspeculiartothosewhohave
passedaway.Ihaveassociatedagooddealwiththedeadeversincemychildhood,andIknowthattheyareaccus-tomedtoreturntowhattheyhaveloved.
“Itisonthisaccountthatthemiserlydeadwanderatnightintheneighborhoodofthetreasurestheyconcealduring
theirlifetime.Theykeepastrictwatchovertheirgold;butthetroubletheygivethemselves,farfrombeingofservice
tothem,turnstotheirdisadvantage;anditisnotararethingatalltocomeuponmoneyburiedinthegroundondig-
ginginaplacehauntedbyaghost.Inthesamewaydeceasedhusbandscomebynighttoharasstheirwiveswho
havemadeasecondmatrimonialventure,andIcouldeasilynameseveralwhohavekeptabetterwatchovertheir
wivessincedeaththantheyeverdidwhileliving.
“Thatsortofthingisblameworthy,forinallfairnessthedeadhavenobusinesstostirupjealousies.StillIdobuttell
youwhatIhaveobservedmyself.Itisamattertotakeintoaccountifonemarriesawidow.Besides,thetaleIhave
told you is vouchsafed for in the manner following:
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toldyouisvouchsafedforinthemannerfollowing:
“ThemorningafterthatextraordinarynightCatherineFontainewasdiscovereddeadinherchamber.Andthebeadle
attachedtoSt.Eulaliefoundinthecopperbowlusedforthecollectionagoldringwithtwoclaspedhands.Besides,
I’mnotthekindofmantomakejokes.Supposeweorderanotherbottleofwine?...”
What Was It?
ByFITZ-JAMESO’BRIEN
Itis,Iconfess,withconsiderabledifdence,thatIapproachthestrangenarrativewhichIamabouttorelate.The
eventswhichIpurposedetailingareofsoextraordinaryacharacterthatIamquitepreparedtomeetwithanunusual
amountofincredulityandscorn.Iacceptallsuchbeforehand.Ihave,Itrust,theliterarycouragetofaceunbelief.I
have,aftermatureconsiderationresolvedtonarrate,inassimpleandstraightforwardamannerasIcancompass,
somefactsthatpassedundermyobservation,inthemonthofJulylast,andwhich,intheannalsofthemysteriesof
physicalscience,arewhollyunparalleled.
IliveatNo.——Twenty-sixthStreet,inNewYork.Thehouseisinsomerespectsacuriousone.Ithasenjoyedforthe
lasttwoyearsthereputationofbeinghaunted.Itisalargeandstatelyresidence,surroundedbywhatwasonceagar-
den,butwhichisnowonlyagreenenclosureusedforbleachingclothes.Thedrybasinofwhathasbeenafountain,
andafewfruittreesraggedandunpruned,indicatethatthisspotinpastdayswasapleasant,shadyretreat,lledwith
fruitsandowersandthesweetmurmurofwaters.
Thehouseisveryspacious.Ahallofnoblesizeleadstoalargespiralstaircasewindingthroughitscenter,whilethe
variousapartmentsareofimposingdimensions.ItwasbuiltsomefteenortwentyyearssincebyMr.A——,thewell-
knownNewYorkmerchant,whoveyearsagothrewthecommercialworldintoconvulsionsbyastupendousbank
fraud.Mr.A——,aseveryoneknows,escapedtoEurope,anddiednotlongafter,ofabrokenheart.Almostimmedi-
atelyafterthenewsofhisdeceasereachedthiscountryandwasveried,thereportspreadinTwenty-sixthStreetthat
No —— was haunted Legal measures had dispossessed the widow of its former owner and it was inhabited merely by
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No. washaunted.Legalmeasureshaddispossessedthewidowofitsformerowner,anditwasinhabitedmerelyby
acaretakerandhiswife,placedtherebythehouseagentintowhosehandsithadpassedforthepurposesofrenting
orsale.Thesepeopledeclaredthattheyweretroubledwithunnaturalnoises.Doorswereopenedwithoutanyvis-
ibleagency.Theremnantsoffurniturescatteredthroughthevariousroomswere,duringthenight,piledoneuponthe
otherbyunknownhands.Invisiblefeetpassedupanddownthestairsinbroaddaylight,accompaniedbytherustleof
unseensilkdresses,andtheglidingofviewlesshandsalongthemassivebalusters.Thecaretakerandhiswifede-
claredtheywouldlivetherenolonger.Thehouseagentlaughed,dismissedthem,andputothersintheirplace.The
noisesandsupernaturalmanifestationscontinued.Theneighborhoodcaughtupthestory,andthehouseremained
untenantedforthreeyears.Severalpersonsnegotiatedforit;but,somehow,alwaysbeforethebargainwasclosed
theyheardtheunpleasantrumorsanddeclinedtotreatanyfurther.
Itwasinthisstateofthingsthatmylandlady,whoatthattimekeptaboarding-houseinBleeckerStreet,andwhowishedtomovefurtheruptown,conceivedtheboldideaofrentingNo.——Twenty-sixthStreet.Happeningtohave
inherhouseratherapluckyandphilosophicalsetofboarders,shelaidherschemebeforeus,statingcandidlyev-
erythingshehadheardrespectingtheghostlyqualitiesoftheestablishmenttowhichshewishedtoremoveus.With
theexceptionoftwotimidpersons,—asea-captainandareturnedCalifornian,whoimmediatelygavenoticethatthey
wouldleave,—allofMrs.Moffat’sguestsdeclaredthattheywouldaccompanyherinherchivalricincursionintothe
abodeofspirits.
OurremovalwaseffectedinthemonthofMay,andwewerecharmedwithournewresidence.TheportionofTwen-ty-sixthStreetwhereourhouseissituated,betweenSeventhandEighthAvenues,isoneofthepleasantestlocali-
tiesinNewYork.Thegardensbackofthehouses,runningdownnearlytotheHudson,form,inthesummertime,a
perfectavenueofverdure.Theairispureandinvigorating,sweeping,asitdoes,straightacrosstheriverfromthe
Weehawkenheights,andeventheraggedgardenwhichsurroundedthehouse,althoughdisplayingonwashingdays
rathertoomuchclothesline,stillgaveusapieceofgreenswardtolookat,andacoolretreatinthesummerevenings,
wherewesmokedourcigarsinthedusk,andwatchedthereiesashingtheirdarklanternsinthelonggrass.
OfcoursewehadnosoonerestablishedourselvesatNo.——thanwebegantoexpectghosts.Weabsolutelyawaited
theiradventwitheagerness.Ourdinnerconversationwassupernatural.Oneoftheboarders,whohadpurchased
Mrs.Crowe’sNightSideofNatureforhisownprivatedelectation,wasregardedasapublicenemybytheentire
householdfornothavingboughttwentycopies.Themanledalifeofsupremewretchednesswhilehewasreading
this volume. A system of espionage was established, of which he was the victim. If he incautiously laid the book down
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thisvolume.Asystemofespionagewasestablished,ofwhichhewasthevictim.Ifheincautiouslylaidthebookdown
foraninstantandlefttheroom,itwasimmediatelyseizedandreadaloudinsecretplacestoaselectfew.Ifoundmy-
selfapersonofimmenseimportance,ithavingleakedoutthatIwastolerablywellversedinthehistoryofsupernatu-
ralism,andhadoncewrittenastorythefoundationofwhichwasaghost.Ifatableorawainscotpanelhappenedtowarpwhenwewereassembledinthelargedrawing-room,therewasaninstantsilence,andeveryonewasprepared
foranimmediateclankingofchainsandaspectralform.
Afteramonthofpsychologicalexcitement,itwaswiththeutmostdissatisfactionthatwewereforcedtoacknowledge
thatnothingintheremotestdegreeapproachingthesupernaturalhadmanifesteditself.Oncetheblackbutlerassev-
eratedthathiscandlehadbeenblownoutbysomeinvisibleagencywhilehewasundressinghimselfforthenight;
butasIhadmorethanoncediscoveredthiscoloredgentlemaninaconditionwhenonecandlemusthaveappeared
tohimliketwo,thoughtitpossiblethat,bygoingastepfurtherinhispotations,hemighthavereversedthisphenom-enon,andseennocandleatallwhereheoughttohavebeheldone.
Thingswereinthisstatewhenanaccidenttookplacesoawfulandinexplicableinitscharacterthatmyreasonfairly
reelsatthebarememoryoftheoccurrence.ItwasthetenthofJuly.AfterdinnerwasoverIrepaired,withmyfriend
Dr.Hammond,tothegardentosmokemyeveningpipe.Independentofcertainmentalsympathieswhichexisted
betweentheDoctorandmyself,wewerelinkedtogetherbyavice.Webothsmokedopium.Wekneweachother’s
secret,andrespectedit.Weenjoyedtogetherthatwonderfulexpansionofthought,thatmarvelousintensifyingof
theperceptivefaculties,thatboundlessfeelingofexistencewhenweseemtohavepointsofcontactwiththewholeuniverse,—inshort,thatunimaginablespiritualbliss,whichIwouldnotsurrenderforathrone,andwhichIhopeyou,
reader,willnever—nevertaste.
ThosehoursofopiumhappinesswhichtheDoctorandIspenttogetherinsecretwereregulatedwithascienticac-
curacy.Wedidnotblindlysmokethedrugofparadise,andleaveourdreamstochance.Whilesmoking,wecare-
fullysteeredourconversationthroughthebrightestandcalmestchannelsofthought.WetalkedoftheEast,anden-
deavoredtorecallthemagicalpanoramaofitsglowingscenery.Wecriticizedthemostsensuouspoets,—thosewho
paintedliferuddywithhealth,brimmingwithpassion,happyinthepossessionofyouthandstrengthandbeauty.If
wetalkedofShakespeare’sTempest,welingeredoverAriel,andavoidedCaliban.LiketheGuebers,weturnedour
facestotheEast,andsawonlythesunnysideoftheworld.
This skillful coloring of our train of thought produced in our subsequent visions a corresponding tone. The splendors
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Thisskillfulcoloringofourtrainofthoughtproducedinoursubsequentvisionsacorrespondingtone.Thesplendors
ofArabianfairylanddyedourdreams.Wepacedthenarrowstripofgrasswiththetreadandportofkings.Thesong
oftheranaarborea,whileheclungtothebarkoftheraggedplum-tree,soundedlikethestrainsofdivinemusicians.
Houses,walls,andstreetsmeltedlikerainclouds,andvistasofunimaginableglorystretchedawaybeforeus.Itwasarapturouscompanionship.Weenjoyedthevastdelightmoreperfectlybecause,eveninourmostecstaticmoments,
wewereconsciousofeachother’spresence.Ourpleasures,whileindividual,werestilltwin,vibratingandmovingin
musicalaccord.
Ontheeveninginquestion,thetenthofJuly,theDoctorandmyselfdriftedintoanunusuallymetaphysicalmood.
Welitourlargemeerschaums,lledwithneTurkishtobacco,inthecoreofwhichburnedalittleblacknutofopium,
that,likethenutinthefairytale,heldwithinitsnarrowlimitswondersbeyondthereachofkings;wepacedtoand
fro,conversing.Astrangeperversitydominatedthecurrentsofourthought.Theywouldnotowthroughthesun-litchannelsintowhichwestrovetodivertthem.Forsomeunaccountablereason,theyconstantlydivergedintodarkand
lonesomebeds,whereacontinualgloombrooded.Itwasinvainthat,afterouroldfashion,weungourselvesonthe
shoresoftheEast,andtalkedofitsgaybazaars,ofthesplendorsofthetimeofHaroun,ofharemsandgoldenpal-
aces.Blackafreetscontinuallyarosefromthedepthsofourtalk,andexpanded,liketheonetheshermanreleased
fromthecoppervessel,untiltheyblottedeverythingbrightfromourvision.Insensibly,weyieldedtotheoccultforce
thatswayedus,andindulgedingloomyspeculation.Wehadtalkedsometimeuponthepronenessofthehuman
mindtomysticism,andthealmostuniversalloveoftheterrible,whenHammondsuddenlysaidtome.“Whatdoyou
considertobethegreatestelementofterror?”
Thequestionpuzzledme.Thatmanythingswereterrible,Iknew.Stumblingoveracorpseinthedark;beholding,asI
oncedid,awomanoatingdownadeepandrapidriver,withwildlyliftedarms,andawful,upturnedface,uttering,as
shedrifted,shrieksthatrentone’sheartwhilewe,spectators,stoodfrozenatawindowwhichoverhungtheriverata
heightofsixtyfeet,unabletomaketheslightestefforttosaveher,butdumblywatchingherlastsupremeagonyand
herdisappearance.Ashatteredwreck,withnolifevisible,encounteredoatinglistlesslyontheocean,isaterribleob-
ject,foritsuggestsahugeterror,theproportionsofwhichareveiled.Butitnowstruckme,forthersttime,thatthere
mustbeonegreatandrulingembodimentoffear,—aKingofTerrors,towhichallothersmustsuccumb.Whatmightit
be?Towhattrainofcircumstanceswoulditoweitsexistence?
“Iconfess,Hammond,”Irepliedtomyfriend,“Ineverconsideredthesubjectbefore.ThattheremustbeoneSome-
thingmoreterriblethananyotherthing,Ifeel.Icannotattempt,however,eventhemostvaguedenition.”
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“Iamsomewhatlikeyou,Harry,”heanswered.“Ifeelmycapacitytoexperienceaterrorgreaterthananythingyet
conceivedbythehumanmind;—somethingcombininginfearfulandunnaturalamalgamationhithertosupposedin-compatibleelements.ThecallingofthevoicesinBrockdenBrown’snovelofWielandisawful;soisthepictureofthe
DwelleroftheThreshold,inBulwer’sZanoni;but,”headded,shakinghisheadgloomily,“thereissomethingmore
horriblestillthanthose.”
“Lookhere,Hammond,”Irejoined,“letusdropthiskindoftalk,forHeaven’ssake!Weshallsufferforit,dependonit.”
“Idon’tknowwhat’sthematterwithmeto-night,”hereplied,“butmybrainisrunninguponallsortsofweirdandawful
thoughts.IfeelasifIcouldwriteastorylikeHoffman,to-night,ifIwereonlymasterofaliterarystyle.”
“Well,ifwearegoingtobeHoffmanesqueinourtalk,I’mofftobed.Opiumandnightmaresshouldneverbebrought
together.Howsultryitis!Good-night,Hammond.”
“Good-night,Harry.Pleasantdreamstoyou.”
“Toyou,gloomywretch,afreets,ghouls,andenchanters.”
Weparted,andeachsoughthisrespectivechamber.Iundressedquicklyandgotintobed,takingwithme,according
tomyusualcustom,abook,overwhichIgenerallyreadmyselftosleep.IopenedthevolumeassoonasIhadlaid
myheaduponthepillow,andinstantlyungittotheothersideoftheroom.ItwasGoudon’sHistoryofMonsters,—a
curiousFrenchwork,whichIhadlatelyimportedfromParis,butwhich,inthestateofmindIhadthenreached,was
anythingbutanagreeablecompanion.Iresolvedtogotosleepatonce;so,turningdownmygasuntilnothingbuta
littlebluepointoflightglimmeredonthetopofthetube,Icomposedmyselftorest.
Theroomwasintotaldarkness.Theatomofgasthatstillremainedalightdidnotilluminateadistanceofthreeinches
roundtheburner.Idesperatelydrewmyarmacrossmyeyes,asiftoshutouteventhedarkness,andtriedtothink
ofnothing.Itwasinvain.TheconfoundedthemestouchedonbyHammondinthegardenkeptobtrudingthemselves
onmybrain.Ibattledagainstthem.Ierectedrampartsofwould-beblacknessofintellecttokeepthemout.Theystill
crowdeduponme.WhileIwaslyingstillasacorpse,hopingthatbyaperfectphysicalinactionIshouldhastenmental
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repose,anawfulincidentoccurred.ASomethingdropped,asitseemed,fromtheceiling,plumbuponmychest,and
thenextinstantIfelttwobonyhandsencirclingmythroat,endeavoringtochokeme.
Iamnocoward,andampossessedofconsiderablephysicalstrength.Thesuddennessoftheattack,insteadofstun-
ningme,strungeverynervetoitshighesttension.Mybodyactedfrominstinct,beforemybrainhadtimetorealize
theterrorsofmyposition.InaninstantIwoundtwomusculararmsaroundthecreature,andsqueezedit,withall
thestrengthofdespair,againstmychest.Inafewsecondsthebonyhandsthathadfastenedonmythroatloosened
theirhold,andIwasfreetobreatheoncemore.Thencommencedastruggleofawfulintensity.Immersedinthemost
profounddarkness,totallyignorantofthenatureoftheThingbywhichIwassosuddenlyattacked,ndingmygrasp
slippingeverymoment,byreason,itseemedtome,oftheentirenakednessofmyassailant,bittenwithsharpteethin
theshoulder,neck,andchest,havingeverymomenttoprotectmythroatagainstapairofsinewy,agilehands,whichmyutmosteffortscouldnotconne,—thesewereacombinationofcircumstancestocombatwhichrequiredallthe
strength,skill,andcouragethatIpossessed.
Atlast,afterasilent,deadly,exhaustingstruggle,Igotmyassailantunderbyaseriesofincredibleeffortsofstrength.
Oncepinned,withmykneeonwhatImadeouttobeitschest,IknewthatIwasvictor.Irestedforamomentto
breathe.Iheardthecreaturebeneathmepantinginthedarkness,andfelttheviolentthrobbingofaheart.Itwasap-
parentlyasexhaustedasIwas;thatwasonecomfort.AtthismomentIrememberedthatIusuallyplacedundermy
pillow,beforegoingtobed,alargeyellowsilkpockethandkerchief.Ifeltforitinstantly;itwasthere.InafewsecondsmoreIhad,afterafashion,pinionedthecreature’sarms.
Inowfelttolerablysecure.Therewasnothingmoretobedonebuttoturnonthegas,and,havingrstseenwhatmy
midnightassailantwaslike,arousethehousehold.Iwillconfesstobeingactuatedbyacertainprideinnotgivingthe
alarmbefore;Iwishedtomakethecapturealoneandunaided.
Neverlosingmyholdforaninstant,Islippedfromthebedtotheoor,draggingmycaptivewithme.Ihadbutafew
stepstomaketoreachthegas-burner;theseImadewiththegreatestcaution,holdingthecreatureinagriplikea
vice.AtlastIgotwithinarm’slengthofthetinyspeckofbluelightwhichtoldmewherethegas-burnerlay.Quickas
lightningIreleasedmygraspwithonehandandletonthefulloodoflight.ThenIturnedtolookatmycaptive.
IcannotevenattempttogiveanydenitionofmysensationstheinstantafterIturnedonthegas.IsupposeImust
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p g y y g pp
haveshriekedwithterror,forinlessthanaminuteafterwardmyroomwascrowdedwiththeinmatesofthehouse.
IshuddernowasIthinkofthatawfulmoment.Isawnothing!Yes;Ihadonearmrmlyclaspedroundabreathing,
panting,corporealshape,myotherhandgrippedwithallitsstrengthathroataswarm,asapparentlyeshy,asmyown;andyet,withthislivingsubstanceinmygrasp,withitsbodypressedagainstmyown,andallinthebrightglare
ofalargejetofgas,Iabsolutelybeheldnothing!Notevenanoutline,—avapor!
Idonot,evenatthishour,realizethesituationinwhichIfoundmyself.Icannotrecalltheastoundingincidentthor-
oughly.Imaginationinvaintriestocompasstheawfulparadox.
Itbreathed.Ifeltitswarmbreathuponmycheek.Itstruggledercely.Ithadhands.Theyclutchedme.Itsskinwas
smooth,likemyown.Thereitlay,pressedcloseupagainstme,solidasstone,—andyetutterlyinvisible!
IwonderthatIdidnotfaintorgomadontheinstant.Somewonderfulinstinctmusthavesustainedme;for,absolutely,
inplaceoflooseningmyholdontheterribleEnigma,Iseemedtogainanadditionalstrengthinmymomentofhorror,
andtightenedmygraspwithsuchwonderfulforcethatIfeltthecreatureshiveringwithagony.
JustthenHammondenteredmyroomattheheadofthehousehold.Assoonashebeheldmyface—which,Isuppose,
musthavebeenanawfulsighttolookat—hehastenedforward,crying,“Greatheaven,Harry!whathashappened?”
“Hammond!Hammond!”Icried,“comehere.O,thisisawful!Ihavebeenattackedinbedbysomethingorother,
whichIhaveholdof;butIcan’tseeit,—Ican’tseeit!”
Hammond,doubtlessstruckbytheunfeignedhorrorexpressedinmycountenance,madeoneortwostepsforward
withananxiousyetpuzzledexpression.Averyaudibletitterburstfromtheremainderofmyvisitors.Thissuppressed
laughtermademefurious.Tolaughatahumanbeinginmyposition!Itwastheworstspeciesofcruelty.Now,Ican
understandwhytheappearanceofamanstrugglingviolently,asitwouldseem,withanairynothing,andcallingfor
assistanceagainstavision,shouldhaveappearedludicrous.Then,sogreatwasmyrageagainstthemockingcrowd
thathadIthepowerIwouldhavestrickenthemdeadwheretheystood.
“Hammond!Hammond!”Icriedagain,despairingly,“forGod’ssakecometome.Icanholdthe—thethingbutashort
whilelonger.Itisoverpoweringme.Helpme!Helpme!”
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“Harry,”whisperedHammond,approachingme,“youhavebeensmokingtoomuchopium.”
“Isweartoyou,Hammond,thatthisisnovision,”Ianswered,inthesamelowtone.“Don’tyouseehowitshakesmy
wholeframewithitsstruggles?Ifyoudon’tbelieveme,convinceyourself.Feelit,—touchit.”
HammondadvancedandlaidhishandinthespotIindicated.Awildcryofhorrorburstfromhim.Hehadfeltit!
Inamomenthehaddiscoveredsomewhereinmyroomalongpieceofcord,andwasthenextinstantwindingitand
knottingitaboutthebodyoftheunseenbeingthatIclaspedinmyarms.
“Harry,”hesaid,inahoarse,agitatedvoice,for,thoughhepreservedhispresenceofmind,hewasdeeplymoved,
“Harry,it’sallsafenow.Youmayletgo,oldfellow,ifyou’retired.TheThingcan’tmove.”
Iwasutterlyexhausted,andIgladlyloosedmyhold.
HammondstoodholdingtheendsofthecordthatboundtheInvisible,twistedroundhishand,whilebeforehim,self-
supportingasitwere,hebeheldaropelacedandinterlaced,andstretchingtightlyaroundavacantspace.Inever
sawamanlooksothoroughlystrickenwithawe.Neverthelesshisfaceexpressedallthecourageanddetermination
whichIknewhimtopossess.Hislips,althoughwhite,weresetrmly,andonecouldperceiveataglancethat,al-
thoughstrickenwithfear,hewasnotdaunted.
Theconfusionthatensuedamongtheguestsofthehousewhowerewitnessesofthisextraordinaryscenebetween
Hammondandmyself,—whobeheldthepantomimeofbindingthisstrugglingSomething,—whobeheldmealmostsink-
ingfromphysicalexhaustionwhenmytaskofjailerwasover,—theconfusionandterrorthattookpossessionofthe
bystanders,whentheysawallthis,wasbeyonddescription.Theweakeronesedfromtheapartment.Thefewwho
remainedclusterednearthedoorandcouldnotbeinducedtoapproachHammondandhisCharge.Stillincredulity
brokeoutthroughtheirterror.Theyhadnotthecouragetosatisfythemselves,andyettheydoubted.Itwasinvain
thatIbeggedofsomeofthementocomenearandconvincethemselvesbytouchoftheexistenceinthatroomofa
livingbeingwhichwasinvisible.Theywereincredulous,butdidnotdaretoundeceivethemselves.Howcouldasolid,
living,breathingbodybeinvisible,theyasked.Myreplywasthis.IgaveasigntoHammond,andbothofus—conquer-
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ingourfearfulrepugnancetotouchtheinvisiblecreature—lifteditfromtheground,manacledasitwas,andtookitto
mybed.Itsweightwasaboutthatofaboyoffourteen.
“Nowmyfriends,”Isaid,asHammondandmyselfheldthecreaturesuspendedoverthebed,“Icangiveyouself-ev-
identproofthathereisasolid,ponderablebody,which,nevertheless,youcannotsee.Begoodenoughtowatchthe
surfaceofthebedattentively.”
Iwasastonishedatmyowncourageintreatingthisstrangeeventsocalmly;butIhadrecoveredfrommyrstterror,
andfeltasortofscienticprideintheaffair,whichdominatedeveryotherfeeling.
Theeyesofthebystanderswereimmediatelyxedonmybed.AtagivensignalHammondandIletthecreaturefall.Therewasadullsoundofaheavybodyalightingonasoftmass.Thetimbersofthebedcreaked.Adeepimpression
markeditselfdistinctlyonthepillow,andonthebeditself.Thecrowdwhowitnessedthisgavealowcry,andrushed
fromtheroom.HammondandIwereleftalonewithourMystery.
Weremainedsilentforsometime,listeningtothelow,irregularbreathingofthecreatureonthebed,andwatching
therustleofthebedclothesasitimpotentlystruggledtofreeitselffromconnement.ThenHammondspoke.
“Harry,thisisawful.”
“Ay,awful.”
“Butnotunaccountable.”
“Notunaccountable!Whatdoyoumean?Suchathinghasneveroccurredsincethebirthoftheworld.Iknownot
whattothink,Hammond.GodgrantthatIamnotmad,andthatthisisnotaninsanefantasy!”
“Letusreasonalittle,Harry.Hereisasolidbodywhichwetouch,butwhichwecannotsee.Thefactissounusual
thatitstrikesuswithterror.Istherenoparallel,though,forsuchaphenomenon?Takeapieceofpureglass.Itistan-
gibleandtransparent.Acertainchemicalcoarsenessisallthatpreventsitsbeingsoentirelytransparentastobeto-
tallyinvisible.Itisnottheoreticallyimpossible,mindyou,tomakeaglasswhichshallnotreectasinglerayoflight,—a
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glasssopureandhomogeneousinitsatomsthattheraysfromthesunwillpassthroughitastheydothroughtheair,
refractedbutnotreected.Wedonotseetheair,andyetwefeelit.”
“That’sallverywell,Hammond,buttheseareinanimatesubstances.Glassdoesnotbreathe,airdoesnotbreathe.
Thisthinghasaheartthatpalpitates,—awillthatmovesit,—lungsthatplay,andinspireandrespire.”
“Youforgetthephenomenaofwhichwehavesooftenheardoflate,”answeredtheDoctor,gravely.“Atthemeetings
called‘spiritcircles,’invisiblehandshavebeenthrustintothehandsofthosepersonsroundthetable,—warm,eshly
handsthatseemedtopulsatewithmortallife.”
“What?Doyouthink,then,thatthisthingis——”
“Idon’tknowwhatitis,”wasthesolemnreply;“butpleasethegodsIwill,withyourassistance,thoroughlyinvestigate
it.”
Wewatchedtogether,smokingmanypipes,allnightlong,bythebedsideoftheunearthlybeingthattossedandpant-
eduntilitwasapparentlyweariedout.Thenwelearnedbythelow,regularbreathingthatitslept.
Thenextmorningthehousewasallastir.Theboarderscongregatedonthelandingoutsidemyroom,andHammond
andmyselfwerelions.Wehadtoanswerathousandquestionsastothestateofourextraordinaryprisoner,forasyet
notonepersoninthehouseexceptourselvescouldbeIinducedtosetfootintheapartment.
Thecreaturewasawake.Thiswasevidencedbytheconvulsivemannerinwhichthebedclothesweremovedinits
effortstoescape.Therewassomethingtrulyterribleinbeholding,asitwere,thosesecond-handindicationsoftheter-
riblewrithingsandagonizedstrugglesforlibertywhichthemselveswereinvisible.
Hammondandmyselfhadrackedourbrainsduringthelongnighttodiscoversomemeansbywhichwemightreal-
izetheshapeandgeneralappearanceoftheEnigma.Aswellaswecouldmakeoutbypassingourhandsoverthe
creature’sform,itsoutlinesandlineamentswerehuman.Therewasamouth;around,smoothheadwithouthair;a
nose,which,however,waslittleelevatedabovethecheeks;anditshandsandfeetfeltlikethoseofaboy.Atrstwe
thoughtofplacingthebeingonasmoothsurfaceandtracingitsoutlineswithchalk,asshoemakerstracetheoutline
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ofthefoot.Thisplanwasgivenupasbeingofnovalue.Suchanoutlinewouldgivenottheslightestideaofitsconfor-
mation.
Ahappythoughtstruckme.WewouldtakeacastofitinplasterofParis.Thiswouldgiveusthesolidgure,andsat-
isfyallourwishes.Buthowtodoit?Themovementsofthecreaturewoulddisturbthesettingoftheplasticcovering,
anddistortthemold.Anotherthought.Whynotgiveitchloroform?Ithadrespiratoryorgans,—thatwasevidentbyits
breathing.Oncereducedtoastateofinsensibility,wecoulddowithitwhatwewould.DoctorX——wassentfor;and
aftertheworthyphysicianhadrecoveredfromtherstshockofamazement,heproceededtoadministerthechloro-
form.Inthreeminutesafterwardwewereenabledtoremovethefettersfromthecreature’sbody,andamodelerwas
busilyengagedincoveringtheinvisibleformwiththemoistclay.Inveminutesmorewehadamold,andbefore
eveningaroughfacsimileoftheMystery.Itwasshapedlikeaman—distorted,uncouth,andhorrible,butstillaman.Itwassmall,notoverfourfeetandsomeinchesinheight,anditslimbsrevealedamusculardevelopmentthatwas
unparalleled.ItsfacesurpassedinhideousnessanythingIhadeverseen.GustavDoré,orCallot,orTonyJohannot,
neverconceivedanythingsohorrible.Thereisafaceinoneofthelatter’sillustrationstoUnVoyageoùilvousplaira,
whichsomewhatapproachesthecountenanceofthiscreature,butdoesnotequalit.ItwasthephysiognomyofwhatI
shouldfancyaghoulmightbe.Itlookedasifitwascapableoffeedingonhumanesh.
Havingsatisedourcuriosity,andboundeveryoneinthehousetosecrecy,itbecameaquestionwhatwastobe
donewithourEnigma?Itwasimpossiblethatweshouldkeepsuchahorrorinourhouse;itwasequallyimpossible
thatsuchanawfulbeingshouldbeletlooseupontheworld.IconfessthatIwouldhavegladlyvotedforthecreature’s
destruction.Butwhowouldshouldertheresponsibility?Whowouldundertaketheexecutionofthishorriblesem-
blanceofahumanbeing?Dayafterdaythisquestionwasdeliberatedgravely.Theboardersallleftthehouse.Mrs.
Moffatwasindespair,andthreatenedHammondandmyselfwithallsortsoflegalpenaltiesifwedidnotremovethe
Horror.Ouranswerwas,“Wewillgoifyoulike,butwedeclinetakingthiscreaturewithus.Removeityourselfifyou
please.Itappearedinyourhouse.Onyoutheresponsibilityrests.”Tothistherewas,ofcourse,noanswer.Mrs.Mof -
fatcouldnotobtainforloveormoneyapersonwhowouldevenapproachtheMystery.
Themostsingularpartoftheaffairwasthatwewereentirelyignorantofwhatthecreaturehabituallyfedon.Every-
thinginthewayofnutrimentthatwecouldthinkofwasplacedbeforeit,butwasnevertouched.Itwasawfultostand
by,dayafterday,andseetheclothestoss,andhearthehardbreathing,andknowthatitwasstarving.
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Ten,twelvedays,afortnightpassed,anditstilllived.Thepulsationsoftheheart,however,weredailygrowingfainter,
andhadnownearlyceased.Itwasevidentthatthecreaturewasdyingforwantofsustenance.Whilethisterrible
life-strugglewasgoingon,Ifeltmiserable.Icouldnotsleep.Horribleasthecreaturewas,itwaspitifultothinkofthepangsitwassuffering.
Atlastitdied.HammondandIfounditcoldandstiffonemorninginthebed.Thehearthadceasedtobeat,thelungs
toinspire.Wehastenedtoburyitinthegarden.Itwasastrangefuneral,thedroppingofthatviewlesscorpseintothe
damphole.ThecastofitsformIgavetoDoctorX——,whokeepsitinhismuseuminTenthStreet.
AsIamontheeveofalongjourneyfromwhichImaynotreturn,Ihavedrawnupthisnarrativeofaneventthemost
singularthathasevercometomyknowledge.
The Middle Toe of the Right Foot
ByAmbroseBierce
FromCanSuchThingsBe?byAmbroseBierce.CopyrightbytheNealePublishingCompany.Bypermissionofthe
publishers.
f
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ItiswellknownthattheoldMantonhouseishaunted.Inalltheruraldistrictnearabout,andeveninthetownofMar-
shall,amileaway,notonepersonofunbiasedmindentertainsadoubtofit;incredulityisconnedtothoseopinion-
atedpersonswhowillbecalled“cranks”assoonastheusefulwordshallhavepenetratedtheintellectualdemesneoftheMarshallAdvance.Theevidencethatthehouseishauntedisoftwokinds;thetestimonyofdisinterestedwitness-
eswhohavehadocularproof,andthatofthehouseitself.Theformermaybedisregardedandruledoutonanyofthe
variousgroundsofobjectionwhichmaybeurgedagainstitbytheingenious;butfactswithintheobservationofallare
materialandcontrolling.
IntherstplacetheMantonhousehasbeenunoccupiedbymortalsformorethantenyears,andwithitsoutbuildings
isslowlyfallingintodecay—acircumstancewhichinitselfthejudiciouswillhardlyventuretoignore.Itstandsalittle
wayofftheloneliestreachoftheMarshallandHarristonroad,inanopeningwhichwasonceafarmandisstilldisg-uredwithstripsofrottingfenceandhalfcoveredwithbramblesoverrunningastonyandsterilesoillongunacquainted
withtheplow.Thehouseitselfisintolerablygoodcondition,thoughbadlyweather-stainedandindireneedofatten-
tionfromtheglazier,thesmallermalepopulationoftheregionhavingattestedinthemannerofitskinditsdisapproval
ofdwellingwithoutdwellers.Itistwostoriesinheight,nearlysquare,itsfrontpiercedbyasingledoorwayanked
oneachsidebyawindowboardeduptotheverytop.Correspondingwindowsabove,notprotected,servetoadmit
lightandraintotheroomsoftheupperoor.Grassandweedsgrowprettyranklyallabout,andafewshadetrees,
somewhattheworseforwind,andleaningallinonedirection,seemtobemakingaconcertedefforttorunaway.In
short,astheMarshalltownhumoristexplainedinthecolumnsoftheAdvance,“thepropositionthattheMantonhouse
isbadlyhauntedistheonlylogicalconclusionfromthepremises.”ThefactthatinthisdwellingMr.Mantonthought
itexpedientonenightsometenyearsagotoriseandcutthethroatsofhiswifeandtwosmallchildren,removingat
oncetoanotherpartofthecountry,hasnodoubtdoneitsshareindirectingpublicattentiontothetnessoftheplace
forsupernaturalphenomena.
Tothishouse,onesummerevening,camefourmeninawagon.Threeofthempromptlyalighted,andtheonewho
hadbeendrivinghitchedtheteamtotheonlyremainingpostofwhathadbeenafence.Thefourthremainedseatedin
thewagon.“Come,”saidoneofhiscompanions,approachinghim,whiletheothersmovedawayinthedirectionofthe
dwelling—”thisistheplace.”
Themanaddresseddidnotmove.“ByGod!”hesaidharshly,“thisisatrick,anditlookstomeasifyouwereinit.”
“P h I ” h h id l ki hi i h i h f d ki i hi h h d hi f
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“PerhapsIam,”theothersaid,lookinghimstraightinthefaceandspeakinginatonewhichhadsomethingofcon-
temptinit.“Youwillremember,however,thatthechoiceofplacewaswithyourownassentlefttotheotherside.Of
courseifyouareafraidofspooks—”
“Iamafraidofnothing,”themaninterruptedwithanotheroath,andsprangtotheground.Thetwothenjoinedtheoth-
ersatthedoor,whichoneofthemhadalreadyopenedwithsomedifculty,causedbyrustoflockandhinge.Allen-
tered.Insideitwasdark,butthemanwhohadunlockedthedoorproducedacandleandmatchesandmadealight.
Hethenunlockedadoorontheirrightastheystoodinthepassage.Thisgavethementrancetoalarge,squareroom
thatthecandlebutdimlylighted.Theoorhadathickcarpetingofdust,whichpartlymufedtheirfootfalls.Cobwebs
wereintheanglesofthewallsanddependedfromtheceilinglikestripsofrottinglacemakingundulatorymovements
inthedisturbedair.Theroomhadtwowindowsinadjoiningsides,butfromneithercouldanythingbeseenexcepttheroughinnersurfacesofboardsafewinchesfromtheglass.Therewasnoreplace,nofurniture;therewasnothing:
besidesthecobwebsandthedust,thefourmenweretheonlyobjectstherewhichwerenotapartofthestructure.
Strangeenoughtheylookedintheyellowlightofthecandle.Theonewhohadsoreluctantlyalightedwasespecially
spectacular—hemighthavebeencalledsensational.Hewasofmiddleage,heavilybuilt,deepchested,andbroad
shouldered.Lookingathisgure,onewouldhavesaidthathehadagiant’sstrength;athisfeatures,thathewould
useitlikeagiant.Hewascleanshaven,hishairrathercloselycroppedandgray.Hislowforeheadwasseamedwith
wrinklesabovetheeyes,andoverthenosethesebecamevertical.Theheavyblackbrowsfollowedthesamelaw,
savedfrommeetingonlybyanupwardturnatwhatwouldotherwisehavebeenthepointofcontact.Deeplysunken
beneaththese,glowedintheobscurelightapairofeyesofuncertaincolor,butobviouslyenoughtoosmall.There
wassomethingforbiddingintheirexpression,whichwasnotbetteredbythecruelmouthandwidejaw.Thenosewas
wellenough,asnosesgo;onedoesnotexpectmuchofnoses.Allthatwassinisterintheman’sfaceseemedaccen-
tuatedbyanunnaturalpallor—heappearedaltogetherbloodless.
Theappearanceoftheothermenwassufcientlycommonplace;theyweresuchpersonsasonemeetsandforgets
thathemet.Allwereyoungerthanthemandescribed,betweenwhomandtheeldestoftheothers,whostoodapart,
therewasapparentlynokindlyfeeling.Theyavoidedlookingateachother.
“Gentlemen,”saidthemanholdingthecandleandkeys,“Ibelieveeverythingisright.Areyouready,Mr.Rosser?”
Th t di t f th b d d il d
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Themanstandingapartfromthegroupbowedandsmiled.
“Andyou,Mr.Grossmith?”
Theheavymanbowedandscowled.
“Youwillbepleasedtoremoveyourouterclothing.”
Theirhats,coats,waistcoats,andneckwearweresoonremovedandthrownoutsidethedoor,inthepassage.The
manwiththecandlenownodded,andthefourthman—hewhohadurgedGrossmithtoleavethewagon—produced
fromthepocketofhisovercoattwolong,murderous-lookingbowie-knives,whichhedrewnowfromtheirleatherscabbards.
“Theyareexactlyalike,”hesaid,presentingonetoeachofthetwoprincipals—forbythistimethedullestobserver
wouldhaveunderstoodthenatureofthismeeting.Itwastobeadueltothedeath.
Eachcombatanttookaknife,examineditcriticallynearthecandleandtestedthestrengthofthebladeandhandle
acrosshisliftedknee.Theirpersonswerethensearchedinturn,eachbythesecondoftheother.
“Ifitisagreeabletoyou,Mr.Grossmith,”saidthemanholdingthelight,“youwillplaceyourselfinthatcorner.”
Heindicatedtheangleoftheroomfarthestfromthedoor,whitherGrossmithretired,hissecondpartingfromhimwith
agraspofthehandwhichhadnothingofcordialityinit.IntheanglenearestthedoorMr.Rosserstationedhimself,
andafterawhisperedconsultationhissecondlefthim,joiningtheothernearthedoor.Atthatmomentthecandlewas
suddenlyextinguished,leavingallinprofounddarkness.Thismayhavebeendonebyadraughtfromtheopened
door;whateverthecause,theeffectwasstartling.
“Gentlemen,”saidavoicewhichsoundedstrangelyunfamiliarinthealteredconditionaffectingtherelationsofthe
senses—”gentlemen,youwillnotmoveuntilyouheartheclosingoftheouterdoor.”
Asoundoftramplingensued,thentheclosingoftheinnerdoor;andnallytheouteroneclosedwithaconcussion
hi h h k th ti b ildi
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whichshooktheentirebuilding.
Afewminutesafterwardabelatedfarmer’sboymetalightwagonwhichwasbeingdrivenfuriouslytowardthetownofMarshall.Hedeclaredthatbehindthetwoguresonthefrontseatstoodathird,withitshandsuponthebowedshoul-
dersoftheothers,whoappearedtostrugglevainlytofreethemselvesfromitsgrasp.Thisgure,unliketheothers,
wascladinwhite,andhadundoubtedlyboardedthewagonasitpassedthehauntedhouse.Astheladcouldboasta
considerableformerexperiencewiththesupernaturalthereaboutshiswordhadtheweightjustlyduetothetestimony
ofanexpert.Thestory(inconnectionwiththenextday’sevents)eventuallyappearedintheAdvance,withsome
slightliteraryembellishmentsandaconcludingintimationthatthegentlemenreferredtowouldbeallowedtheuseof
thepaper’scolumnsfortheirversionofthenight’sadventure.Buttheprivilegeremainedwithoutaclaimant.
II
Theeventsthatleduptothis“duelinthedark”weresimpleenough.Oneeveningthreeyoungmenofthetownof
Marshallweresittinginaquietcorneroftheporchofthevillagehotel,smokinganddiscussingsuchmattersasthree
educatedyoungmenofaSouthernvillagewouldnaturallyndinteresting.TheirnameswereKing,Sancher,and
Rosser.Atalittledistance,withineasyhearing,buttakingnopartintheconversation,satafourth.Hewasastranger
totheothers.Theymerelyknewthatonhisarrivalbythestage-coachthatafternoonhehadwritteninthehotelregis-
terthenameofRobertGrossmith.Hehadnotbeenobservedtospeaktoanyoneexceptthehotelclerk.Heseemed,
indeed,singularlyfondofhisowncompany—or,asthepersonneloftheAdvanceexpressedit,“grosslyaddictedto
evilassociations.”Butthenitshouldbesaidinjusticetothestrangerthatthepersonnelwashimselfofatooconvivial
dispositionfairlytojudgeonedifferentlygifted,andhad,moreover,experiencedaslightrebuffinaneffortatan“inter-
view.”
“Ihateanykindofdeformityinawoman,”saidKing,“whethernaturalor—acquired.Ihaveatheorythatanyphysical
defecthasitscorrelativementalandmoraldefect.”
“Iinfer,then,”saidRosser,gravely,“thataladylackingthemoraladvantageofanosewouldndthestruggletobe-
comeMrs.Kinganarduousenterprise.”
“Ofcourseyoumayputitthatway,”wasthereply;“but,seriously,Ioncethrewoveramostcharminggirlonlearning
quite accidentally that she had suffered amputation of a toe My conduct was brutal if you like but if I had married that
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quiteaccidentallythatshehadsufferedamputationofatoe.Myconductwasbrutalifyoulike,butifIhadmarriedthat
girlIshouldhavebeenmiserableforlifeandshouldhavemadeherso.”
“Whereas,”saidSancher,withalightlaugh,“bymarryingagentlemanofmoreliberalviewsheescapedwithaparted
throat.”
“Ah,youknowtowhomIrefer.Yes,shemarriedManton,butIdon’tknowabouthisliberality;I’mnotsurebuthecut
herthroatbecausehediscoveredthatshelackedthatexcellentthinginwoman,themiddletoeoftherightfoot.”
“Lookatthatchap!”saidRosserinalowvoice,hiseyesxeduponthestranger.
Thatchapwasobviouslylisteningintentlytotheconversation.
“Damnhisimpudence!”mutteredKing—”whatoughtwetodo?”
“That’saneasyone,”Rosserreplied,rising.“Sir,”hecontinued,addressingthestranger,“Ithinkitwouldbebetterif
youwouldremoveyourchairtotheotherendoftheveranda.Thepresenceofgentlemenisevidentlyanunfamiliar
situationtoyou.”
Themansprangtohisfeetandstrodeforwardwithclenchedhands,hisfacewhitewithrage.Allwerenowstanding.
Sanchersteppedbetweenthebelligerents.
“Youarehastyandunjust,”hesaidtoRosser;“thisgentlemanhasdonenothingtodeservesuchlanguage.”
ButRosserwouldnotwithdrawaword.Bythecustomofthecountryandthetimetherecouldbebutoneoutcometo
thequarrel.
“Idemandthesatisfactionduetoagentleman,”saidthestranger,whohadbecomemorecalm.“Ihavenotanac-
quaintanceinthisregion.Perhapsyou,sir,”bowingtoSancher,“willbekindenoughtorepresentmeinthismatter.”
Sancheracceptedthetrust—somewhatreluctantlyitmustbeconfessed,fortheman’sappearanceandmannerwere
not at all to his liking King who during the colloquy had hardly removed his eyes from the stranger’s face and had
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notatalltohisliking.King,whoduringthecolloquyhadhardlyremovedhiseyesfromthestranger sfaceandhad
notspokenaword,consentedwithanodtoactforRosser,andtheupshotofitwasthat,theprincipalshavingretired,
ameetingwasarrangedforthenextevening.Thenatureofthearrangementshasbeenalreadydisclosed.TheduelwithknivesinadarkroomwasonceacommonerfeatureofSouthwesternlifethanitislikelytobeagain.Howthina
veneeringof“chivalry”coveredtheessentialbrutalityofthecodeunderwhichsuchencounterswerepossibleweshall
see.
III
IntheblazeofamidsummernoondaytheoldMantonhousewashardlytruetoitstraditions.Itwasoftheearth,
earthy.Thesunshinecaresseditwarmlyandaffectionately,withevidentdisregardofitsbadreputation.Thegrassgreeningalltheexpanseinitsfrontseemedtogrow,notrankly,butwithanaturalandjoyousexuberance,andthe
weedsblossomedquitelikeplants.Fullofcharminglightsandshadowsandpopulouswithpleasant-voicedbirds,the
neglectedshadetreesnolongerstruggledtorunaway,butbentreverentlybeneaththeirburdensofsunandsong.
Evenintheglasslessupperwindowswasanexpressionofpeaceandcontentment,duetothelightwithin.Overthe
stonyeldsthevisibleheatdancedwithalivelytremorincompatiblewiththegravitywhichisanattributeofthesuper-
natural.
SuchwastheaspectunderwhichtheplacepresenteditselftoSheriffAdamsandtwoothermenwhohadcomeout
fromMarshalltolookatit.OneofthesemenwasMr.King,thesheriff’sdeputy;theother,whosenamewasBrewer,
wasabrotherofthelateMrs.Manton.UnderabenecentlawoftheStaterelatingtopropertywhichhasbeenfora
certainperiodabandonedbyanownerwhoseresidencecannotbeascertained,thesheriffwaslegalcustodianof
theMantonfarmandappurtenancesthereuntobelonging.Hispresentvisitwasinmereperfunctorycompliancewith
someorderofacourtinwhichMr.Brewerhadanactiontogetpossessionofthepropertyasheirtohisdeceased
sister.Byamerecoincidence,thevisitwasmadeonthedayafterthenightthatDeputyKinghadunlockedthehouse
foranotherandverydifferentpurpose.Hispresencenowwasnotofhisownchoosing:hehadbeenorderedtoac-
companyhissuperior,andatthemomentcouldthinkofnothingmoreprudentthansimulatedalacrityinobedienceto
thecommand.
Carelesslyopeningthefrontdoor,whichtohissurprisewasnotlocked,thesheriffwasamazedtosee,lyingonthe
oorofthepassageintowhichitopened,aconfusedheapofmen’sapparel.Examinationshowedittoconsistoftwo
hats and the same number of coats waistcoats and scarves all in a remarkably good state of preservation albeit
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hats,andthesamenumberofcoats,waistcoats,andscarvesallinaremarkablygoodstateofpreservation,albeit
somewhatdeledbythedustinwhichtheylay.Mr.Brewerwasequallyastonished,butMr.King’semotionisnotof
record.Withanewandlivelyinterestinhisownactionsthesheriffnowunlatchedandpushedopenadoorontheright,andthethreeentered.Theroomwasapparentlyvacant—no;astheireyesbecameaccustomedtothedimmer
lightsomethingwasvisibleinthefarthestangleofthewall.Itwasahumangure—thatofamancrouchingcloseinthe
corner.Somethingintheattitudemadetheintrudershaltwhentheyhadbarelypassedthethreshold.Theguremore
andmoreclearlydeneditself.Themanwasupononeknee,hisbackintheangleofthewall,hisshoulderselevated
tothelevelofhisears,hishandsbeforehisface,palmsoutward,thengersspreadandcrookedlikeclaws;thewhite
faceturnedupwardontheretractedneckhadanexpressionofunutterablefright,themouthhalfopen,theeyesin-
crediblyexpanded.Hewasstonedead.Yetwiththeexceptionofabowie-knife,whichhadevidentlyfallenfromhis
ownhand,notanotherobjectwasintheroom.
Inthickdustthatcoveredtheoorweresomeconfusedfootprintsnearthedoorandalongthewallthroughwhichit
opened.Alongoneoftheadjoiningwalls,too,pasttheboarded-upwindowswasthetrailmadebythemanhimselfin
reachinghiscorner.Instinctivelyinapproachingthebodythethreemenfollowedthattrail.Thesheriffgraspedoneof
theoutthrownarms;itwasasrigidasiron,andtheapplicationofagentleforcerockedtheentirebodywithoutaltering
therelationofitsparts.Brewer,palewithexcitement,gazedintentlyintothedistortedface.“Godofmercy!”hesud-
denlycried,“itisManton!”
“Youareright,”saidKing,withanevidentattemptatcalmness:“IknewManton.Hethenworeafullbeardandhishair
long,butthisishe.”
Hemighthaveadded:“IrecognizedhimwhenhechallengedRosser.ItoldRosserandSancherwhohewasbefore
weplayedhimthishorribletrick.WhenRosserleftthisdarkroomatourheels,forgettinghisouterclothingintheex-
citement,anddrivingawaywithusinhisshirtsleeves—allthroughthediscreditableproceedingsweknewwithwhom
weweredealing,murdererandcowardthathewas!”
ButnothingofthisdidMr.Kingsay.Withhisbetterlighthewastryingtopenetratethemysteryoftheman’sdeath.
Thathehadnotoncemovedfromthecornerwherehehadbeenstationed;thathisposturewasthatofneitherattack
nordefense;thathehaddroppedhisweapon;thathehadobviouslyperishedofsheerhorrorofsomethingthathe
saw—thesewerecircumstanceswhichMr.King’sdisturbedintelligencecouldnotrightlycomprehend.
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Gropinginintellectualdarknessforaclewtohismazeofdoubt,hisgaze,directedmechanicallydownwardintheway
ofonewhopondersmomentousmatters,felluponsomethingwhich,there,inthelightofdayandinthepresenceoflivingcompanions,affectedhimwithterror.Inthedustofyearsthatlaythickupontheoor—leadingfromthedoorby
whichtheyhadentered,straightacrosstheroomtowithinayardofManton’scrouchingcorpse—werethreeparallel
linesoffootprints—lightbutdeniteimpressionsofbarefeet,theouteronesthoseofsmallchildren,theinnerawom-
an’s.Fromthepointatwhichtheyendedtheydidnotreturn;theypointedalloneway.Brewer,whohadobserved
thematthesamemoment,wasleaningforwardinanattitudeofraptattention,horriblypale.
“Lookatthat!”hecried,pointingwithbothhandsatthenearestprintofthewoman’srightfoot,whereshehadappar-
entlystoppedandstood.“Themiddletoeismissing—itwasGertrude!”
GertrudewasthelateMrs.Manton,sistertoMr.Brewer.
The Shell of Sense
ByOliviaHowardDunbar
FromHarper’sMagazine,December,1908.BypermissionofHarperandBrothersandOliviaHowardDunbar.
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Itwasintolerablyunchanged,thedim,dark-tonedroom.Inanagonyofrecognitionmyglanceranfromonetoanother
ofthecomfortable,familiarthingsthatmyearthlylifehadbeenpassedamong.IncrediblydistantfromitallasIessen-
tiallywas.InotedsharplythattheverygapsthatImyselfhadleftinmybookshelvesstillstoodunlled;thatthedeli-
catengersofthefernsthatIhadtendedwerestillstretchedfutilelytowardthelight;thatthesoftagreeablechuckle
ofmyownlittleclock,likesomeelderlywomanwithwhomconversationhasbecomeautomatic,wasundiminished.
Unchanged—orsoitseemedatrst.Buttherewerecertaintrivialdifferencesthatshortlysmoteme.Thewindows
wereclosedtootightly;forIhadalwayskeptthehouseverycool,althoughIhadknownthatTheresapreferredwarm
rooms.Andmywork-basketwasindisorder;itwaspreposterousthatsosmallathingshouldhurtmeso.Then,for
thiswasmyrstexperienceoftheshadow-foldedtransition,theoddalterationofmyemotionsbewilderedme.Forat
onemomenttheplaceseemedsohumanlyfamiliar,sodistinctlymyownproperenvelope,thatforloveofitIcouldhavelaidmycheekagainstthewall;whileinthenextIwasmiserablyconsciousofstrangenewshrillnesses.How
couldtheybeendured—andhadIeverenduredthem?—thoseharshinuencesthatInowperceivedatthewindow;
lightandcolorsoblindingthattheyobscuredtheformofthewind,tumultsodiscordantthatonecouldscarcelyhear
therosesopeninthegardenbelow?
ButTheresadidnotseemtomindanyofthesethings.Disorder,itistrue,thedearchildhadneverminded.Shewas
sittingallthistimeatmydesk—atmydesk—occupied,Icouldonlytooeasilysurmisehow.Inthelightofmyownhabits
ofprecisionitwasplainthatthatsombrecorrespondenceshouldhavebeenattendedtobefore;butIbelievethatIdidnotreallyreproachTheresa,forIknewthathernotes,whenshedidwritethem,wereperhapslessperfunctorythan
mine.ShenishedthelastoneasIwatchedher,andaddedittotheheapofblack-borderedenvelopesthatlayon
thedesk.Poorgirl!Isawnowthattheyhadcosthertears.Yet,livingbesideherdayafterday,yearafteryear,Ihad
neverdiscoveredwhatdeeptendernessmysisterpossessed.Towardeachotherithadbeenourhabittodisplayonly
atemperateaffection,andIrememberhavingalwaysthoughtitdistinctlyfortunateforTheresa,sinceshewasdenied
myhappiness,thatshecouldlivesoeasilyandpleasantlywithoutemotionsofthedevastatingsort....Andnow,for
thersttime,Iwasreallytobeholdher....CoulditbeTheresa,afterall,thistangleofsubduedturbulences?Letno
onesupposethatitisaneasythingtobear,therelentlesslylucidunderstandingthatIthenrstexercised;orthat,in
itsrstenfranchisement,thetimidvisiondoesnotyearnforitsoldscreensandmists.
Suddenly,asTheresasatthere,herhead,lledwithitstenderthoughtsofme,heldinhergentlehands,IfeltAllan’s
steponthecarpetedstairoutside.Theresafeltit,too,—buthow?foritwasnotaudible.Shegaveastart,sweptthe
black envelopes out of sight and pretended to be writing in a little book Then I forgot to watch her any longer in my
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blackenvelopesoutofsight,andpretendedtobewritinginalittlebook.ThenIforgottowatchheranylongerinmy
absorptioninAllan’scoming.Itwashe,ofcourse,thatIwasawaiting.ItwasforhimthatIhadmadethisrstlonely,
frightenedefforttoreturn,torecover....ItwasnotthatIhadsupposedhewouldallowhimselftorecognizemypres-ence,forIhadlongbeensufcientlyfamiliarwithhishardandfastdenialsoftheinvisible.Hewassoreasonable
always,sosane—soblindfolded.ButIhadhopedthatbecauseofhisveryrejectionoftheetherthatnowcontainedme
Icouldperhapsallthemoresafely,themoresecretly,watchhim,lingernearhim.Hewasnearnow,verynear,—but
whydidTheresa,sittingthereintheroomthathadneverbelongedtoher,appropriateforherselfhiscoming?Itwas
somanifestlyIwhohaddrawnhim,Iwhomhehadcometoseek.
Thedoorwasajar.Heknockedsoftlyatit“Areyouthere,Theresa?”hecalled.Heexpectedtondher,then,therein
myroom?Ishrankback,fearing,almost,tostay.
“Ishallhavenishedinamoment,”Theresatoldhim,andhesatdowntowaitforher.
NospiritstillunreleasedcanunderstandthepangthatIfeltwithAllansittingalmostwithinmytouch.Almostirresist-
iblythewishbesetmetolethimforaninstantfeelmynearness.ThenIcheckedmyself,remembering—oh,absurd,
piteoushumanfears!—thatmytoounguardedclosenessmightalarmhim.ItwasnotsoremoteatimethatImyself
hadknownthem,thoseblind,uncouthtimidities.Icame,therefore,somewhatnearer—butIdidnottouchhim.Imerely
leanedtowardhimandwithincrediblesoftnesswhisperedhisname.ThatmuchIcouldnothaveforborne;thespellof
lifewasstilltoostronginme.
Butitgavehimnocomfort,nodelight.“Theresa!”hecalled,inavoicedreadfulwithalarm—andinthatinstantthelast
veilfell,anddesperately,scarcebelievingly,Ibeheldhowitstoodbetweenthem,thosetwo.
Sheturnedtohimthatgentlelookofhers.
“Forgiveme,”camefromhimhoarsely.“ButIhadsuddenlythemost—unaccountablesensation.Cantherebetoo
manywindowsopen?Thereissucha—chill—about.”
“Therearenowindowsopen,”Theresaassuredhim.“Itookcaretoshutoutthechill.Youarenotwell,Allan!”
“Perhaps not ” He embraced the suggestion “And yet I feel no illness apart from this abominable sensation that per-
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Perhapsnot. Heembracedthesuggestion. AndyetIfeelnoillnessapartfromthisabominablesensationthatper
sists—persists....Theresa,youmusttellme:doIfancyit,ordoyou,too,feel—something—strangehere?”
“Oh,thereissomethingverystrangehere,”shehalfsobbed.“Therealwayswillbe.”
“Goodheavens,child,Ididn’tmeanthat!”Heroseandstoodlookingabouthim.“Iknow,ofcourse,thatyouhaveyour
beliefs,andIrespectthem,butyouknowequallywellthatIhavenothingofthesort!So—don’tletusconjureupany-
thinginexplicable.”
Istayedimpalpably,imponderablynearhim.WretchedandbereftthoughIwas,Icouldnothavelefthimwhilehe
stooddenyingme.
“WhatImean,”hewenton,inhislow,distinctvoice,“isaspecial,analmostominoussenseofcold.Uponmysoul,
Theresa,”—hepaused—”ifIweresuperstitious,ifIwereawoman,Ishouldprobablyimagineittoseem—apresence!”
Hespokethelastwordveryfaintly,butTheresashrankfromitnevertheless.
“Don’tsaythat,Allan!”shecriedout.“Don’tthinkit,Ibegofyou!I’vetriedsohardmyselfnottothinkit—andyoumust
helpme.Youknowitisonlyperturbed,uneasyspiritsthatwander.Withheritisquitedifferent.Shehasalwaysbeen
sohappy—shemuststillbe.”
Ilistened,stunned,toTheresa’ssweetdogmatism.Fromwhatblinddistancescamehercondentmisapprehensions,
howdense,bothforherandforAllan,wastheseparatingvapor!
Allanfrowned.“Don’ttakemeliterally,Theresa,”heexplained;andI,whoamomentbeforehadalmosttouchedhim,
nowheldmyselfaloofandheardhimwithastrangeuntriedpity,newborninme.“I’mnotspeakingofwhatyoucall—
spirits.It’ssomethingmuchmoreterrible.”Heallowedhisheadtosinkheavilyonhischest.“IfIdidnotpositively
knowthatIhadneverdoneheranyharm,Ishouldsupposemyselftobesufferingfromguilt,fromremorse....The-
resa,youknowbetterthanI,perhaps.Wasshecontent,always?Didshebelieveinme?”
“Believeinyou?—whensheknewyoutobesogood!—whenyouadoredher!”
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“Shethoughtthat?Shesaidit?ThenwhatinHeaven’snameailsme?—unlessitisallasyoubelieve,Theresa,and
sheknowsnowwhatshedidn’tknowthen,poordear,andminds——”
“Mindswhat?Whatdoyoumean,Allan?”
I,whowithmyperhapsillegitimateadvantagesawsoclear,knewthathehadnotmeanttotellher:Ididhimthatjus-
tice,eveninmyrstjealousy.IfIhadnottorturedhimsobyclingingnearhim,hewouldnothavetoldher.Butthemo-
mentcame,andoverowed,andhedidtellher—passionate,tumultuousstorythatitwas.Duringallourlifetogether,
Allan’sandmine,hehadsparedme,hadkeptmewrappedinthewhitecloakofanunblemishedloyalty.Butitwould
havebeenkinder,Inowbitterlythought,if,likemanyhusbands,hehadyearsagofoundforthestoryhenowpouredforthsomeclandestinelistener;Ishouldnothaveknown.Buthewasfaithfulandgood,andsohewaitedtillI,mute
andchained,wastheretohearhim.SowelldidIknowhim,asIthought,sothoroughlyhadheoncebeenmine,thatI
sawitinhiseyes,hearditinhisvoice,beforethewordscame.Andyet,whenitcame,itlashedmewiththewhipsof
anunbearablehumiliation.ForI,hiswife,hadnotknownhowgreatlyhecouldlove.
AndthatTheresa,softlittletraitor,should,inherstillway,havecaredtoo!Wherewastheironinher,Imoanedwithin
mystrickenspirit,wherethesteadfastness?Fromthemomenthebadeher,sheturnedhersoftlittlepetalsuptohim—
andmylastdelusionwasspent.Itwasintolerable;andnonethelesssothatinanothermomentshehad,prompted
bysomebelatedthoughtofme,renouncedhim.Allanwashers,yetsheputhimfromher;anditwasmyparttowatch
themboth.
ThenintheanguishofitallIremembered,awkward,untutoredspiritthatIwas,thatInowhadtheGreatRecourse.
Whateverhumanthingswereunbearable,Ihadnoneedtobear.Iceased,therefore,tomaketheeffortthatkeptme
withthem.Thepitilesspoignancywasdulled,thesoundsandthelightceased,theloversfadedfromme,andagainI
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time,Ishouldbeobligedtowithholdmyselffromthegreatspacesandlingersuffering,grudging,shamed,wherethey
lingered.
Itcanneverhavebeenexplained,Isuppose,what,todevitalizedperceptionsuchasmine,thecontactofmortalbe-
ingswitheachotherappearstobe.Oncetohaveexercisedthissense-freedperceptionistorealizethatthegiftof
prophecy,althoughthesubjectofsuchfrequentmarvel,isnolongermysterious.Themerestglanceofoursensitive
and uncloyed vision can detect the strength of the relation between two beings, and therefore instantly calculate its
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anduncloyedvisioncandetectthestrengthoftherelationbetweentwobeings,andthereforeinstantlycalculateits
duration.Ifyouseeaheavyweightsuspendedfromaslenderstring,youcanknow,withoutanywizardry,thatinafew
momentsthestringwillsnap;well,such,ifyouadmittheanalogy,isprophecy,isforeknowledge.AnditwasthusthatIsawitwithTheresaandAllan.Foritwasperfectlyvisibletomethattheywouldverylittlelongerhavethestrengthto
preserve,neareachother,thedenudedimpersonalrelationthatthey,andthatI,behindthem,insistedon;andthat
theywouldhavetoseparate.Itwasmysister,perhapsthemoresensitive,whorstrealizedthis.Ithadnowbecome
possibleformetoobservethemalmostconstantly,theeffortnecessarytovisitthemhadsogreatlydiminished;so
thatIwatchedher,poor,anguishedgirl,preparetoleavehim.Isaweachreluctantmovementthatshemade.Isaw
hereyes,wornfromself-searching;Iheardherstepgrowntimidfrominexplicablefears;Ienteredherveryheartand
hearditspitiful,wildbeating.AndstillIdidnotinterfere.
ForatthistimeIhadawonderful,almostdemoniacalsenseofdisposingofmatterstosuitmyownselshwill.Atany
momentIcouldhavecheckedtheirmiseries,couldhaverestoredhappinessandpeace.Yetitgaveme,andIcould
weeptoadmitit,amonstrousjoytoknowthatTheresathoughtshewasleavingAllanofherownfreeintention,when
itwasIwhowascontriving,arranging,insisting....Andyetshewretchedlyfeltmypresencenearher;Iamcertainof
that.
AfewdaysbeforethetimeofherintendeddeparturemysistertoldAllanthatshemustspeakwithhimafterdinner.
Ourbeautifuloldhousebranchedoutfromacircularhallwithgreatarcheddoorsateitherend;anditwasthroughthe
reardoorwaythatalwaysinsummer,afterdinner,wepassedoutintothegardenadjoining.Asusual,therefore,when
thehourcame,Theresaledtheway.ThatdreadfuldaytimebrilliancethatinmypresentstateIfoundsohardtoen-
durewasnowbecomingsofter.Adelicate,capricioustwilightbreezedancedinconsequentlythroughlanguidlywhis-
peringleaves.Lovelypaleowersblossomedlikelittlemoonsinthedusk,andoverthemthebreathofmignonette
hungheavily.Itwasaperfectplace—andithadsolongbeenours,Allan’sandmine.Itmademerestlessandalittle
wickedthatthosetwoshouldbetheretogethernow.
Foralittletheywalkedabouttogether,speakingofcommon,dailythings.ThensuddenlyTheresaburstout:
“Iamgoingaway,Allan.Ihavestayedtodoeverythingthatneededtobedone.Nowyourmotherwillbeheretocare
foryou,anditistimeformetogo.”
Hestaredatherandstoodstill.Theresahadbeentheresolong,shesodenitely,tohismind,belongedthere.And
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g, y, , g
shewas,asIalsohadjealouslyknown,solovelythere,thesmall,dark,daintycreature,intheoldhall,onthewide
staircases,inthegarden....LifetherewithoutTheresa,eventheintentionallyremote,theperpetuallyrenouncedThe-resa—hehadnotdreamedofit,hecouldnot,sosuddenly,conceiveofit.
“Sithere,”hesaid,anddrewherdownbesidehimonabench,“andtellmewhatitmeans,whyyouaregoing.Isit
becauseofsomethingthatIhavebeen—havedone?”
Shehesitated.Iwonderedifshewoulddaretellhim.Shelookedoutandawayfromhim,andhewaitedlongforherto
speak.
Thepalestarswereslidingintotheirplaces.Thewhisperingoftheleaveswasalmosthushed.Allaboutthemitwas
stillandshadowyandsweet.Itwasthatwonderfulmomentwhen,forlackofavisiblehorizon,thenotyetdarkened
worldseemsinnitelygreater—amomentwhenanythingcanhappen,anythingbebelievedin.Tome,watching,listen-
ing,hovering,therecameadreadfulpurposeandadreadfulcourage.Supposeforonemoment,Theresashouldnot
onlyfeel,butseeme—wouldshedaretotellhimthen?
Therecameabriefspaceofterribleeffort,allmyuttering,uncertainforcesstrainedtotheutmost.Theinstantofmy
strugglewasendlesslylongandthetransitionseemedtotakeplaceoutsideme—asonesittinginatrain,motionless,
seestheleaguesofearthoatby.Andthen,inabright,terribleashIknewIhadachievedit—Ihadattainedvisibility.
Shuddering,insubstantial,butluminouslyapparent,Istoodtherebeforethem.AndfortheinstantthatImaintainedthe
visiblestateIlookedstraightintoTheresa’ssoul.
Shegaveacry.Andthen,thingofsilly,cruelimpulsesthatIwas,IsawwhatIhaddone.TheverythingthatIwished
toavertIhadprecipitated.ForAllan,inhissuddenterrorandpity,hadbentandcaughtherinhisarms.Fortherst
timetheyweretogether;anditwasIwhohadbroughtthem.
Then,tohiswhisperedurgingtotellthereasonofhercry,Theresasaid:
“Franceswashere.Youdidnotseeher,standingthere,underthelilacs,withnosmileonherface?”
“Mydear,mydear!”wasallthatAllansaid.Ihadsolongnowlivedinvisiblywiththem,heknewthatshewasright.
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y , y g y , g
“Isupposeyouknowwhatitmeans?”sheaskedhim,calmly.
“DearTheresa,”Allansaid,slowly,“ifyouandIshouldgoawaysomewhere,couldwenotevadeallthisghostliness?
Andwillyoucomewithme?”
“Distancewouldnotbanishher,”mysistercondentlyasserted.Andthenshesaid,softly:“Haveyouthoughtwhata
lonely,awesomethingitmustbetobesonewlydead?Pityher,Allan.Wewhoarewarmandaliveshouldpityher.
Shelovesyoustill,—thatisthemeaningofitall,youknow—andshewantsustounderstandthatforthatreasonwe
mustkeepapart.Oh,itwassoplaininherwhitefaceasshestoodthere.Andyoudidnotseeher?”
“ItwasyourfacethatIsaw,”Allansolemnlytoldher—oh,howdifferenthehadgrownfromtheAllanthatIhadknown!—
”andyoursistheonlyfacethatIshalleversee.”Andagainhedrewhertohim.
Shesprangfromhim.“Youaredefyingher,Allan!”shecried.“Andyoumustnot.Itisherrighttokeepusapart,ifshe
wishes.Itmustbeassheinsists.Ishallgo,asItoldyou.And,Allan,Ibegofyou,leavemethecouragetodoasshe
demands!”
Theystoodfacingeachotherinthedeepdusk,andthewoundsthatIhaddealtthemgapedredandaccusing.“We
mustpityher,”Theresahadsaid.AndasIrememberedthatextraordinaryspeech,andsawtheagonyinherface,and
thegreateragonyinAllan’s,therecamethegreatirreparablecleavagebetweenmortalityandme.Inaswift,merciful
amethelastofmymortalemotions—grossandtenacioustheymusthavebeen—wasconsumed.MycoldgraspofAl-
lanloosenedandanewunearthlyloveofhimbloomedinmyheart.
Iwasnow,however,inadifcultywithwhichmyexperienceinthenewerstatewasscarcelysufcienttodeal.How
couldImakeitplaintoAllanandTheresathatIwishedtobringthemtogether,tohealthewoundsthatIhadmade?
Pityingly,remorsefully,Ilingerednearthemallthatnightandthenextday.Andbythattimehadbroughtmyselftothe
pointofagreatdetermination.Inthelittletimethatwasleft,beforeTheresashouldbegoneandAllanbereftanddes-
olate,Isawtheonewaythatlayopentometoconvincethemofmyacquiescenceintheirdestiny.
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InthedeepestdarknessandsilenceofthenextnightImadeagreatereffortthanitwilleverbenecessaryformeto
makeagain.Whentheythinkofme,AllanandTheresa,IpraynowthattheywillrecallwhatIdidthatnight,andthatmythousandfrustrationsandselshnessesmayshrivelandbeblownfromtheirindulgentmemories.
Yetthefollowingmorning,asshehadplanned,Theresaappearedatbreakfastdressedforherjourney.Aboveinher
roomtherewerethesoundsofdeparture.Theyspokelittleduringthebriefmeal,butwhenitwasendedAllansaid:
“Theresa,thereishalfanhourbeforeyougo.Willyoucomeupstairswithme?IhadadreamthatImusttellyouof.”
“Allan!”Shelookedathim,frightened,butwentwithhim.“ItwasofFrancesyoudreamed,”shesaid,quietly,astheyenteredthelibrarytogether.
“DidIsayitwasadream?ButIwasawake—thoroughlyawake.Ihadnotbeensleepingwell,andIheard,twice,the
strikingoftheclock.AndasIlaythere,lookingoutatthestars,andthinking—thinkingofyou,Theresa,—shecameto
me,stoodtherebeforeme,inmyroom.Itwasnosheetedspecter,youunderstand;itwasFrances,literallyshe.In
someinexplicablefashionIseemedtobeawarethatshewantedtomakemeknowsomething,andIwaited,watch-
ingherface.Afterafewmomentsitcame.Shedidnotspeak,precisely.Thatis,IamsureIheardnosound.Yetthe
wordsthatcamefromherweredeniteenough.Shesaid:‘Don’tletTheresaleaveyou.Takeherandkeepher.’Then
shewentaway.Wasthatadream?”
“Ihadnotmeanttotellyou,”Theresaeagerlyanswered,“butnowImust.Itistoowonderful.Whattimedidyourclock
strike,Allan?”
“One,thelasttime.”
“Yes;itwasthenthatIawoke.Andshehadbeenwithme.Ihadnotseenher,butherarmhadbeenaboutmeand
herkisswasonmycheek.Oh.Iknew;itwasunmistakable.Andthesoundofhervoicewaswithme.”
“Thenshebadeyou,too——”
“Yes,tostaywithyou.Iamgladwetoldeachother.”Shesmiledtearfullyandbegantofastenherwrap.
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y y g y g p
“Butyouarenotgoing—now!”Allancried.“Youknowthatyoucannot,nowthatshehasaskedyoutostay.”
“Thenyoubelieve,asIdo,thatitwasshe?”Theresademanded.
“Icanneverunderstand,butIknow,”heansweredher.“Andnowyouwillnotgo?”
Iamfreed.Therewillbenofurthersemblanceofmeinmyoldhome,nosoundofmyvoice,nodimmestechoofmy
earthlyself.Theyhavenofurtherneedofme,thetwothatIhavebroughttogether.Theirsisthefullestjoythatthe
dwellersintheshellofsensecanknow.Mineisthetranscendentjoyoftheunseenspaces.
The Woman at Seven Brothers
ByWilburDanielSteele
FromLand’sEnd,byWilburDanielSteele.Copyright,1908,byHarperandBrothers.Bypermissionofthepublishers
andWilburDanielSteele.
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Itellyousir,Iwasinnocent.Ididn’tknowanymoreabouttheworldattwenty-twothansomedoattwelve.Myuncle
andauntinDuxburybroughtmeupstrict;Istudiedhardinhighschool,Iworkedhardafterhours,andIwentto
churchtwiceonSundays,andIcan’tseeit’srighttoputmeinaplacelikethis,withcrazypeople.Ohyes,Iknow
they’recrazy—youcan’ttellme.Asforwhattheysaidincourtaboutndingherwithherhusband,that’stheInspector’s
lie,sir,becausehe’sdownonme,andwantstomakeitlooklikemyfault.
No,sir,Ican’tsayasIthoughtshewashandsome—notatrst.Foronething,herlipsweretoothinandwhite,and
hercolorwasbad.I’lltellyouafact,sir;thatrstdayIcameofftotheLightIwassittingonmycotinthestore-room
(that’swheretheassistantkeepersleepsattheSevenBrothers),aslonesomeasIcouldbe,awayfromhomeforthe
rsttime,andthewaterallaroundme,and,eventhoughitwasacalmday,poundingenoughontheledgetosendakindofawoom-woom-woomwhiningupthroughallthatsolidrockofthetower.AndwhenoldFeddersonpokedhis
headdownfromtheliving-roomwiththesunshineabovemakingakindofbrightframearoundhishairandwhiskers,
togivemeacheery,“Makeyourselftohome,son!”IrememberIsaidtomyself:“He’sallright.I’llgetalongwithhim.
Buthiswife’senoughtosourmilk.”Thatwasqueer,becauseshewassomuchunderhiminage—’longabouttwenty-
eightorso,andhimnearerfty.Butthat’swhatIsaid,sir.
Ofcoursethatfeelingworeoff,sameasanyfeelingwillwearoffsoonerorlaterinaplaceliketheSevenBrothers.
Coopedupinaplacelikethatyoucometoknowfolkssowellthatyouforgetwhattheydolooklike.TherewasalongtimeInevernoticedher,anymorethanyou’dnoticethecat.Weusedtositofaneveningaroundthetable,as
ifyouwereFeddersonthere,andmehere,andhersomewherebackthere,intherocker,knitting.Feddersonwould
beworkingonhisJacob’s-ladder,andI’dbereading.He’dbeenworkingonthatJacob’s-ladderayear,Iguess,and
everytimetheInspectorcameoffwiththetenderhewassoastonishedtoseehowgoodthatladderwasthattheold
manwouldgotoworkandmakeitbetter.That’sallhelivedfor.
IfIwasreading,asIsay,Idaren’ttakemyeyesoffthebook,orFeddersonhadme.Andthenhe’dbegin—whattheIn-
spectorsaidabouthim.Howsurprisedthememberoftheboardhadbeen,thattime,toseeeverythingsocleanabout
thelight.WhattheInspectorhadsaidaboutFedderson’sbeingstuckhereinasecond-classlight—bestkeeperonthe
coast.Andsoonandsoon,tilleitherheorIhadtogoaloftandhavealookatthewicks.
He’dbeentheretwenty-threeyears,alltold,andhe’dgotusedtothefeelingthathewaskeptdownunfair—sousedto
it,Iguess,thathefedonit,andtoldhimselfhowfolksashorewouldtalkwhenhewasdeadandgone—bestkeeperon
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thecoast—keptdownunfair.Notthathesaidthattome.No,hewasfartooloyalandhumbleandrespectful,doinghis
dutywithoutcomplaint,asanybodycouldsee.
Andallthattime,nightafternight,hardlyeverawordoutofthewoman.AsIrememberit,sheseemedmorelikea
pieceoffurniturethananythingelse—notevenaverygoodcook,noroverandabovetidy.Oneday,whenheandI
weretrimmingthelamp,hepassedtheremarkthathisrstwifeusedtodustthelensandtakeaprideinit.Notthat
hesaidawordagainstAnna,though.Heneversaidawordagainstanylivingmortal;hewastooupright.
Idon’tknowhowitcameabout;or,rather,Idoknow,butitwassosudden,andsofarawayfrommythoughts,that
itshockedme,liketheworldturnedover.Itwasatprayers.ThatnightIrememberFeddersonwasuncommonlong-winded.We’dhadabatchofnewspapersoutbythetender,andatsuchtimestheoldmanalwaysmadealongwatch
ofit,gettingtheworldstraightenedout.Foronething,theUnitedStatesministertoTurkeywasdead.Well,fromhim
andhissoul,FeddersongotontoTurkeyandthePresbyteriancollegethere,andfromthattoheatheningeneral.He
rambledonandon,likethesurfontheledge,woom-woom-woom,nevercomingtoanend.
Youknowhowyou’llbeatprayerssometimes.Mymindstrayed.Icountedthecanesinthechair-seatwhereIwas
kneeling;Iplaitedacornerofthetable-clothbetweenmyngersforaspell,andbyandbymyeyeswentwandering
upthebackofthechair.
Thewoman,sir,waslookingatme.Herchairwasbacktomine,close,andbothourheadsweredownintheshadow
undertheedgeofthetable,withFeddersonclearoverontheothersidebythestove.Andtherewerehertwoeyes
huntingminebetweenthespindlesintheshadow.Youwon’tbelieveme,sir,butItellyouIfeltlikejumpingtomyfeet
andrunningoutoftheroom—itwassoqueer.
Idon’tknowwhatherhusbandwasprayingaboutafterthat.Hisvoicedidn’tmeananything,nomorethantheseas
ontheledgeawaydownthere.Iwenttoworktocountthecanesintheseatagain,butallmyeyeswereinthetopof
myhead.ItgotsoIcouldn’tstandit.WewereattheLord’sprayer,sayingitsingsongtogether,whenIhadtolookup
again.Andtherehertwoeyeswere,betweenthespindles,huntingmine.Justthenallofusweresaying,“Forgiveus
ourtrespasses—”Ithoughtofitafterward.
Whenwegotupshewasturnedtheotherway,butIcouldn’thelpseeinghercheekswerered.Itwasterrible.Iwon-
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deredifFeddersonwouldnotice,thoughImighthaveknownhewouldn’t—nothim.Hewasintoomuchofahurryto
getathisJacob’s-ladder,andthenhehadtotellmeforthetenthtimewhattheInspector’dsaidthatdayaboutgettinghimanotherlight—KingdomCome,maybe,hesaid.
Imadesomeexcuseorotherandgotaway.Onceinthestore-room,Isatdownonmycotandstayedtherealong
time,feelingqueererthananything.IreadachapterintheBible,Idon’tknowwhy.AfterI’dgotmybootsoffIsatwith
theminmyhandsforasmuchasanhour,Iguess,staringattheoil-tankanditslopsidedshadowonthewall.Itell
you,sir,Iwasshocked.Iwasonlytwenty-tworemember,andIwasshockedandhorried.
AndwhenIdidturnin,nally,Ididn’tsleepatallwell.TwoorthreetimesIcameto,sittingstraightupinbed.OnceIgotupandopenedtheouterdoortohavealook.Thewaterwaslikeglass,dim,withoutabreathofwind,andthe
moonjustgoingdown.OverontheblackshoreImadeouttwolightsinavillage,likeapairofeyeswatching.Lonely?
My,yes!Lonelyandnervous.Ihadahorrorofher,sir.Thedinghy-boathungonitsdavitsjustthereinfrontofthe
door,andforaminuteIhadanawfulhankeringtoclimbintoit,loweraway,androwoff,nomatterwhere.Itsounds
foolish.
Well,itseemedfoolishnextmorning,withthesunshiningandeverythingasusual—Feddersonsuckinghispenand
wagginghisheadoverhiseternal“log,”andhiswifedownintherockerwithherheadinthenewspaper,andher
breakfastworkstillwaiting.Iguessthatjarreditoutofmemorethananythingelse—sightofhersloucheddownthere,withherstringy,yellowhairandherdustyapronandthepalebackofherneck,readingtheSocietyNotes.Society
Notes!Thinkofit!ForthersttimesinceIcametoSevenBrothersIwantedtolaugh.
IguessIdidlaughwhenIwentalofttocleanthelampandfoundeverythingsofreeandbreezy,gullsyinghighand
littlewhitecapsmakingunderawesterly.Itwaslikefeelingabigloaddroppedoffyourshoulders.Feddersoncameup
withhisdust-ragandcockedhisheadatme.
“What’sthematter,Ray?”saidhe.
“Nothing,”saidI.AndthenIcouldn’thelpit.“Seemskindofoutofplaceforsocietynotes,”saidI,“outhereatSeven
Brothers.”
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Hewastheothersideofthelens,andwhenhelookedatmehehadathousandeyes,allsober.ForaminuteI
thoughthewasgoingondusting,butthenhecameoutandsatdownonasill.
“Sometimes,”saidhe,“Igettothinkingitmaybeamitedullforherouthere.She’sprettyyoung,Ray.Notmuch
more’nagirl,hardly.”
“Notmuchmore’nagirl!”Itgavemeaturn,sir,asthoughI’dseenmyauntinshortdresses.
“It’sagoodhomeforher,though,”hewentonslow.“I’veseenalotworseashore,Ray.OfcourseifIcouldgeta
shorelight——”
“KingdomCome’sashorelight.”
Helookedatmeoutofhisdeep-seteyes,andthenheturnedthemaroundthelight-room,wherehe’dbeensolong.
“No,”saidhe,wagginghishead.“Itain’tforsuchasme.”
Ineversawsohumbleaman.
“Butlookhere,”hewenton,morecheerful.“AsIwastellingherjustnow,amonthfromyesterday’sourfourthanniver-
sary,andI’mgoingtotakeherashoreforthedayandgiveheraholiday—newhatandeverything.Agirlwantsamite
ofexcitementnowandthen,Ray.”
Thereitwasagain,that“girl.”Itgavemethedgets,sir.Ihadtodosomethingaboutit.It’sclosequartersforlast
namesinalight,andI’dtakentocallinghimUncleMattsoonafterIcame.Now,whenIwasattablethatnoonIspoke
overtowhereshewasstandingbythestove,gettinghimanotherhelpofchowder.
“IguessI’llhavesome,too,AuntAnna,”saidI,matteroffact.
Sheneversaidawordnorgaveasign—juststoodtherekindofround-shouldered,dippingthechowder.Andthatnight
atprayersIhitchedmychairaroundthetable,withitsbacktheotherway.
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Yougetawfullazyinalighthouse,someways.Nomatterhowmuchtinkeringyou’vegot,there’sstillalotoftimeandthere’ssuchathingastoomuchreading.Thechangesinweathergetmonotonous,too,byandby;thelightburnsthe
sameonathicknightasitdoesonafairone.Ofcoursethere’stheships,north-bound,south-bound—wind-jammers,
freighters,passenger-boatsfullofpeople.Inthewatchesatnightyoucanseetheirlightsgoby,andwonderwhat
theyare,howthey’reladen,wherethey’llfetchup,andall.Iusedtodothatalmosteveryeveningwhenitwasmyrst
watch,sittingoutonthewalk-arounduptherewithmylegshangingovertheedgeandmychinproppedontherail-
ing—lazy.TheBostonboatwastheprettiesttosee,withherthreetiersofport-holeslit,likeastringofpearlswrapped
roundandroundawoman’sneck—wellaway,too,fortheledgemusthavemadeacoupleofhundredfathomsoffthe
Light,likeawhitedog-toothofabreaker,evenonthedarkestnight.
Well,Iwaslollingthereonenight,asIsay,watchingtheBostonboatgoby,notthinkingofanythingspecial,whenI
heardthedoorontheothersideofthetoweropenandfootstepscomingaroundtome.
ByandbyInoddedtowardtheboatandpassedtheremarkthatshewasfetchinginuncommoncloseto-night.No
answer.Imadenothingofthat,foroftentimesFeddersonwouldn’tanswer,andafterI’dwatchedthelightscrawlingon
throughthedarkaspell,justtomakeconversationIsaidIguessedthere’dbeabitofweatherbeforelong.
“I’venoticed,”saidI,“whenthere’sweathercomingon,andthewindinthenortheast,youcanheartheorchestraplayingaboardofherjustoverthere.Imakeitoutnow.Doyou?”
“Yes.Oh—yes—!Ihearitallright!”
YoucanimagineIstarted.Itwasn’thim,buther.Andtherewassomethinginthewayshesaidthatspeech,sir—some-
thing—well—unnatural.Likeahungryanimalsnappingataperson’shand.
Iturnedandlookedathersidewise.Shewasstandingbytherailing,leaningalittleoutward,thetopofherfromthe
waistpickedoutbrightbythelensbehindher.Ididn’tknowwhatintheworldtosay,andyetIhadafeelingIoughtnot
tosittheremum.
“Iwonder,”saidI,“whatthatcaptain’sthinkingof,fetchinginsohandyto-night.It’snoway.Itellyou,if‘twasn’tforthis
li h h ’d k d il h l d hi k i h ”
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light,she’dgotoworkandpileupontheledgesomethicknight——”
Sheturnedatthatandstaredstraightintothelens.Ididn’tlikethelookofherface.Somehow,withitsedgescuthard
allaroundanditstwoeyescloseddowntoslits,likeacat’s,itmadeakindofmask.
“Andthen,”Iwenton,uneasyenough—”andthenwhere’dalltheirmusicbeofasudden,andtheirgoings-onandtheir
singing——”
“Anddancing!”Sheclippedmeoffsoquickittookmybreath.
“D-d-dancing?”saidI.
“That’sdance-music,”saidshe.Shewaslookingattheboatagain.
“Howdoyouknow?”IfeltIhadtokeepontalking.
Well,sir—shelaughed.Ilookedather.Shehadonashawlofsomestufforotherthatshinedinthelight;shehadit
pulledtightaroundherwithhertwohandsinfrontatherbreast,andIsawhershouldersswayingintune.
“HowdoIknow?”shecried.Thenshelaughedagain,thesamekindofalaugh.Itwasqueer,sir,toseeher,andto
hearher.Sheturned,asquickasthat,andleanedtowardme.“Don’tyouknowhowtodance,Ray?”saidshe.
“N-no,”Imanaged,andIwasgoingtosay“AuntAnna,”butthethingchokedinmythroat.
Itellyoushewaslookingsquareatmeallthetimewithhertwoeyesandmovingwiththemusicasifshedidn’tknowit.Byheavens,sir,itcameovermeofasuddenthatshewasn’tsobad-looking,afterall.IguessImusthavesounded
likeafool.
“You—yousee,”saidI,“she’sclearedtheriptherenow,andthemusic’sgone.You—youhear?”
“Yes,”saidshe,turningbackslow.“That’swhereitstopseverynight—nightafternight—itstopsjustthere—attherip.”
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Whenshespokeagainhervoicewasdifferent.Ineverheardthelikeofit,thinandtautasathread.Itmademeshiv-er,sir.
“Ihate‘em!”That’swhatshesaid.“Ihate‘emall.I’dliketosee‘emdead.I’dlovetosee‘emtornapartontherocks,
nightafternight.Icouldbathemyhandsintheirblood,nightafternight.”
Anddoyouknow,sir,Isawitwithmyowneyes,herhandsmovingineachotherabovetherail.Butitwashervoice,
though.Ididn’tknowwhattodo,orwhattosay,soIpokedmyheadthroughtherailingandlookeddownatthewater.
Idon’tthinkI’macoward,sir,butitwaslikeacold—ice-cold—hand,takingholdofmybeatingheart.
WhenIlookedupnally,shewasgone.ByandbyIwentinandhadalookatthelamp,hardlyknowingwhatIwas
about.Then,seeingbymywatchitwastimefortheoldmantocomeonduty,Istartedtogobelow.IntheSeven
Brothers,youunderstand,thestairgoesdowninaspiralthroughawellagainstthesouthwallandrstthere’sthe
doortothekeeper’sroomandthenyoucometoanother,andthat’stheliving-room,andthendowntothestore-room.
Andatnight,ifyoudon’tcarryalantern,it’sasblackasthepit.
Well,downIwent,slidingmyhandalongtherail,andasusualIstoppedtogivearaponthekeeper’sdoor,incasehe
wastakinganapaftersupper.Sometimeshedid.
Istoodthere,blindasabat,withmymindstilluponthewalk-around.Therewasnoanswertomyknock.Ihadn’t
expectedany.Justfromhabit,andwithmyrightfootalreadyhangingdownforthenextstep,Ireachedouttogivethe
dooronemoretapforluck.
Doyouknow,sir,myhanddidn’tfetchuponanything.Thedoorhadbeenthereasecondbefore,andnowthedoorwasn’tthere.Myhandjustwentongoingthroughthedark,onandon,andIdidn’tseemtohavesenseorpower
enoughtostopit.Theredidn’tseemanyairinthewelltobreathe,andmyearsweredrummingtothesurf—that’show
scaredIwas.Andthenmyhandtouchedtheeshofaface,andsomethinginthedarksaid,“Oh!”nolouderthana
sigh.
NextthingIknew,sir,Iwasdownintheliving-room,warmandyellow-lit,withFeddersoncockinghisheadatme
th t bl h h t th t t l J b’ l dd f hi
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acrossthetable,wherehewasatthateternalJacob’s-ladderofhis.
“What’sthematter,Ray?”saidhe.“Lord’ssake,Ray!”
“Nothing,”saidI.ThenIthinkItoldhimIwassick.ThatnightIwrotealettertoA.L.Peters,thegrain-dealerinDux-
bury,askingforajob—eventhoughitwouldn’tgoashoreforacoupleofweeks,justthewritingofitmademefeelbet-
ter.
It’shardtotellyouhowthosetwoweekswentby.Idon’tknowwhy,butIfeltlikehidinginacornerallthetime.Ihad
tocometomeals,butIdidn’tlookather,though,notonce,unlessitwasbyaccident.FeddersonthoughtIwasstillailingandnaggedmetodeathwithadviceandsoon.OnethingItookcarenottodo,Icantellyou,andthatwasto
knockonhisdoortillI’dmadecertainhewasn’tbelowintheliving-room—thoughIwastemptedto.
Yes,sir;that’saqueerthing,andIwouldn’ttellyouifIhadn’tsetouttogiveyouthetruth.Nightafternight,stopping
thereonthelandinginthatblackpit,theairgoneoutofmylungsandthesurfdrumminginmyearsandsweatstand-
ingcoldonmyneck—andonehandliftingupintheair—Godforgiveme,sir!MaybeIdidwrongnottolookathermore,
droopingaboutherworkinherginghamapron,withherhairstringing.
WhentheInspectorcameoffwiththetender,thattime,ItoldhimIwasthrough.That’swhenhetookthedisliketome,Iguess,forhelookedatmekindofsneeringandsaid,softasIwas,I’dhavetoputupwithittillnextrelief.Andthen,
saidhe,there’dbeawholehouse-cleaningatSevenBrothers,becausehe’dgottenFeddersontheberthatKingdom
Come.Andwiththatheslappedtheoldmanontheback.
IwishyoucouldhaveseenFedderson,sir.Hesatdownonmycotasifhiskneeshadgiven‘way.Happy?You’dthink
he’dbehappy,withallhisdreamscometrue.Yes,hewashappy,beamingallover—foraminute.Then,sir,hebegantoshrivelup.Itwaslikeseeingamancutdowninhisprimebeforeyoureyes.Hebegantowaghishead.
“No,”saidhe.“No,no;it’snotforsuchasme.I’mgoodenoughforSevenBrothers,andthat’sall,Mr.Bayliss.That’s
all.”
AndforalltheInspectorcouldsay,that’swhathestuckto.He’dguredhimselfamartyrsomanyyears,nursedthat
injustice like a mother with her rst born sir; and now in his old age so to speak they weren’t to rob him of it Fedder
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injusticelikeamotherwithherrst-born,sir;andnowinhisoldage,sotospeak,theyweren’ttorobhimofit.Fedder-
sonwasgoingtowearouthislifeinasecond-classlight,andfolkswouldtalk—thatwashisidea.Iheardhimhailingdownasthetenderwascastingoff:
“Seeyouto-morrow,Mr.Bayliss.Yep.Comingashorewiththewifeforaspree.Anniversary.Yep.”
Buthedidn’tsoundmuchlikeaspree.Theyhad,robbedhim,partly,afterall.Iwonderedwhatshethoughtaboutit.
Ididn’tknowtillnight.Shedidn’tshowuptosupper,whichFeddersonandIgotourselves—hadaheadache,besaid.
Itwasmyearlywatch.Iwentandlitupandcamebacktoreadaspell.HewasnishingofftheJacob’s-ladder,and
thoughtful,likeamanthat’slostatreasure.OnceortwiceIcaughthimlookingabouttheroomonthesly.Itwaspa-thetic,sir.
Goingupthesecondtime,Isteppedoutonthewalk-aroundtohavealookatthings.Shewasthereontheseaward
side,wrappedinthatsilkything.Afairseawasrunningacrosstheledgeanditwascomingonalittlethick—nottoo
thick.OfftotherighttheBostonboatwasblowing,whroom-whroom!Creepinguponus,quarter-speed.Therewas
anotherfellowbehindher,andasherman’sconchfartheroffshore.
Idon’tknowwhy,butIstoppedbesideherandleanedontherail.Shedidn’tappeartonoticeme,onewayoranother.
Westoodandwestood,listeningtothewhistles,andthelongerwestoodthemoreitgotonmynerves,hernotnotic-ingme.Isupposeshe’dbeentoomuchonmymindlately.Ibegantobeputout.Iscrapedmyfeet.Icoughed.Byand
byIsaidoutloud:
“Lookhere,IguessIbettergetoutthefog-hornandgivethosefellowsatoot.”
“Why?”saidshe,withoutmovingherhead—calmasthat.
“Why?”Itgavemeaturn,sir.ForaminuteIstaredather.“Why?Becauseifshedon’tpickupthislightbeforevery
manyminutesshe’llbetoocloseintowear—tide’llhaveherontherocks—that’swhy!”
Icouldn’tseeherface,butIcouldseeoneofhersilkshouldersliftalittle,likeashrug.AndthereIkeptonstaringat
her,adumbone,sureenough.IknowwhatbroughtmetowashearingtheBostonboat’sthreesharptootsasshe
picked up the light mad as anything and swung her helm a port I turned away from her sweat stringing down my
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pickedupthelight—madasanything—andswungherhelma-port.Iturnedawayfromher,sweatstringingdownmy
face,andwalkedaroundtothedoor.Itwasjustaswell,too,forthefeed-pipewaspluggedinthelampandthewickswerepopping.She’dhavebeenoutinanotherveminutes,sir.
WhenI’dnished,Isawthatwomanstandinginthedoorway.Hereyeswerebright.Ihadahorrorofher,sir,aliving
horror.
“Ifonlythelighthadbeenout,”saidshe,lowandsweet.
“Godforgiveyou,”saidI.“Youdon’tknowwhatyou’resaying.”
Shewentdownthestairintothewell,windingoutofsight,andaslongasIcouldseeher,hereyeswerewatching
mine.WhenIwent,myself,afterafewminutes,shewaswaitingformeonthatrstlanding,standingstillinthedark.
Shetookholdofmyhand,thoughItriedtogetitaway.
“Good-by,”saidsheinmyear.
“Good-by?”saidI.Ididn’tunderstand.
“Youheardwhathesaidto-day—aboutKingdomCome?Beitso—onhisownhead.I’llnevercomebackhere.OnceI
setfootashore—I’vegotfriendsinBrightonboro,Ray.”
Igotawayfromherandstartedondown.ButIstopped.“Brightonboro?”Iwhisperedback.“Whydoyoutellme?”My
throatwasrawtothewords,likeasore.
“Soyou’dknow,”saidshe.
Well,sir,Isawthemoffnextmorning,downthatnewJacob’s-ladderintothedinghy-boat,herinadressofbluevelvet
andhiminhisbestcutawayandderby—rowingaway,smallerandsmaller,thetwoofthem.AndthenIwentbackand
satonmycot,leavingthedooropenandtheladderstillhangingdownthewall,alongwiththeboat-falls.
I don’t know whether it was relief or what I suppose I must have been worked up even more than I’d thought those
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Idon tknowwhetheritwasrelief,orwhat.IsupposeImusthavebeenworkedupevenmorethanI dthoughtthose
pastweeks,fornowitwasalloverIwaslikearag.Igotdownonmyknees,sir,andprayedtoGodforthesalvationofmysoul,andwhenIgotupandclimbedtotheliving-roomitwashalfpasttwelvebytheclock.Therewasrainonthe
windowsandtheseawasrunningblue-blackunderthesun.I’dsatthereallthattimenotknowingtherewasasquall.
Itwasfunny;theglassstoodhigh,butthoseblacksquallskeptcomingandgoingallafternoon,whileIwasatworkup
inthelight-room.AndIworkedhard,tokeepmyselfbusy.FirstthingIknewitwasve,andnosignoftheboatyet.It
begantogetdimandkindofpurplish-grayovertheland.Thesunwasdown.Ilitup,madeeverythingsnug,andgot
outthenight-glassestohaveanotherlookforthatboat.He’dsaidheintendedtogetbackbeforeve.Nosign.And
then,standingthere,itcameovermethatofcoursehewouldn’tbecomingoff—he’dbehuntingher,pooroldfool.ItlookedlikeIhadtostandtwomen’swatchesthatnight.
Nevermind.Ifeltlikemyselfagain,evenifIhadn’thadanydinnerorsupper.Pridecametomethatnightonthewalk-
around,watchingtheboatsgoby—littleboats,bigboats,theBostonboatwithallherpearlsandherdance-music.
Theycouldn’tseeme;theydidn’tknowwhoIwas;buttothelastofthem,theydependedonme.Theysayaman
mustbebornagain.Well,Iwasbornagain.Ibreatheddeepinthewind.
Dawnbrokehardandredasadyingcoal.Iputoutthelightandstartedtogobelow.Bornagain;yes,sir.Ifeltsogood
Iwhistledinthewell,andwhenIcametotherstdooronthestairIreachedoutinthedarktogiveitarapforluck. Andthen,sir,thehairprickledallovermyscalp,whenIfoundmyhandjustgoingonandonthroughtheair,thesame
asithadgoneoncebefore,andallofasuddenIwantedtoyell,becauseIthoughtIwasgoingtotouchesh.It’s
funnywhattheirjustforgettingtoclosetheirdoordidtome,isn’tit?
Well,Ireachedforthelatchandpulledittowithabangandrandownasifaghostwasafterme.Igotupsomecoffee
andbreadandbaconforbreakfast.Idrankthecoffee.ButsomehowIcouldn’teat,allalongofthatopendoor.Thelightintheroomwasblood.Igottothinking.Ithoughthowshe’dtalkedaboutthosemen,women,andchildrenon
therocks,andhowshe’dmadetobatheherhandsovertherail.Ialmostjumpedoutofmychairthen;itseemedfor
awinkshewastherebesidethestovewatchingmewiththatqueerhalf-smile—really,Iseemedtoseeherforaash
acrosstheredtable-clothintheredlightofdawn.
“Lookhere!”saidItomyself,sharpenough;andthenIgavemyselfagoodlaughandwentbelow.ThereItookalook
out of the door which was still open with the ladder hanging down I made sure to see the poor old fool come pulling
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outofthedoor,whichwasstillopen,withtheladderhangingdown.Imadesuretoseethepooroldfoolcomepulling
aroundthepointbeforeverylongnow.
Mybootswerehurtingalittle,and,takingthemoff,Ilaydownonthecottorest,andsomehowIwenttosleep.Ihad
horribledreams.Isawheragainstandinginthatblood-redkitchen,andsheseemedtobewashingherhands,and
thesurfontheledgewaswhiningupthetower,louderandlouderallthetime,andwhatitwhinedwas,“Nightafter
night—nightafternight.”Whatwokemewascoldwaterinmyface.
Thestore-roomwasingloom.Thatscaredmeatrst;Ithoughtnighthadcome,andrememberedthelight.Butthen
Isawthegloomwasofastorm.Theoorwasshiningwet,andthewaterinmyfacewasspray,ungupthroughthe
opendoor.WhenIrantocloseit,italmostmademedizzytoseethegray-and-whitebreakersmarchingpast.The
landwasgone;theskyshutdownheavyoverhead;therewasapieceofwreckageonthebackofaswell,andthe
Jacob’s-ladderwascarriedcleanaway.HowthatseahadpickedupsoquickIcan’tthink.Ilookedatmywatchandit
wasn’tfourintheafternoonyet.
WhenIclosedthedoor,sir,itwasalmostdarkinthestore-room.I’dneverbeenintheLightbeforeinagaleofwind.
IwonderedwhyIwasshiveringso,tillIfounditwastheoorbelowmeshivering,andthewallsandstair.Horrible
crunchingsandgrindingsranawayupthetower,andnowandthentherewasagreatthudsomewhere,likeacannon-
shotinacave.Itellyou,sir,Iwasalone,andIwasinamortalfrightforaminuteorso.AndyetIhadtogetmyselftogether.Therewasthelightuptherenottendedto,andanearlydarkcomingonandaheavynightandall,andIhad
togo.AndIhadtopassthatdoor.
You’llsayit’sfoolish,sir,andmaybeitwasfoolish.MaybeitwasbecauseIhadn’teaten.ButIbeganthinkingofthat
dooruptheretheminuteIsetfootonthestair,andallthewayupthroughthathowlingdarkwellIdreadedtopassit.I
toldmyselfIwouldn’tstop.Ididn’tstop.IfeltthelandingunderfootandIwenton,foursteps,ve—andthenIcouldn’t.Iturnedandwentback.Iputoutmyhandanditwentonintonothing.Thatdoor,sir,wasopenagain.
Ileftitbe;Iwentonuptothelight-roomandsettowork.ItwasBedlamthere,sir,screechingBedlam,butItookno
notice.Ikeptmyeyesdown.Itrimmedthosesevenwicks,sir,asneatasevertheyweretrimmed;Ipolishedthebrass
tillitshone,andIdustedthelens.Itwasn’ttillthatwasdonethatIletmyselflookbacktoseewhoitwasstanding
there,halfoutofsightinthewell.Itwasher,sir.
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“Where’dyoucomefrom?”Iasked.Iremembermyvoicewassharp.
“UpJacob’s-ladder,”saidshe,andherswaslikethesyrupofowers.
Ishookmyhead.Iwassavage,sir.“Theladder’scarriedaway.”
“Icastitoff,”saidshe,withasmile.
“Then,”saidI,“youmusthavecomewhileIwasasleep.”Anotherthoughtcameonmeheavyasatonoflead.“And
where’she?”saidI.“Where’stheboat?”
“He’sdrowned,”saidshe,aseasyasthat.“AndIlettheboatgoadrift.Youwouldn’thearmewhenIcalled.”
“Butlookhere,”saidI.“Ifyoucamethroughthestore-room,whydidn’tyouwakemeup?Tellmethat!”Itsoundsfool-
ishenough,mestandinglikealawyerincourt,tryingtoproveshecouldn’tbethere.
Shedidn’tanswerforamoment.Iguessshesighed,thoughIcouldn’thearforthegale,andhereyesgrewsoft,sir,
sosoft.
“Icouldn’t,”saidshe.“Youlookedsopeaceful—dearone.”
Mycheeksandneckwenthot,sir,asifawarmironwaslaidonthem.Ididn’tknowwhattosay.Ibegantostammer,
“Whatdoyoumean—”butshewasgoingbackdownthestair,outofsight.MyGodsir,andIusednottothinkshewas
good-looking!
Istartedtofollowher.Iwantedtoknowwhatshemeant.ThenIsaidtomyself,“IfIdon’tgo—ifIwaithere—she’llcome
back.”AndIwenttotheweathersideandstoodlookingoutofthewindow.Notthattherewasmuchtosee.Itwas
growingdark,andtheSevenBrotherslookedlikethemaneofarunninghorse,agreat,vast,whitehorserunninginto
thewind.Theairwasa-welterwithit.Icaughtonepeepofasherman,lyingdownattryingtoweathertheledge,
andIsaid,“Godhelpthemallto-night,”andthenIwenthotatsoundofthat“God.”
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Iwasrightabouther,though.Shewasbackagain.Iwantedhertospeakrst,beforeIturned,butshewouldn’t.Ididn’thearhergoout;Ididn’tknowwhatshewasuptotillIsawhercomingoutsideonthewalk-around,drenched
wetalready.Ipoundedontheglassforhertocomeinandnotbeafool;ifsheheardshegavenosignofit.
Thereshestood,andthereIstoodwatchingher.Lord,sir—wasitjustthatI’dneverhadeyestosee?Orarethere
womenwhobloom?Herclotheswereshiningonher,likeacarving,andherhairwasletdownlikeagoldencurtain
tossingandstreaminginthegale,andthereshestoodwithherlipshalfopen,drinking,andhereyeshalfclosed,gaz-
ingstraightawayovertheSevenBrothers,andhershouldersswaying,asifintunewiththewindandwaterandall
theruin.AndwhenIlookedatherhandsovertherail,sir,theyweremovingineachotherasiftheybathed,andthenI
remembered,sir.
Acoldhorrortookme.Iknewnowwhyshehadcomebackagain.Shewasn’tawoman—shewasadevil.Iturnedmy
backonher.Isaidtomyself:“It’stimetolightup.You’vegottolightup”—likethat,overandover,outloud.Myhand
wasshiveringsoIcouldhardlyndamatch;andwhenIscratchedit,itonlyaredasecondandthenwentoutinthe
backdraughtfromtheopendoor.Shewasstandinginthedoorway,lookingatme.It’squeer,sir,butIfeltlikeachild
caughtinmischief.
“I—I—wasgoingtolightup,”Imanagedtosay,nally.
“Why?”saidshe.No,Ican’tsayitasshedid.
“Why?”saidI.“MyGod!”
Shecamenearer,laughing,asifwithpity,low,youknow.“YourGod?AndwhoisyourGod?WhatisGod?Whatisanythingonanightlikethis?”
Idrewbackfromher.AllIcouldsayanythingaboutwasthelight.
“Whynotthedark?”saidshe.“Darkissofterthanlight—tenderer—dearerthanlight.Fromthedarkuphere,awayup
hereinthewindandstorm,wecanwatchtheshipsgoby,youandI.Andyoulovemeso.You’velovedmesolong,
Ray ”
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Ray.
“Ineverhave!”Istruckoutather.“Idon’t!Idon’t!”
Hervoicewaslowerthanever,buttherewasthesamelaughingpityinit.“Ohyes,youhave.”Andshewasnearme
again.
“Ihave?”Iyelled.“I’llshowyou!I’llshowyouifIhave!”
Igotanothermatch,sir,andscratcheditonthebrass.Igaveittotherstwick,thelittlewickthat’sinsidealltheoth-
ers.Itbloomedlikeayellowower.“Ihave?”Iyelled,andgaveittothenext.
Thentherewasashadow,andIsawshewasleaningbesideme,hertwoelbowsonthebrass,hertwoarms
stretchedoutabovethewicks,herbareforearmsandwristsandhands.Igaveagasp:
“Takecare!You’llburnthem!ForGod’ssake——”
Shedidn’tmoveorspeak.Thematchburnedmyngersandwentout,andallIcoulddowasstareatthosearmsof
hers,helpless.I’dnevernoticedherarmsbefore.Theywereroundedandgracefulandcoveredwithasoftdown,likeabreathofgold.ThenIheardherspeakingclosetomyear.
“Prettyarms,”shesaid.“Prettyarms!”
Iturned.Hereyeswerexedonmine.Theyseemedheavy,asifwithsleep,andyetbetweentheirlidstheyweretwo
wells,deepanddeep,andasiftheyheldallthethingsI’deverthoughtordreamedinthem.Ilookedawayfromthem,atherlips.Herlipswereredaspoppies,heavywithredness.Theymoved,andIheardthemspeaking:
“Poorboy,youlovemeso,andyouwanttokissme—don’tyou?”
“No,”saidI.ButIcouldn’tturnaround.Ilookedatherhair.I’dalwaysthoughtitwasstringyhair.Somehaircurlsnatu-
rallywithdamp,theysay,andperhapsthatwasit,fortherewerepearlsofwetonit,anditwasthickandshimmering
around her face making soft shadows by the temples There was green in it queer strands of green like braids
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aroundherface,makingsoftshadowsbythetemples.Therewasgreeninit,queerstrandsofgreenlikebraids.
“Whatisit?”saidI.
“Nothingbutweed,”saidshe,withthatslow,sleepysmile.
SomehoworotherIfeltcalmerthanIhadanytime.“Lookhere,”saidI.“I’mgoingtolightthislamp.”Itookouta
match,scratchedit,andtouchedthethirdwick.Theameranaround,biggerthantheothertwotogether.Butstillher
armshungthere.Ibitmylip.“ByGod,Iwill!”saidItomyself,andIlitthefourth.
Itwaserce,sir,erce!Andyetthosearmsnevertrembled.Ihadtolookaroundather.Hereyeswerestilllooking
intomine,sodeepanddeep,andherredlipswerestillsmilingwiththatqueer,sleepydroop;theonlythingwasthat
tearswererainingdownhercheeks—big,glowinground,jeweltears.Itwasn’thuman,sir.Itwaslikeadream.
“Prettyarms,”shesighed,andthen,asifthosewordshadbrokensomethinginherheart,therecameagreatsob
burstingfromherlips.Tohearitdrovememad.Ireachedtodragheraway,butshewastooquick,sir;shecringed
frommeandslippedoutfrombetweenmyhands.Itwaslikeshefadedaway,sir,andwentdowninabundle,nursing
herpoorarmsandmourningoverthemwiththoseterrible,brokensobs.
Thesoundofthemtookthemanhoodoutofme—you’dhavebeenthesame,sir.Ikneltdownbesideherontheoor
andcoveredmyface.
“Please!”Imoaned.“Please!Please!”That’sallIcouldsay.Iwantedhertoforgiveme.Ireachedoutahand,blind,for
forgiveness,andIcouldn’tndheranywhere.Ihadhurtherso,andshewasafraidofme,ofme,sir,wholovedherso
deepitdrovemecrazy.
Icouldseeherdownthestair,thoughitwasdimandmyeyeswerelledwithtears.Istumbledafterher,crying,
“Please!Please!”ThelittlewicksI’dlitwereblowinginthewindfromthedoorandsmokingtheglassbesidethem
black.Onewentout.Ipleadedwiththem,thesameasIwouldpleadwithahumanbeing.IsaidI’dbebackinasec-
ond.Ipromised.AndIwentondownthestair,cryinglikeababybecauseI’dhurther,andshewasafraidofme—of
me,sir.
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Shehadgoneintoherroom.ThedoorwasclosedagainstmeandIcouldhearhersobbingbeyondit,broken-heart-ed.Myheartwasbrokentoo.Ibeatonthedoorwithmypalms.Ibeggedhertoforgiveme.ItoldherIlovedher.And
alltheanswerwasthatsobbinginthedark.
AndthenIliftedthelatchandwentin,groping,pleading.“Dearest—please!BecauseIloveyou!”
Iheardherspeakdownneartheoor.Therewasn’tanyangerinhervoice;nothingbutsadnessanddespair.
“No,”saidshe.“Youdon’tloveme,Ray.Youneverhave.”
“Ido!Ihave!”
“No,no,”saidshe,asifshewastiredout.
“Whereareyou?”Iwasgropingforher.Ithought,andlitamatch.Shehadgottothedoorandwasstandingthere
asifreadytoy.Iwenttowardher,andshemademestop.Shetookmybreathaway.“Ihurtyourarms,”saidI,ina
dream.
“No,”saidshe,hardlymovingherlips.Sheheldthemouttothematch’slightformetolookandtherewasnevera
scaronthem—noteventhatsoft,goldendownwassinged,sir.“Youcan’thurtmybody,”saidshe,sadasanything.
“Onlymyheart,Ray;mypoorheart.”
Itellyouagain,shetookmybreathaway.Ilitanothermatch.“Howcanyoubesobeautiful?”Iwondered.
Sheansweredinriddles—butoh,thesadnessofher,sir.
“Because,”saidshe,“I’vealwayssowantedtobe.”
“Howcomeyoureyessoheavy?”saidI.
“Because I’ve seen so many things I never dreamed of,” said she.
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BecauseI veseensomanythingsIneverdreamedof, saidshe.
“Howcomeyourhairsothick?”
“It’stheseaweedmakesitthick,”saidshesmilingqueer,queer.
“Howcomeseaweedthere?”
“Outofthebottomofthesea.”
Shetalkedinriddles,butitwaslikepoetrytohearher,orasong.
“Howcomeyourlipssored?”saidI.
“Becausethey’vewantedsolongtobekissed.”
Firewasonme,sir.Ireachedouttocatchher,butshewasgone,outofthedooranddownthestair.Ifollowed,stum-
bling.Imusthavetrippedontheturn,forIremembergoingthroughtheairandfetchingupwithacrash,andIdidn’t
knowanythingforaspell—howlongIcan’tsay.WhenIcameto,shewasthere,somewhere,bendingoverme,croon-ing,“Mylove—mylove—”underherbreathlike,asong.
ButthenwhenIgotup,shewasnotwheremyarmswent;shewasdownthestairagain,justaheadofme.Ifollowed
her.Iwastotteringanddizzyandfullofpain.Itriedtocatchupwithherinthedarkofthestore-room,butshewastoo
quickforme,sir,alwaysalittletooquickforme.Oh,shewascrueltome,sir.Ikeptbumpingagainstthings,hurting
myselfstillworse,anditwascoldandwetandahorriblenoiseallthewhile,sir;andthen,sir,Ifoundthedoorwasopen,andaseahadpartedthehinges.
Idon’tknowhowitallwent,sir.I’dtellyouifIcould,butit’sallsoblurred—sometimesitseemsmorelikeadream.I
couldn’tndheranymore;Icouldn’thearher;Iwentallover,everywhere.Once,Iremember,Ifoundmyselfhanging
outofthatdoorbetweenthedavits,lookingdownintothosebigblackseasandcryinglikeababy.It’sallriddlesand
blur.Ican’tseemtotellyoumuch,sir.Itwasall—all—Idon’tknow.
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Iwastalkingtosomebodyelse—nother.ItwastheInspector.IhardlyknewitwastheInspector.Hisfacewasasgrayasablanket,andhiseyeswerebloodshot,andhislipsweretwisted.Hisleftwristhungdown,awkward.Itwasbroken
comingaboardtheLightinthatsea.Yes,wewereintheliving-room.Yes,sir,itwasdaylight—graydaylight.Itellyou,
sir,themanlookedcrazytome.Hewaswavinghisgoodarmtowardtheweatherwindows,andwhathewassaying,
overandover,wasthis:
“Lookwhatyoudone,damnyou!Lookwhatyoudone!”
AndwhatIwassayingwasthis:
“I’velosther!”
Ididn’tpayanyattentiontohim,norhimtome.Byandbyhedid,though.Hestoppedhistalkingallofasudden,and
hiseyeslookedlikethedevil’seyes.Heputthemupclosetomine.Hegrabbedmyarmwithhisgoodhand,andI
cried,Iwassoweak.
“Johnson,”saidhe,“isthatit?BythelivingGod—ifyougotawomanouthere,Johnson!”
“No,”saidI.“I’velosther.”
“Whatdoyoumean—losther?”
“Itwasdark,”saidI—andit’sfunnyhowmyheadwasclearingup—”andthedoorwasopen—thestore-roomdoor—andI
wasafterher—andIguessshestumbled,maybe—andIlosther.”
“Johnson,”saidhe,“whatdoyoumean?Yousoundcrazy—downrightcrazy.Who?”
“Her,”saidI.“Fedderson’swife.”
“Who?”
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“Her,”saidI.Andwiththathegavemyarmanotherjerk.
“Listen,”saidhe,likeatiger.“Don’ttrythatonme.Itwon’tdoanygood—thatkindoflies—notwhereyou’regoingto.
Feddersonandhiswife,too—thebothof‘em’sdrowneddeader‘nadoor-nail.”
“Iknow,”saidI,noddingmyhead.Iwassocalmitmadehimwild.
“You’recrazy!Crazyasaloon,Johnson!”Andhewaschewinghislipred.“Iknow,becauseitwasmethatfoundthe
oldmanlayingonBackWaterFlatsyesterdaymorning—me!Andshe’dbeenwithhimintheboat,too,becausehe
hadapieceofherjackettoreoff,tangledinhisarm.”
“Iknow,”saidI,noddingagain,likethat.
“Youknowwhat,youcrazy,murderingfool?”Thosewerehiswordstome,sir.
“Iknow,”saidI,“whatIknow.”
“AndIknow,”saidhe,“whatIknow.”
Andthereyouare,sir.He’sInspector.I’m—nobody.
At the Gate
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At the Gate
ByMylaJoClosser
FromtheCenturyMagazine.BypermissionoftheCenturyCompanyandMylaJ.Closser.
AshaggyAiredalescentedhiswayalongthehighroad.Hehadnotbeentherebefore,buthewasguidedbythetrail
ofhisbrethrenwhohadprecededhim.Hehadgoneunwillinglyuponthisjourney,yetwiththeperfecttrainingofdogs
hehadaccepteditwithoutcomplaint.Thepathhadbeenlonely,andhisheartwouldhavefailedhim,travelingashe
mustwithouthispeople,hadnotthesetracesofcountlessdogsbeforehimpromisedcompanionshipofasortattheendoftheroad.
Thelandscapehadappearedaridatrst,forthetranslationfromrecentagonyintofreedomfrompainhadbeenso
numbinginitsswiftnessthatitwassometimebeforehecouldfullyappreciatethepleasantdog-countrythrough
whichhewaspassing.Therewerewoodswithleavesuponthegroundthroughwhichtoscurry,longgrassyslopes
forextendedruns,andlakesintowhichhemightplungeforsticksandbringthembackto—Buthedidnotcompletehis
thought,fortheboywasnotwithhim.Alittlewaveofhomesicknesspossessedhim.
Itmadehismindeasiertoseefaraheadagreatgateashighastheheavens,wideenoughforall.Heunderstoodthat
onlymanbuiltsuchbarriersandbystraininghiseyeshefanciedhecoulddiscernhumanspassingthroughtowhat-
everlaybeyond.Hebrokeintoarunthathemightthemorequicklygainthisinclosuremadebeautifulbymenand
women;buthisthoughtsoutranhispace,andherememberedthathehadleftthefamilybehind,andagainthislovely
newcompoundbecamenotperfect,sinceitwouldlackthefamily.
Thescentofthedogsgrewverystrongnow,andcomingnearer,hediscovered,tohisastonishmentthatofthemyri-adsofthosewhohadarrivedaheadofhimthousandswerestillgatheredontheoutsideoftheportal.Theysatina
widecirclespreadingoutoneachsideoftheentrance,big,little,curly,handsome,mongrel,thoroughbreddogsof
everyage,complexion,andpersonality.Allwereapparentlywaitingforsomething,someone,andatthepadofthe
Airedale’sfeetonthehardroadtheyaroseandlookedinhisdirection.
Thattheinterestpassedassoonastheydiscoveredthenew-comertobeadogpuzzledhim.Inhisformerdwelling-
placeafour-footedbrotherwasgreetedwithenthusiasmwhenhewasafriend,withsuspiciousdiplomacywhena
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p g p p y
stranger,andwithsharpreproofwhenanenemy;butneverhadhebeenutterlyignored.
Herememberedsomethingthathehadreadmanytimesongreatbuildingswithloftyentrances.“Dogsnotadmitted,”
thesignshadsaid,andhefearedthismightbethereasonforthewaitingcircleoutsidethegate.Itmightbethatthis
nobleportalstoodasthedividing-linebetweenmeredogsandhumans.Buthehadbeenamemberofthefamily,
rompingwiththemintheliving-room,sittingatmealswiththeminthedining-room,goingupstairsatnightwiththem,
andthethoughtthathewastobe“keptout”wouldbeunendurable.
Hedespisedthepassivedogs.Theyshouldbetreatingabarrierafterthefashionoftheiroldcountry,leapingagainst
it,barking,andscratchingthenicelypainteddoor.Heboundedupthelastlittlehilltosetthemanexample,forhe
wasstillfulloftherebellionoftheworld;buthefoundnodoortoleapagainst.Hecouldseebeyondtheentrancedear
massesofpeople,yetnodogcrossedthethreshold.Theycontinuedintheirpatientring,theirgazeuponthewinding
road.
Henowadvancedcautiouslytoexaminethegate.Itoccurredtohimthatitmustbey-timeinthisregion,andhedid
notwishtomakehimselfridiculousbeforeallthesestrangersbytryingtoboltthroughaninvisiblemeshliketheone
thathadbafedhimwhenhewasalittlechap.Yettherewerenoscreens,anddespairenteredhissoul.Whatbitter
punishmentthesepoorbeastsmusthavesufferedbeforetheylearnedtostayonthissidethearchthatledtohumanbeings!Whathadtheydoneonearthtomeritthis?Stolenbonestroubledhisconscience,runawaydays,sleepingin
thebestchairuntilthekeyclickedinthelock.Theseweresins.
AtthatmomentanEnglishbull-terrier,white,withliver-coloredspotsandajauntymanner,approachedhim,snufing
inafriendlyway.Nosoonerhadthebull-terriersmelthiscollarthanhefelltoexpressinghisjoyatmeetinghim.The
Airedale’sreservewasquitethawedbythiswelcome,thoughhedidnotknowjustwhattomakeofit.
“Iknowyou!Iknowyou!”exclaimedthebull-terrier,addinginconsequently,“What’syourname?”
“Tamo’Shanter.TheycallmeTammy,”wastheanswer,withapardonablebreakinthevoice.
“Iknowthem,”saidthebull-terrier.“Nicefolks.”
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“Bestever,”saidtheAiredale,tryingtobenonchalant,andscratchingaeawhichwasnotthere.“Idon’trememberyou.Whendidyouknowthem?”
“Aboutfourteentagsago,whentheywererstmarried.Wekeeptrackoftimeherebythelicense-tags.Ihadfour.”
“Thisismyrstandonlyone.Youwerebeforemytime,Iguess.”Hefeltyoungandshy.
“Comeforawalk,andtellmeallaboutthem,”washisnewfriend’sinvitation.
“Aren’tweallowedinthere?”askedTam,lookingtowardthegate.
“Sure.Youcangoinwheneveryouwantto.Someofusdoatrst,butwedon’tstay.”
“Likeitbetteroutside?”
“No,no;itisn’tthat.”
“Thenwhyareallyoufellowshangingaroundhere?Anyolddogcanseeit’sbetterbeyondthearch.”
“Yousee,we’rewaitingforourfolkstocome.”
TheAiredalegraspeditatonce,andnoddedunderstandingly.
“IfeltthatwaywhenIcamealongtheroad.Itwouldn’tbewhatit’ssupposedtobewithoutthem.Itwouldn’tbetheperfectplace.”
“Nottous,”saidthebull-terrier.
“Fine!I’vestolenbones,butitmustbethatIhavebeenforgiven,ifI’mtoseethemhereagain.It’sthegreatgood
placeallright.Butlookhere,”headdedasanewthoughtstruckhim,“dotheywaitforus?”
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Theolderinhabitantcoughedinslightembarrassment.
“Thehumanscouldn’tdothatverywell.Itwouldn’tbethethingtohavethemhangaroundoutsideforjustadog—not
dignied.”
“Quiteright,”agreedTam.“I’mgladtheygostraighttotheirmansions.I’d—I’dhatetohavethemmissingmeasIam
missingthem.”Hesighed.“But,then,theywouldn’thavetowaitsolong.”
“Oh,well,they’regettingon.Don’tbediscouraged,”comfortedtheterrier.“Andinthemeantimeit’slikeabighotelin
summer—watchingthenewarrivals.See,thereissomethingdoingnow.”
Allthedogswerearousedtoexcitementbyalittleguremakingitswayuncertainlyupthelastslope.Halfofthem
startedtomeetit,crowdingaboutinaloving,eagerpack.
“Lookout;don’tscareit,”cautionedtheolderanimals,whilewordwaspassedtothosefarthestfromthegate:“Quick!
Quick!Ababy’scome!”
Beforetheyhadentirelyassembled,however,agauntyellowhoundpushedthroughthecrowd,gaveonesniffatthesmallchild,andwithayelpofjoycrouchedatitsfeet.Thebabyembracedthehoundinrecognition,andthetwo
movedtowardthegate.JustoutsidethehoundstoppedtospeaktoanaristocraticSt.Bernardwhohadbeenfriendly:
“Sorrytoleaveyou,oldfellow,”hesaid,“butI’mgoingintowatchoverthekid.Yousee,I’mallshehasuphere.”
Thebull-terrierlookedattheAiredaleforappreciation.
“That’sthewaywedoit,”hesaidproudly.
“Yes,but—”theAiredaleputhisheadononesideinperplexity.
“Yes,butwhat?”askedtheguide.
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“Thedogsthatdon’thaveanypeople—thenobodies’dogs?”
“That’sthebestofall.Oh,everythingisthoughtouthere.Crouchdown,—youmustbetired,—andwatch,”saidthebull-
terrier.
Soontheyspiedanothersmallformmakingtheturnintheroad.HeworeaBoyScout’suniform,buthewasalittle
fearful,forallthat,sonewwasthisadventure.Thedogsroseagainandsnufed,butthebettergroomedofthecircle
heldback,andintheirplaceapackofoddsandendsofthecompanyrandowntomeethim.TheBoyScoutwasre-
assuredbytheirfriendlyattitude,andafterpettingthemimpartially,hechoseanold-fashionedblackandtan,andthe
twopassedin.
Tamlookedquestioningly.
“Theydidn’tknoweachother!”heexclaimed.
“Butthey’vealwayswantedto.That’soneoftheboyswhousedtobegforadog,buthisfatherwouldn’tlethimhave
one.Soallourstrayswaitforjustsuchlittlefellowstocomealong.Everyboygetsadog,andeverydoggetsamas-
ter.”
“Iexpecttheboy’sfatherwouldliketoknowthatnow,”commentedtheAiredale.“Nodoubthethinksquiteoften,‘I
wishI’dlethimhaveadog.’”
Thebull-terrierlaughed.
“You’reprettyneartheearthyet,aren’tyou?”
Tamadmittedit.
“I’vealotofsympathywithfathersandwithboys,havingthembothinthefamily,andamotheraswell.”
Thebull-terrierleapedupinastonishment.
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“Youdon’tmeantosaytheykeepaboy?”
“Sure;greatestboyonearth.Tenthisyear.”
“Well,well,thisisnews!Iwishthey’dkeptaboywhenIwasthere.”
TheAiredalelookedathisnewfriendintently.
“Seehere,whoareyou?”hedemanded.
Buttheotherhurriedon:
“Iusedtorunawayfromthemjusttoplaywithaboy.They’dpunishme,andIalwayswantedtotellthemitwastheir
faultfornotgettingone.”
“Whoareyou,anyway?”repeatedTam.“Talkingallthisinterestinme,too.Whosedogwereyou?”
“You’vealreadyguessed.Iseeitinyourquiveringsnout.I’mtheolddogthathadtoleavethemabouttenyearsago.”
“TheirolddogBully?”
“Yes,I’mBully.”Theynosedeachotherwithdeeperaffection,thenstrolledaboutthegladesshouldertoshoulder.
Bullythemoreeagerlypressedfornews.“Tellme,howaretheygettingalong?”
“Verywellindeed;they’vepaidforthehouse.”
“I—Isupposeyouoccupythekennel?”
“No.Theysaidtheycouldn’tstandittoseeanotherdoginyouroldplace.”
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Bullystoppedtohowlgently.
“Thattouchesme.It’sgenerousinyoutotellit.Tothinktheymissedme!”
Foralittlewhiletheywentoninsilence,butaseveningfell,andthelightfromthegoldenstreetsinsideofthecity
gavetheonlyglowtothescene,Bullygrewnervousandsuggestedthattheygoback.
“Wecan’tseesowellatnight,andIliketobeprettyclosetothepath,especiallytowardmorning.”
Tamassented.
“AndIwillpointthemout.Youmightnotknowthemjustatrst.”
“Oh,weknowthem.Sometimesthebabieshavesogrownupthey’reratherhazyintheirrecollectionofhowwelook.
Theythinkwe’rebiggerthanweare;butyoucan’tfoolusdogs.”
“It’sunderstood,”Tamcunninglyarranged,“thatwhenheorshearrivesyou’llsortofmakethemfeelathomewhileI
waitfortheboy?”
“That’sthebestplan,”assentedBully,kindly.“Andifbyanychancethelittlefellowshouldcomerst,—there’sbeena
lotofthemthissummer—ofcourseyou’llintroduceme?”
“Ishallbeproudtodoit.”
Andsowithmuzzlessunkbetweentheirpaws,andwiththeireyesstrainingdownthepilgrims’road,theywaitoutside
thegate.
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Ligeia
ByEdgarAllanPoe
Andthewillthereinlieth,whichdiethnot.Whoknoweththemysteryofthewill,withitsvigor?ForGodisbutagreat
willpervadingallthingsbynatureofitsintentness.Mandothnotyieldhimselftotheangels,noruntodeathutterly,saveonlythroughtheweaknessofhisfeeblewill.—JosephGlanvill.
Icannot,formysoul,rememberhow,when,orevenpreciselywhere,IrstbecameacquaintedwiththeladyLigeia.
Longyearshavesinceelapsed,andmymemoryisfeeblethroughmuchsuffering.Or,perhaps,Icannotnowbring
thesepointstomind,because,intruth,thecharacterofmybeloved,herrarelearning,hersingularyetplacidcastof
beauty,andthethrillingandenthrallingeloquenceofherlowmusicallanguage,madetheirwayintomyheartbypac-
essosteadilyandstealthilyprogressive,thattheyhavebeenunnoticedandunknown.YetIbelievethatImetherrst
andmostfrequentlyinsomelarge,old,decayingcityneartheRhine.Ofherfamily—Ihavesurelyheardherspeak.
Thatitisofaremotelyancientdatecannotbedoubted.Ligeia!Ligeia!Buriedinstudiesofanaturemorethanallelseadaptedtodeadenimpressionsoftheoutwardworld,itisbythatsweetwordalone—byLigeia—thatIbringbeforemine
eyesinfancytheimageofherwhoisnomore.Andnow,whileIwrite,arecollectionashesuponmethatIhavenev-
erknownthepaternalnameofherwhowasmyfriendandmybethrothed,andwhobecamethepartnerofmystud-
ies,andnallythewifeofmybosom.WasitaplayfulchargeonthepartofmyLigeia?orwasitatestofmystrength
ofaffection,thatIshouldinstitutenoinquiriesuponthispoint?orwasitratheracapriceofmyown—awildlyromantic
offeringontheshrineofthemostpassionatedevotion?Ibutindistinctlyrecallthefactitself—whatwonderthatIhaveutterlyforgottenthecircumstanceswhichoriginatedorattendedit?And,indeed,ifeverthatspiritwhichisentitled
Romance—ifevershe,thewanmisty-wingedAshtophetofidolatrousEgypt,presided,astheytell,overmarriagesill-
omened,thenmostsurelyshepresidedovermine.
Thereisonedeartopic,however,onwhichmymemoryfailsmenot.ItisthepersonofLigeia.Instatureshewastall,
somewhatslender,and,inherlatterdays,evenemaciated.Iwouldinvainattempttoportraythemajesty,thequiet
easeofherdemeanor,ortheincomprehensiblelightnessandelasticityofherfootfall.Shecameanddepartedas
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ashadow.Iwasnevermadeawareofherentranceintomyclosedstudy,savebythedearmusicofherlowsweetvoice,assheplacedhermarblehanduponmyshoulder.Inbeautyoffacenomaideneverequaledher.Itwasthe
radianceofanopium-dream—anairyandspirit-liftingvisionmorewildlydivinethanthephantasieswhichhovered
abouttheslumberingsoulsofthedaughtersofDelos.Yetherfeatureswerenotofthatregularmoldwhichwehave
beenfalselytaughttoworshipintheclassicallaborsoftheheathen.“Thereisnoexquisitebeauty,”saysBacon,Lord
Verulam,speakingtrulyofalltheformsandgeneraofbeauty,“withoutsomestrangenessintheproportion.”Yet,
althoughIsawthatthefeaturesofLigeiawerenotofaclassicregularity—althoughIperceivedthatherloveliness
wasindeed“exquisite,”andfeltthattherewasmuchof“strangeness”pervadingit,yetIhavetriedinvaintodetect
theirregularityandtotracehomemyownperceptionof“thestrange.”Iexaminedthecontouroftheloftyandpale
forehead—itwasfaultless—howcoldindeedthatwordwhenappliedtoamajestysodivine!—theskinrivalingthepur-
estivory,thecommandingextentandrepose,thegentleprominenceoftheregionsabovethetemples;andthenthe
raven-black,theglossy,theluxuriant,andnaturally-curlingtresses,settingforththefullforceoftheHomericepithet,
“hyacinthine!”Ilookedatthedelicateoutlinesofthenose—andnowherebutinthegracefulmedallionsoftheHebrews
hadIbeheldasimilarperfection.Therewerethesameluxurioussmoothnessofsurface,thesamescarcelypercep-
tibletendencytotheaquiline,thesameharmoniouslycurvednostrilsspeakingthefreespirit.Iregardedthesweet
mouth.Herewasindeedthetriumphofallthingsheavenly—themagnicentturnoftheshortupperlip—thesoft,vo-
luptuousslumberoftheunder—thedimpleswhichsported,andthecolorwhichspoke—theteethglancingback,witha
brilliancyalmoststartling,everyrayoftheholylightwhichfellupontheminhersereneandplacidyetmostexultinglyradiantofallsmiles.Iscrutinizedtheformationofthechin—and,here,too,Ifoundthegentlenessofbreadth,thesoft-
nessandthemajesty,thefullnessandthespirituality,oftheGreek—thecontourwhichthegodApollorevealedbutin
adream,toCleomenes,thesonoftheAthenian.AndthenIpeeredintothelargeeyesofLigeia.
Foreyeswehavenomodelsintheremotelyantique.Itmighthavebeen,too,thatintheseeyesofmybelovedlaythe
secrettowhichLordVerulamalludes.Theywere,Imustbelieve,farlargerthantheordinaryeyesofourownrace.TheywereevenfullerthanthefullestofthegazelleeyesofthetribeofthevalleyofNourjahad.Yetitwasonlyat
intervals—inmomentsofintenseexcitement—thatthispeculiaritybecamemorethanslightlynoticeableinLigeia.And
atsuchmomentswasherbeauty—inmyheatedfancythusitappearedperhaps—thebeautyofbeingseitheraboveor
apartfromtheearth—thebeautyofthefabulousHourioftheTurk.Thehueoftheorbswasthemostbrilliantofblack,
and,faroverthem,hungjettylashesofgreatlength.Thebrows,slightlyirregularinoutline,hadthesametint.The
“strangeness,”however,whichIfoundintheeyeswasofanaturedistinctfromtheformation,orthecolor,orthebril-
liancyofthefeatures,andmust,afterall,bereferredtotheexpression.Ah,wordofnomeaning!behindwhosevast
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latitudeofmeresoundweintrenchourignoranceofsomuchofthespiritual.TheexpressionoftheeyesofLigeia!HowforlonghourshaveIpondereduponit!HowhaveI,throughthewholeofamidsummernight,struggledtofath-
omit!Whatwasit—thatsomethingmoreprofoundthanthewellofDemocritus—whichlayfarwithinthepupilsofmybe-
loved?Whatwasit?Iwaspossessedwithapassiontodiscover.Thoseeyes!thoselarge,thoseshining,thosedivine
orbs!theybecametometwinstarsofLeda,andItothemdevoutestofastrologers.
Thereisnopoint,amongthemanyincomprehensibleanomaliesofthescienceofmind,morethrillinglyexcitingthan
thefact—never,Ibelieve,noticedintheschools—thaninourendeavorstorecalltomemorysomethinglongforgotten,
weoftenndourselvesupontheveryvergeofremembrance,withoutbeingable,intheend,toremember.Andthus
howfrequently,inmyintensescrutinyofLigeia’seyes,haveIfeltapproachingthefullknowledgeoftheirexpres-
sion—feltitapproaching—yetnotquitebemine—andsoatlengthentirelydepart!And(strange,oh,strangestmystery
ofall!)Ifound,inthecommonestobjectsoftheuniverse,acircleofanalogiestothatexpression.Imeantosaythat,
subsequentlytotheperiodwhenLigeia’sbeautypassedintomyspirit,theredwellingasinashrine,Iderived,from
manyexistencesinthematerialworld,asentimentsuchasIfeltalwaysaround,withinme,byherlargeandluminous
orbs.YetnotthemorecouldIdenethatsentiment,oranalyze,orevensteadilyviewit.Irecognizedit,letmerepeat,
sometimesinthesurveyofarapidlygrowingvine—inthecontemplationofamoth,abuttery,achrysalis,astreamof
runningwater.Ihavefeltitintheocean—inthefallingofameteor.Ihavefeltitintheglancesofunusuallyagedpeo-
ple.Andthereareoneortwostarsinheaven(oneespecially,astarofthesixthmagnitude,doubleandchangeable,tobefoundnearthelargestarinLyra)inatelescopicscrutinyofwhichIhavebeenmadeawareofthefeeling.Ihave
beenlledwithitbycertainsoundsfromstringedinstruments,andnotunfrequentlybypassagesfrombooks.Among
innumerableotherinstances,IwellremembersomethinginavolumeofJosephGlanvill,which(perhapsmerelyfrom
itsquaintness—whoshallsay?)neverfailedtoinspiremewiththesentiment:“Andthewillthereinlieth,whichdieth
not.Whoknoweththemysteriesofthewill,withitsvigor?ForGodisbutagreatwillpervadingallthingsbynature
ofitsintentness.Mandothnotyieldhimtotheangels,noruntodeathutterly,saveonlythroughtheweaknessofhisfeeblewill.”
Lengthofyearsandsubsequentreectionhaveenabledmetotrace,indeed,someremoteconnectionbetweenthis
passageintheEnglishmoralistandaportionofthecharacterofLigeia.Anintensityinthought,action,orspeechwas
possibly,inher,aresult,oratleastanindex,ofthatgiganticvolitionwhich,duringourlongintercourse,failedtogive
otherandmoreimmediateevidenceofitsexistence.OfallthewomenwhomIhaveeverknown,she,theoutwardly
calm,theever-placidLigeia,wasthemostviolentlyapreytothetumultuousvulturesofsternpassion.Andofsuch
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passionIcouldformnoestimate,savebythemiraculousexpansionofthoseeyeswhichatoncesodelightedandappalledme,—bythealmostmagicalmelody,modulation,distinctness,andplacidityofherverylowvoice,—andbythe
erceenergy(rendereddoublyeffectivebycontrastwithhermannerofutterance)ofthewildwordswhichshehabitu-
allyuttered.
IhavespokenofthelearningofLigeia:itwasimmense—suchasIhaveneverknowninwoman.Intheclassical
tongueswasshedeeplyprocient,andasfarasmyownacquaintanceextendedinregardtothemoderndialectsof
Europe,Ihaveneverknownheratfault.Indeeduponanythemeofthemostadmiredbecausesimplythemostab-
struseoftheboastederuditionoftheAcademy,haveIeverfoundLigeiaatfault?Howsingularly—howthrillingly,this
onepointinthenatureofmywifehasforceditself,atthislateperiodonly,uponmyattention!Isaidherknowledge
wassuchasIhaveneverknowninwoman—butwherebreathesthemanwhohastraversed,andsuccessfully,allthe
wideareasofmoral,physical,andmathematicalscience?IsawnotthenwhatInowclearlyperceivethattheacquisi-
tionsofLigeiaweregigantic,wereastounding;yetIwassufcientlyawareofherinnitesupremacytoresignmyself,
withachild-likecondence,toherguidancethroughthechaoticworldofmetaphysicalinvestigationatwhichIwas
mostbusilyoccupiedduringtheearlieryearsofourmarriage.Withhowvastatriumph—withhowvividadelight—with
howmuchofallthatisetherealinhopedidIfeel,asshebentovermeinstudiesbutlittlesought—butlessknown,—
thatdeliciousvistabyslowdegreesexpandingbeforeme,downwhoselong,gorgeous,andalluntroddenpath,I
mightatlengthpassonwardtothegoalofawisdomtoodivinelypreciousnottobeforbidden.
Howpoignant,then,musthavebeenthegriefwithwhich,aftersomeyears,Ibeheldmywell-groundedexpecta-
tionstakewingstothemselvesandyaway!WithoutLigeiaIwasbutasachildgropingbenighted.Herpresence,
herreadingsalone,renderedvividlyluminousthemanymysteriesofthetranscendentalisminwhichwewereim-
mersed.Wantingtheradiantlusterofhereyes,letters,lambentandgolden,grewdullerthanSaturnianlead.Andnow
thoseeyesshonelessandlessfrequentlyuponthepagesoverwhichIpored.Ligeiagrewill.Thewildeyesblazedwithatoo—toogloriouseffulgence;thepalengersbecameofthetransparentwaxenhueofthegrave;andtheblue
veinsupontheloftyforeheadswelledandsankimpetuouslywiththetidesofthemostgentleemotion.Isawthatshe
mustdie—andIstruggleddesperatelyinspiritwiththegrimAzrael.Andthestrugglesofthepassionatewifewere,to
myastonishment,evenmoreenergeticthanmyown.Therehadbeenmuchinhersternnaturetoimpressmewith
thebeliefthat,toher,deathwouldhavecomewithoutitsterrors;butnotso.Wordsareimpotenttoconveyanyjust
ideaoftheercenessofresistancewithwhichshewrestledwiththeShadow.Igroanedinanguishatthepitiable
spectacle.Iwouldhavesoothed—Iwouldhavereasoned;butintheintensityofherwilddesireforlife—forlife—butfor
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life—solaceandreasonwerealiketheuttermostoffolly.Yetnotuntilthelastinstance,amidthemostconvulsivewrith-ingsofherercespirit,wasshakentheexternalplacidityofherdemeanor.Hervoicegrewmoregentle—grewmore
low—yetIwouldnotwishtodwelluponthewildmeaningofthequietlyutteredwords.MybrainreeledasIhearkened,
entranced,toamelodymorethanmortal—toassumptionsandaspirationswhichmortalityhadneverbeforeknown.
ThatshelovedmeIshouldnothavedoubted;andImighthavebeeneasilyawarethat,inabosomsuchashers,love
wouldhavereignednoordinarypassion.ButindeathonlywasIfullyimpressedwiththestrengthofheraffection.For
longhours,detainingmyhand,wouldshepouroutbeforemetheoverowingofaheartwhosemorethanpassion-
atedevotionamountedtoidolatry.HowhadIdeservedtobesoblessedbysuchconfessions?—howhadIdeserved
tobesocursedwiththeremovalofmybelovedinthehourofmymakingthem?ButuponthissubjectIcannotbearto
dilate.Letmesayonly,thatinLigeia’smorethanwomanlyabandonmenttoalove,alas!allunmerited,allunworthily
bestowed,Iatlength,recognizedtheprincipleofherlonging,withsowildlyearnestadesire,forthelifewhichwas
noweeingsorapidlyaway.Itisthiswildlonging—itisthiseagervehemenceofdesireforlife—butforlife—thatIhave
nopowertoportray—noutterancecapableofexpressing.
Athighnoonofthenightinwhichshedeparted,beckoningme,peremptorily,toherside,shebademerepeatcertain
versescomposedbyherselfnotmanydaysbefore.Iobeyedher.Theywerethese:—
o!‘tisagalanight
Withinthelonesomelatteryears!
Anangelthrong,bewinged,bedight
Inveils,anddrownedintears,
Sitinatheatre,tosee
Aplayofhopesandfears,Whiletheorchestrabreathestfully
Themusicofthespheres.
Mimes,intheformofGodonhigh,
Mutterandmumblelow,
Andhitherandthithery;
Merepuppetsthey,whocomeandgo
Atbiddingofvastformlessthings
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Thatshiftthescenerytoandfro,Flappingfromouttheircondorwings
InvisibleWo!
Thatmotleydrama!—oh,besure
Itshallnotbeforgot!
WithitsPhantomchasedforevermore
Byacrowdthatseizeitnot,
Throughacirclethateverreturnethin
Totheself-samespot;
AndmuchofMadness,andmoreofSin AndHorror,thesouloftheplot!
Butsee,amidthemimicrout,
Acrawlingshapeintrude!
Ablood-redthingthatwrithesfromout
Thescenicsolitude!
Itwrithes!—itwrithes!—withmortalpangs
Themimesbecomeitsfood,
AndtheseraphssobatverminfangsInhumangoreimbued.
Out—outarethelights—outall:
Andovereachquiveringform,
Thecurtain,afuneralpall,
Comesdownwiththerushofastorm—
Andtheangels,allpallidandwan,Uprising,unveiling,afrm
Thattheplayisthetragedy,“Man,”
Anditshero,theconquerorWorm.
“OGod!”halfshriekedLigeia,leapingtoherfeetandextendingherarmsaloftwithaspasmodicmovement,asImade
anendoftheselines—”OGod!ODivineFather!—shallthesethingsbeundeviatinglyso?—shallthisconquerorbenot
onceconquered?ArewenotpartandparcelinThee?Who—whoknoweththemysteriesofthewillwithitsvigor?Man
dothnotyieldhimtotheangels,noruntodeathutterly,saveonlythroughtheweaknessofhisfeeblewill.”
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Andnow,asifexhaustedwithemotion,shesufferedherwhitearmstofall,andreturnedsolemnlytoherbedofdeath.
Andasshebreathedherlastsighs,therecamemingledwiththemalowmurmurfromherlips.Ibenttothemmyear,
anddistinguished,again,theconcludingwordsofthepassageinGlanvill:“Mandothnotyieldhimtotheangels,nor
untodeathutterly,saveonlythroughtheweaknessofhisfeeblewill.”
Shedied:andI,crushedintotheverydustwithsorrow,couldnolongerendurethelonelydesolationofmydwellingin
thedimanddecayingcitybytheRhine.Ihadnolackofwhattheworldcallswealth.Ligeiahadbroughtmefarmore,
veryfarmore,thanordinarilyfallstothelotofmortals.Afterafewmonths,therefore,ofwearyandaimlesswander-
ing,Ipurchasedandputinsomerepair,anabbey,whichIshallnotname,inoneofthewildestandleastfrequentedportionsoffairEngland.Thegloomyanddrearygrandeurofthebuilding,thealmostsavageaspectofthedomain,
themanymelancholyandtime-honoredmemoriesconnectedwithboth,hadmuchinunisonwiththefeelingsofut-
terabandonmentwhichhaddrivenmeintothatremoteandunsocialregionofthecountry.Yetalthoughtheexternal
abbey,withitsverdantdecayhangingaboutit,sufferedbutlittlealteration,Igaveway,withachild-likeperversity,
andperchancewithafainthopeofalleviatingmysorrows,toadisplayofmorethanregalmagnicencewithin.For
suchfollies,eveninchildhood,Ihadimbibedataste,andnowtheycamebacktomeasifinthedotageofgrief.Alas,
Ifeelhowmuchevenofincipientmadnessmighthavebeendiscoveredinthegorgeousandfantasticdraperies,in
thesolemncarvingsofEgypt,inthewildcornicesandfurniture,intheBedlampatternsofthecarpetsoftuftedgold!Ihadbecomeaboundenslaveinthetrammelsofopium,andmylaborsandmyordershadtakenacoloringfrom
mydreams.ButtheseabsurditiesImustnotpausetodetail.Letmespeakonlyofthatonechamber,everaccursed,
whither,inamomentofmentalalienation,Iledfromthealtarasmybride—asthesuccessoroftheunforgottenLigeia—
thefair-hairedandblue-eyedLadyRowenaTrevanion,ofTremaine.
Thereisnoindividualportionofthearchitectureanddecorationofthatbridalchamberwhichisnotvisiblybeforeme.Wherewerethesoulsofthehaughtyfamilyofthebride,when,throughthirstofgold,theypermittedtopassthe
thresholdofanapartmentsobedecked,amaidenandadaughtersobeloved?Ihavesaid,thatIminutelyremem-
berthedetailsofthechamber—yetIamsadlyforgetfulontopicsofdeepmoment;andheretherewasnosystem,no
keeping,inthefantasticdisplaytotakeholduponthememory.Theroomlayinahighturretofthecastellatedabbey,
waspentagonalinshape,andofcapacioussize.Occupyingthewholesouthernfaceofthepentagonalwasthesole
window—animmensesheetofunbrokenglassfromVenice—asinglepane,andtintedofaleadenhue,sothattherays
ofeitherthesunormoonpassingthroughit,fellwithaghastlylusterontheobjectswithin.Overtheupperportionof
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thishugewindowextendedthetrellis-workofanagedvine,whichclamberedupthemassywallsoftheturret.Theceiling,ofgloomy-lookingoak,wasexcessivelylofty,vaulted,andelaboratelyfrettedwiththewildestandmostgro-
tesquespecimensofasemi-Gothic,semi-Druidicaldevice.Fromoutthemostcentralrecessofthismelancholyvault-
ing,depended,byasinglechainofgoldwithlonglinks,ahugecenserofthesamemetal,Saracenicinpattern,and
withmanyperforationssocontrivedthattherewrithedinandoutofthem,asifenduedwithaserpentvitality,acon-
tinualsuccessionofparti-coloredres.
Somefewottomansandgoldencandelabra,ofEasterngure,wereinvariousstationsabout;andtherewasthe
couch,too—thebridalcouch—ofanIndianmodel,andlow,andsculpturedofsolidebony,withapall-likecanopy
above.Ineachoftheanglesofthechamberstoodonendagiganticsarcophagusofblackgranite,fromthetombsofthekingsoveragainstLuxor,withtheiragedlidsfullofimmemorialsculpture.Butinthedrapingoftheapartmentlay,
alas!thechiefphantasyofall.Theloftywalls,giganticinheight—evenunproportionablyso—werehungfromsummitto
foot,invastfolds,withaheavyandmassive-lookingtapestry—tapestryofamaterialwhichwasfoundalikeasacarpet
ontheoor,asacoveringfortheottomansandtheebonybed,asacanopyforthebed,andasthegorgeousvolutes
ofthecurtainswhichpartiallyshadedthewindow.Thematerialwastherichestclothofgold.Itwasspottedallover,
atirregularintervals,witharabesquegures,aboutafootindiameter,andwroughtupontheclothinpatternsofthe
mostjettyblack.Butthesegurespartookofthetruecharacterofthearabesqueonlywhenregardedfromasingle
pointofview.Byacontrivancenowcommon,andindeedtraceabletoaveryremoteperiodofantiquity,theyweremadechangeableinaspect.Tooneenteringtheroom,theyboretheappearanceofsimplemonstrosities;butupona
fartheradvance,thisappearancegraduallydeparted;and,stepbystep,asthevisitormovedhisstationinthecham-
ber,hesawhimselfsurroundedbyanendlesssuccessionoftheghastlyformswhichbelongtothesuperstitionofthe
Norman,orariseintheguiltyslumbersofthemonk.Thephantasmagoriceffectwasvastlyheightenedbythearticial
introductionofastrongcontinualcurrentofwindbehindthedraperies—givingahideousanduneasyanimationtothe
whole.
Inhallssuchasthese—inabridalchambersuchasthis—Ipassed,withtheLadyofTremaine,theunhallowedhours
oftherstmonthofourmarriage—passedthemwithbutlittledisquietude.Thatmywifedreadedtheercemoodi-
nessofmytemper—thatsheshunnedme,andlovedmebutlittle—Icouldnothelpperceiving;butitgavemerather
pleasurethanotherwise.Iloathedherwithahatredbelongingmoretodemonthantoman.Mymemoryewback
(oh,withwhatintensityofregret!)toLigeia,thebeloved,theaugust,thebeautiful,theentombed.Ireveledinrecollec-
tionsofherpurity,ofherwisdom,ofherlofty—heretherealnature,ofherpassionate,heridolatrouslove.Now,then,
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didmyspiritfullyandfreelyburnwithmorethanalltheresofherown.Intheexcitementofmyopiumdreams(forIwashabituallyfetteredintheshacklesofthedrug),Iwouldcallalouduponhername,duringthesilenceofthenight,
oramongtheshelteredrecessesoftheglensbyday,asif,throughthewildeagerness,thesolemnpassion,thecon-
sumingardorofmylongingforthedeparted,Icouldrestorehertothepathwaysshehadabandoned—ah,coulditbe
forever?—upontheearth.
Aboutthecommencementofthesecondmonthofthemarriage,theLadyRowenawasattackedwithsuddenillness,
fromwhichherrecoverywasslow.Thefeverwhichconsumedherrenderedhernightsuneasy;andinherperturbed
stateofhalf-slumber,shespokeofsounds,andofmotions,inandaboutthechamberoftheturret,whichIconcluded
hadnooriginsaveinthedistemperofherfancy,orperhapsinthephantasmagoricinuencesofthechamberitself.Shebecameatlengthconvalescent—nally,well.Yetbutasecondmoreviolentdisorderagainthrewheruponabed
ofsuffering;andfromthisattackherframe,atalltimesfeeble,neveraltogetherrecovered.Herillnesseswere,after
thisepoch,ofalarmingcharacter,andofmorealarmingrecurrence,defyingaliketheknowledgeandthegreatex-
ertionsofherphysicians.Withtheincreaseofthechronicdisease,whichhadthus,apparently,takentoosurehold
uponherconstitutiontobeeradicatedbyhumanmeans,Icouldnotfailtoobserveasimilarincreaseinthenervousir-
ritationofhertemperament,andinherexcitabilitybytrivialcausesoffear.Shespokeagain,andnowmorefrequently
andpertinaciously,ofthesounds—oftheslightsounds—andoftheunusualmotionsamongthetapestries,towhichshe
hadformerlyalluded.
Onenight,neartheclosinginofSeptember,shepressedthisdistressingsubjectwithmorethanusualemphasis
uponmyattention.Shehadjustawakenedfromanunquietslumber,andIhadbeenwatching,withfeelingshalfof
anxiety,halfofvagueterror,theworkingsofheremaciatedcountenance.Isatbythesideofherebonybed,uponone
oftheottomansofIndia.Shepartlyarose,andspoke,inanearnestlowwhisper,ofsoundswhichshethenheard,but
whichIcouldnothear—ofmotionswhichshethensaw,butwhichIcouldnotperceive.Thewindwasrushinghurriedlybehindthetapestries,andIwishedtoshowher(what,letmeconfessit,Icouldnotallbelieve)thatthosealmostin-
articulatebreathings,andthoseverygentlevariationsoftheguresuponthewall,werebutthenaturaleffectsofthat
customaryrushingofthewind.Butadeadlypallor,overspreadingherface,hadprovedtomethatmyexertionsto
reassureherwouldbefruitless.Sheappearedtobefainting,andnoattendantswerewithincall.Irememberedwhere
wasdepositedadecanteroflightwinewhichhadbeenorderedbyherphysicians,andhastenedacrossthechamber
toprocureit.But,asIsteppedbeneaththelightofthecenser,twocircumstancesofastartlingnatureattractedmy
attention.Ihadfeltthatsomepalpablealthoughinvisibleobjecthadpassedlightlybymyperson;andIsawthatthere
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layuponthegoldencarpet,intheverymiddleoftherichlusterthrownfromthecenser,ashadow—afaint,indeniteshadowofangelicaspect—suchasmightbefanciedfortheshadowofashade.ButIwaswildwiththeexcitement
ofanimmoderatedoseofopium,andheededthesethingsbutlittle,norspokeofthemtoRowena.Havingfound
thewine,Irecrossedthechamber,andpouredoutagobletful,whichIheldtothelipsofthefaintinglady.Shehad
nowpartiallyrecovered,however,andtookthevesselherself,whileIsankuponanottomannearme,withmyeyes
fasteneduponherperson.ItwasthenthatIbecamedistinctlyawareofagentlefootfalluponthecarpet,andnear
thecouch;andinasecondthereafter,asRowenawasintheactofraisingthewinetoherlips,Isaw,ormayhave
dreamedthatIsaw,fallwithinthegoblet,asiffromsomeinvisiblespringintheatmosphereoftheroom,threeorfour
largedropsofabrilliantandrubycoloreduid.IfthisIsaw—notsoRowena.Sheswallowedthewineunhesitatingly,
andIforeboretospeaktoherofacircumstancewhichmust,afterall,Iconsidered,havebeenbutthesuggestionofavividimagination,renderedmorbidlyactivebytheterrorofthelady,bytheopium,andbythehour.
YetIcannotconcealitfrommyownperceptionthat,immediatelysubsequenttothefalloftherubydrops,arapid
changefortheworsetookplaceinthedisorderofmywife;sothat,onthethirdsubsequentnight,thehandsofher
menialspreparedherforthetomb,andonthefourth,Isatalone,withhershroudedbody,inthatfantasticchamber
whichhadreceivedherasmybride.Wildvisions,opium-engendered,itted,shadow-like,beforeme.Igazedwith
unquieteyeuponthesarcophagiintheanglesoftheroom,uponthevaryingguresofthedrapery,anduponthe
writhingoftheparti-coloredresinthecenseroverhead.Myeyesthenfell,asIcalledtomindthecircumstancesofaformernight,tothespotbeneaththeglareofthecenserwhereIhadseenthefainttracesoftheshadow.Itwas
there,however,nolonger;andbreathingwithgreaterfreedom,Iturnedmyglancestothepallidandrigidgureupon
thebed.ThenrusheduponmeathousandmemoriesofLigeia—andthencamebackuponmyheart,withtheturbu-
lentviolenceofaood,thewholeofthatunutterablewoewithwhichIhadregardedherthusenshrouded.Thenight
waned;andstill,withabosomfullofbitterthoughtsoftheoneonlyandsupremelybeloved,Iremainedgazingupon
thebodyofRowena.
Itmighthavebeenmidnight,orperhapsearlier,orlater,forIhadtakennonoteoftime,whenasob,low,gentle,but
verydistinct,startledmefrommyrevery.Ifeltthatitcamefromthebedofebony—thebedofdeath.Ilistenedinan
agonyofsuperstitiousterror—buttherewasnorepetitionofthesound.Istrainedmyvisiontodetectanymotioninthe
corpse—buttherewasnottheslightestperceptible.YetIcouldnothavebeendeceived.Ihadheardthenoise,how-
everfaint,andmysoulwasawakenedwithinme.Iresolutelyandperseveringlykeptmyattentionriveteduponthe
body.Manyminuteselapsedbeforeanycircumstanceoccurredtendingtothrowlightuponthemystery.Atlengthit
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becameevidentthataslight,averyfeeble,andbarelynoticeabletingeofcolorhadushedupwithinthecheeks,andalongthesunkensmallveinsoftheeyelids.Throughaspeciesofunutterablehorrorandawe,forwhichthelanguage
ofmortalityhasnosufcientlyenergeticexpression,Ifeltmyheartceasetobeat,mylimbsgrowrigidwhereIsat.Yet
asenseofdutynallyoperatedtorestoremyself-possession.Icouldnolongerdoubtthatwehadbeenprecipitatein
ourpreparations—thatRowenastilllived.Itwasnecessarythatsomeimmediateexertionbemade;yettheturretwas
altogetherapartfromtheportionoftheabbeytenantedbytheservants—therewerenonewithincall—Ihadnomeans
ofsummoningthemtomyaidwithoutleavingtheroomformanyminutes—andthisIcouldnotventuretodo.Ithere-
forestruggledaloneinmyendeavorstocallbackthespiritstillhovering.Inashortperioditwascertain,however,that
arelapsehadtakenplace;thecolordisappearedfrombotheyelidandcheek,leavingawannessevenmorethanthat
ofmarble;thelipsbecamedoublyshriveledandpinchedupintheghastlyexpressionofdeath;arepulsiveclammi-nessandcoldnessoverspreadrapidlythesurfaceofthebody;andalltheusualrigorousstiffnessimmediatelysuper-
vened.IfellbackwithashudderuponthecouchfromwhichIhadbeensostartlinglyaroused,andagaingavemyself
uptopassionatewakingvisionsofLigeia.
Anhourthuselapsed,when(coulditbepossible?)Iwasasecondtimeawareofsomevaguesoundissuingfrom
theregionofthebed.Ilistened—inextremityofhorror.Thesoundcameagain—itwasasigh.Rushingtothecorpse,
Isaw—distinctlysaw—atremoruponthelips.Inaminuteafterwardtheyrelaxed,disclosingabrightlineofthepearly
teeth.Amazementnowstruggledinmybosomwiththeprofoundawewhichhadhithertoreignedtherealone.Ifeltthatmyvisiongrewdim,thatmyreasonwandered;anditwasonlybyaviolenteffortthatIatlengthsucceededin
nervingmyselftothetaskwhichdutythusoncemorehadpointedout.Therewasnowapartialglowuponthefore-
headanduponthecheekandthroat;aperceptiblewarmthpervadedthewholeframe;therewasevenaslightpul-
sationattheheart.Theladylived;andwithredoubledardorIbetookmyselftothetaskofrestoration.Ichafedand
bathedthetemplesandthehandsandusedeveryexertionwhichexperience,andnolittlemedicalreading,could
suggest.Butinvain.Suddenly,thecolored,thepulsationceased,thelipsresumedtheexpressionofthedead,and,inaninstantafterward,thewholebodytookuponitselftheicychilliness,thelividhue,theintenserigidity,thesunken
outline,andalltheloathsomepeculiaritiesofthatwhichhasbeen,formanydays,atenantofthetomb.
AndagainIsunkintovisionsofLigeia—andagain(whatmarvelthatIshudderwhileIwrite?),againtherereachedmy
earsalowsobfromtheregionoftheebonybed.ButwhyshallIminutelydetailtheunspeakablehorrorsofthatnight?
WhyshallIpausetorelatehow,timeaftertime,untilneartheperiodofthegraydawn,thishideousdramaofrevivi-
cationwasrepeated;howeachterricrelapsewasonlyintoasternerandapparentlymoreirredeemabledeath;how
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eachagonyworetheaspectofastrugglewithsomeinvisiblefoe;andhoweachstrugglewassucceededbyIknownotwhatofwildchangeinthepersonalappearanceofthecorpse?Letmehurrytoaconclusion.
Thegreaterpartofthefearfulnighthadwornaway,andshewhohadbeendeadonceagainstirred—andnowmore
vigorouslythanhitherto,althougharousingfromadissolutionmoreappallinginitsutterhopelessnessthanany.Ihad
longceasedtostruggleortomove,andremainedsittingrigidlyupontheottoman,ahelplesspreytoawhirlofviolent
emotions,ofwhichextremeawewasperhapstheleastterrible,theleastconsuming.Thecorpse,Irepeat,stirred,and
nowmorevigorouslythanbefore.Thehuesoflifeushedupwithunwontedenergyintothecountenance—thelimbs
relaxed—and,savethattheeyelidswereyetpressedheavilytogether,andthatthebandagesanddraperiesofthe
gravestillimpartedtheircharnelcharactertothegure,ImighthavedreamedthatRowenahadindeedshakenoff,utterly,thefettersofDeath.Butifthisideawasnot,eventhen,altogetheradopted,Icouldatleastdoubtnolonger,
when,arisingfromthebed,tottering,withfeeblesteps,withclosedeyes,andwiththemannerofonebewilderedina
dream,thethingthatwasenshroudedadvancedboldlyandpalpablyintothemiddleoftheapartment.
Itremblednot—Istirrednot—foracrowdofunutterablefanciesconnectedwiththeair,thestature,thedemeanor,ofthe
gure,rushinghurriedlythroughmybrain,hadparalyzed—hadchilledmeintostone.Istirrednot—butgazeduponthe
apparition.Therewasamaddisorderinmythoughts—atumultunappeasable.Couldit,indeed,bethelivingRowena
whoconfrontedme?Couldit,indeed,beRowenaatall—thefair-haired,theblue-eyedLadyRowenaTrevanionofTre-maine?Why,whyshouldIdoubtit?Thebandagelayheavilyaboutthemouth—butthenmightitnotbethemouthof
thebreathingLadyofTremaine?Andthecheeks—thereweretherosesasinhernoonoflife—yes,thesemightindeed
bethefaircheeksofthelivingLadyofTremaine.Andthechin,withitsdimples,asinhealth,mightitnotbehers?—but
hadshethengrowntallersincehermalady?Whatinexpressiblemadnessseizedmewiththatthought?Onebound,
andIhadreachedherfeet!Shrinkingfrommytouch,sheletfallfromherhead,unloosened,theghastlycerements
whichhadconnedit,andtherestreamedforthintotherushingatmosphereofthechamberhugemassesoflonganddisheveledhair;itwasblackerthantheravenwingsofmidnight.Andnowslowlyopenedtheeyesofthegurewhich
stoodbeforeme.“Herethen,atleast,”Ishriekedaloud,“canInever—canIneverbemistaken—thesearethefull,and
theblack,andthewildeyes—ofmylostlove—oftheLady—oftheLADYLIGEIA.”
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The Haunted Orchard
ByRichardLeGallienne
FromHarper’sMagazine,January,1912.BypermissionofHarperandBrothersandRichardLeGallienne.
Springwasoncemoreintheworld.Asshesangtoherselfinthefarawaywoodlandshervoicereachedeventheearsofthecity,wearywiththelongwinter.DaffodilsoweredattheentrancestotheSubway,furnitureremovingvans
blockedthesidestreets,childrenclusteredlikeblossomsonthedoorsteps,theopencarswererunning,andthecry
ofthe“cashclo’”manwasoncemoreheardintheland.
Yes,itwasthespring,andthecitydreamedwistfullyoflilacsandthedewypipingofbirdsingnarledoldapple-trees,
ofdogwoodlightingupwithsuddensilverthethickeningwoods,ofwater-plantsunfoldingtheirglossyscrollsinpoolsofmorningfreshness.
OnSundaymornings,theoutboundtrainswerethrongedwitheagerpilgrims,hasteningoutofthecity,tobeholdonce
moretheancientmarvelofthespring;and,onSundayevenings,therailwayterminiwereaowerwithbannersof
blossomfromriedwoodlandandorchardcarriedinthehandsofthereturningpilgrims,whoseeyesstillshonewith
thespringmagic,inwhoseearsstillsangthefairymusic.
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AndasIbeheldthesesignsofthevernalequinoxIknewthatI,too,mustfollowthemusic,forsakeawhilethebeauti-fulsirenwecallthecity,andinthegreensilencesmeetoncemoremysweetheartSolitude.
AsthetraindrewoutoftheGrandCentral,Ihummedtomyself,
“I’veaneater,sweetermaiden,inagreener,cleanerland”
andsoIsaidgood-bytothecity,andwentforthwithbeatinghearttomeetthespring.
IhadbeentoldofanalmostforgottencorneronthesouthcoastofConnecticut,wherethespringandIcouldliveinan
inviolateloneliness—aplaceuninhabitedsavebybirdsandblossoms,woodsandthickgrass,andanoccasionalsilentfarmer,andpervadedbythebreathandshimmeroftheSound.
Norhadrumorlied,forwhenthetrainsetmedownatmydestinationIsteppedoutintothemostwonderfulgreen
hush,aleafySabbathsilencethroughwhichtheverytrain,asitwentfartheronitsway,seemedtostealasnoiseless-
lyaspossibleforfearofbreakingthespell.
Afterawinterinthetown,tobedroppedthussuddenlyintotheintensequietofthecountry-sidemakesanalmost
ghostlyimpressionuponone,asofanenchantedsilence,asilencethatlistensandwatchesbutneverspeaks,ngeronlip.Thereisaspectralqualityabouteverythinguponwhichtheeyefalls:thewoods,likegreatgreenclouds,the
waysideowers,thestillfarm-houseshalflostinorchardbloom—allseemtoexistinadream.Everythingissostill,
everythingsosupernaturallygreen.Nothingmovesortalks,exceptthegentlesusurrusofthespringwindswayingthe
youngbudshighupinthequietsky,orabirdnowandagain,oralittlebrooksingingsoftlytoitselfamongthecrowd-
ingrushes.
Though,fromthehousesonenoteshereandthere,thereareevidentlyhumaninhabitantsofthisgreensilence,none
aretobeseen.Ihaveoftenwonderedwherethecountryfolkhidethemselves,asIhavewalkedhourafterhour,past
farmandcroftandlonelydoor-yards,andnevercaughtsightofahumanface.Ifyoushouldwanttoasktheway,a
farmerisasshyasasquirrel,andifyouknockatafarm-housedoor,allisassilentasarabbit-warren.
AsIwalkedalongintheenchantedstillness,Icameatlengthtoaquaintoldfarm-house—”oldColonial”initsarchitec-
ture—emboweredinwhitelilacs,andsurroundedbyanorchardofancientapple-treeswhichcastarichshadeonthe
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deepspringgrass.Theorchardhadtheimpressivenessofthoseoldreligiousgroves,dedicatedtothestrangewor-shipofsylvangods,godstobefoundnowonlyinHoraceorCatullus,andintheheartsofyoungpoetstowhomthe
beautifulantiqueLatinisstilldear.
TheoldhouseseemedalreadytheabodeofSolitude.AsIliftedthelatchofthewhitegateandwalkedacrossthe
forgottengrass,andupontotheverandaalreadyfestoonedwithwistaria,andlookedintothewindow,IsawSolitude
sittingbyanoldpiano,onwhichnocomposerlaterthanBachhadeverbeenplayed.
Inotherwords,thehousewasempty;andgoingroundtotheback,whereoldbarnsandstablesleanedtogetherasif
fallingasleep,Ifoundabrokenpane,andsoclimbedinandwalkedthroughtheechoingrooms.Thehousewasverylonely.Evidentlynoonehadlivedinitforalongtime.Yetitwasallreadyforsomeoccupant,forwhomitseemedto
bewaiting.Quaintoldfour-posterbedsteadsstoodinthreerooms—dimitycurtainsandspotlesslinen—oldoakchests
andmahoganypresses;and,openingdrawersinChippendalesideboards,Icameuponbeautifulfrailoldsilverand
exquisitechinathatsetmethinkingofabeautifulgrandmotherofmine,madeoutofoldlaceandlaughingwrinkles
andmischievousoldblueeyes.
Therewasonelittleroomthatparticularlyinterestedme,atinybedroomallwhite,andatthewindowtheredroses
werealreadyinbud.Butwhatcaughtmyeyewithpeculiarsympathywasasmallbookcase,inwhichweresometwentyorthirtyvolumes,wearingthesameforgottenexpression—forgottenandyetcaredfor—whichlaylikeakindof
memorialcharmuponeverythingintheoldhouse.Yes,everythingseemedforgottenandyeteverything,curiously—
evenreligiously—remembered.Itookoutbookafterbookfromtheshelves,onceortwiceowersfelloutfromthe
pages—andIcaughtsightofadelicatehandwritinghereandthereandfrailmarkings.Itwasevidentlythelittleintimate
libraryofayounggirl.WhatsurprisedmemostwastondthatquitehalfthebookswereinFrench—Frenchpoetsand
Frenchromancers:acharming,veryrareeditionofRonsard,abeautifullyprintededitionofAlfreddeMusset,andacopyofThéophileGautier’sMademoiselledeMaupin.Howdidtheseexoticbookscometobetherealoneinadesert-
edNewEnglandfarm-house?
Thisquestionwastobeansweredlaterinastrangeway.MeanwhileIhadfalleninlovewiththesad,old,silentplace,
andasIclosedthewhitegateandwasoncemoreontheroad,Ilookedaboutforsomeonewhocouldtellmewhether
ornotthishouseofghostsmightberentedforthesummerbyacomparativelylivingman.
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IwasreferredtoaneoldNewEnglandfarm-houseshiningwhitethroughthetreesaquarterofamileaway.ThereImetanancientcouple,atypicalNewEnglandfarmerandhiswife;theoldman,lean,chin-bearded,withkeengray
eyesickeringoccasionallywithashrewdhumor,theoldladywithakindlyoldfaceofthewithered-appletypeand
ruddy.Theywereevidentlyprosperouspeople,buttheirminds—forsomereasonIcouldnotatthemomentdivine—
seemedtobedividedbetweentheirNewEnglanddesiretodriveahardbargainandtheirdisinclinationtoletthe
houseatall.
Overandoveragaintheyspokeofthelonelinessoftheplace.TheyfearedIwouldnditverylonely.Noonehad
livedinitforalongtime,andsoon.ItseemedtomethatafterwardsIunderstoodtheircurioushesitation,butatthe
momentonlyregardeditasapartofthecircuitousNewEnglandmethodofbargaining.Atallevents,therentIofferednallyovercametheirdisinclination,whateveritscause,andsoIcameintopossession—forfourmonths—ofthatsilent
oldhouse,withthewhitelilacs,andthedrowsybarns,andtheoldpiano,andthestrangeorchard;and,asthesum-
mercameon,andtheyearchangeditsnamefromMaytoJune,Iusedtolieundertheapple-treesintheafternoons,
dreamilyreadingsomeoldbook,andthroughhalf-sleepyeyelidswatchingthesilkenshimmeroftheSound.
Ihadlivedintheoldhouseforaboutamonth,whenoneafternoonastrangethinghappenedtome.Irememberthe
datewell.ItwastheafternoonofTuesday,June13th.Iwasreading,orratherdippinghereandthere,inBurton’s
AnatomyofMelancholy.AsIread,Irememberthatalittleunripeapple,withapetalortwoofblossomstillclingingtoit,fellupontheoldyellowpage.ThenIsupposeImusthavefallenintoadream,thoughitseemedtomethatbothmy
eyesandmyearswerewideopen,forIsuddenlybecameawareofabeautifulyoungvoicesingingverysoftlysome-
whereamongtheleaves.Thesingingwasveryfrail,almostimperceptible,asthoughitcameoutoftheair.Itcame
andwenttfully,liketheelusivefragranceofsweetbrier—asthoughagirlwaswalkingtoandfro,dreamilyhumming
toherselfinthestillafternoon.Yettherewasnoonetobeseen.Theorchardhadneverseemedmorelonely.And
anotherfactthatstruckmeasstrangewasthatthewordsthatoatedtomeoutoftheaerialmusicwereFrench,halfsad,halfgaysnatchesofsomelong-deadsingerofoldFrance,Ilookedaboutfortheoriginofthesweetsounds,but
invain.CoulditbethebirdsthatweresinginginFrenchinthisstrangeorchard?Presentlythevoiceseemedtocome
quiteclosetome,sonearthatitmighthavebeenthevoiceofadryadsingingtomeoutofthetreeagainstwhichI
wasleaning.AndthistimeIdistinctlycaughtthewordsofthesadlittlesong:
“Chante,rossignol,chante,
Toiquiaslecœurgai;
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Tuaslecœuràrire,Moi,jel’ai-t-àpleurer.”
But,thoughthevoicewasatmyshoulder,Icouldseenoone,andthenthesingingstoppedwithwhatsoundedlikea
sob;andamomentortwolaterIseemedtohearasoundofsobbingfardowntheorchard.Thentherefollowedsi-
lence,andIwaslefttoponderonthestrangeoccurrence.Naturally,Idecidedthatitwasjustaday-dreambetween
sleepingandwakingoverthepagesofanoldbook;yetwhennextdayandthedayaftertheinvisiblesingerwasinthe
orchardagain,Icouldnotbesatisedwithsuchmerematter-of-factexplanation.
“Alaclairefontaine,”
wentthevoicetoandfrothroughthethickorchardboughs,
“M’enallantpromener,
J’aitrouvél’eausibelle
Quejem’ysuisbaigné,
Luiyalongtempsquejet’aime,
Jamaisjenet’oubliai.”
Itwascertainlyuncannytohearthatvoicegoingtoandfrotheorchard,theresomewhereamidthebrightsun-dazzled
boughs—yetnotahumancreaturetobeseen—notanotherhouseevenwithinhalfamile.Themostmaterialisticmindcouldhardlybutconcludethatherewassomething“notdreamedofinourphilosophy.”Itseemedtomethattheonly
reasonableexplanationwastheentirelyirrationalone—thatmyorchardwashaunted:hauntedbysomebeautiful
youngspirit,withsomesorrowoflostjoythatwouldnotlethersleepquietlyinhergrave.
AndnextdayIhadacuriousconrmationofmytheory.OncemoreIwaslyingundermyfavoriteapple-tree,halfread-
ingandhalfwatchingtheSound,lulledintoadreambythewhirofinsectsandthespicescalledupfromtheearthbythehotsun.AsIbentoverthepage,Isuddenlyhadthestartlingimpressionthatsomeonewasleaningovermyshoul-
derandreadingwithme,andthatagirl’slonghairwasfallingovermedownontothepage.ThebookwastheRon-
sardIhadfoundinthelittlebedroom.Iturned,butagaintherewasnothingthere.YetthistimeIknewthatIhadnot
beendreaming,andIcriedout:
“Poorchild!tellmeofyourgrief—thatImayhelpyoursorrowinghearttorest.”
B f h h i h I d d d I h h I i h h d i i
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But,ofcourse,therewasnoanswer;yetthatnightIdreamedastrangedream.IthoughtIwasintheorchardagainintheafternoonandonceagainheardthestrangesinging—butthistime,asIlookedup,thesingerwasnolongerinvis-
ible.Comingtowardmewasayounggirlwithwonderfulblueeyeslledwithtearsandgoldhairthatfelltoherwaist.
Sheworeastraight,whiterobethatmighthavebeenashroudorabridaldress.Sheappearednottoseeme,though
shecamedirectlytothetreewhereIwassitting.Andthereshekneltandburiedherfaceinthegrassandsobbedas
ifherheartwouldbreak.Herlonghairfelloverherlikeamantle,andinmydreamIstrokeditpityinglyandmurmured
wordsofcomfortforasorrowIdidnotunderstand....ThenIwokesuddenlyasonedoesfromdreams.Themoonwas
shiningbrightlyintotheroom.Risingfrommybed,Ilookedoutintotheorchard.Itwasalmostasbrightasday.Icould
plainlyseethetreeofwhichIhadbeendreaming,andthenafantasticnotionpossessedme.Slippingonmyclothes,I
wentoutintooneoftheoldbarnsandfoundaspade.ThenIwenttothetreewhereIhadseenthegirlweepinginmydreamanddugdownatitsfoot.
Ihadduglittlemorethanafootwhenmyspadestruckuponsomehardsubstance,andinafewmoremomentsIhad
uncoveredandexhumedasmallbox,which,onexamination,provedtobeoneofthoseprettyold-fashionedChippen-
dalework-boxesusedbyourgrandmotherstokeeptheirthimblesandneedlesin,theirreelsofcottonandskeinsof
silk.AftersmoothingdownthelittlegraveinwhichIhadfoundit,Icarriedtheboxintothehouse,andunderthelamp-
lightexamineditscontents.
ThenatonceIunderstoodwhythatsadyoungspiritwenttoandfrotheorchardsingingthoselittleFrenchsongs—
forthetreasure-troveIhadfoundundertheapple-tree,theburiedtreasureofanunquiet,sufferingsoul,provedto
beanumberoflove-letterswrittenmostlyinFrenchinaverypicturesquehand—letters,too,writtenbutsomeveor
sixyearsbefore.PerhapsIshouldnothavereadthem—yetIreadthemwithsuchreverenceforthebeautiful,impas-
sionedlovethatanimatedthem,andliterallymadethem“smellsweetandblossominthedust,”thatIfeltIhadthe
sanctionofthedeadtomakemyselfthecondantoftheirstory.Amongtheletterswerelittlesongs,twoofwhichIhadheardthestrangeyoungvoicesingingintheorchard,and,ofcourse,thereweremanywitheredowersandsuch
likeremembrancesofbygonerapture.
NotthatnightcouldImakeoutallthestory,thoughitwasnotdifculttodeneitsessentialtragedy,andlaterona
gossipintheneighborhoodandaheadstoneinthechurchyardtoldmetherest.Theunquietyoungsoulthathad
sungsowistfullytoandfrotheorchardwasmylandlord’sdaughter.Shewastheonlychildofherparents,abeautiful,
willfulgirl,exoticallyunlikethosefromwhomshewassprungandamongwhomshelivedwithadisdainfulairofexile.
Sh hild li l f f i f i d h i l i h f h d h h h
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Shewas,asachild,alittlecreatureoffairyfancies,andasshegrewupitwasplaintoherfatherandmotherthatshehadcomefromanotherworldthantheirs.Tothemsheseemedlikeachildinanoldfairy-talestrangelyfoundonhis
hearthbysomeshepherdashereturnsfromtheeldsatevening—alittlefairygirlswaddledinnelinen,anddowered
withamysteriousbagofgold.
Soonshedevelopeddelicatespiritualneedstowhichhersimpleparentswerestrangers.Fromlongtruanciesinthe
woodsshewouldcomehomeladenwithmysteriousowers,andsoonshecametoaskforbooksandpicturesand
music,ofwhichthepoorsoulsthathadgivenherbirthhadneverheard.Finallyshehadherway,andwenttostudyat
acertainfashionablecollege;andtherethebriefromanceofherlifebegan.ThereshemetaromanticyoungFrench-
manwhohadreadRonsardtoherandwrittenherthosepicturesquelettersIhadfoundintheoldmahoganywork-box.AndafterawhiletheyoungFrenchmanhadgonebacktoFrance,andthelettershadceased.Monthbymonth
wentby,andatlengthoneday,asshesatwistfulatthewindow,lookingoutatthefoolishsunlitroad,amessage
came.Hewasdead.Thatheadstoneinthevillagechurchyardtellstherest.Shewasveryyoungtodie—scarcelynine-
teenyears;andthedeadwhohavediedyoung,withalltheirhopesanddreamsstilllikeunfoldedbudswithintheir
hearts,donotrestsoquietlyinthegraveasthosewhohavegonethroughthelongdayfrommorninguntilevening
andareonlytoogladtosleep.
NextdayItookthelittleboxtoaquietcorneroftheorchard,andmadealittlepyreoffragrantboughs—forsoIinter-pretedthewishofthatyoung,unquietspirit—andthebeautifulwordsarenowsafe,takenupagainintotheaerialspac-
esfromwhichtheycame.
ButsincethenthebirdssingnomorelittleFrenchsongsinmyoldorchard.
The Bowmen
B ARTHUR MACHEN
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ByARTHURMACHEN
FromTheBowmen,byArthurMachen.PublishedinEnglandbySimpkin,Marshall,Hamilton,Kent&Co.,Ltd.,andin
AmericabyG.P.Putnam’sSons.BypermissionofthepublishersandArthurMachen.
ItwasduringtheRetreatoftheEightyThousand,andtheauthorityoftheCensorshipissufcientexcusefornotbeing
moreexplicit.Butitwasonthemostawfuldayofthatawfultime,onthedaywhenruinanddisastercamesonearthat
theirshadowfelloverLondonfaraway;and,withoutanycertainnews,theheartsofmenfailedwithinthemandgrew
faint;asiftheagonyofthearmyinthebattleeldhadenteredintotheirsouls.
Onthisdreadfulday,then,whenthreehundredthousandmeninarmswithalltheirartilleryswelledlikeaood
againstthelittleEnglishcompany,therewasonepointaboveallotherpointsinourbattlelinethatwasforatimein
awfuldanger,notmerelyofdefeat,butofutterannihilation.WiththepermissionoftheCensorshipandofthemilitary
expert,thiscornermay,perhaps,bedescribedasasalient,andifthisanglewerecrushedandbroken,thentheEng-
lishforceasawholewouldbeshattered,theAlliedleftwouldbeturned,andSedanwouldinevitablyfollow.
AllthemorningtheGermangunshadthunderedandshriekedagainstthiscorner,andagainstthethousandorsoof
menwhoheldit.Themenjokedattheshells,andfoundfunnynamesforthem,andhadbetsaboutthem,andgreet-edthemwithscrapsofmusic-hallsongs.Buttheshellscameonandburst,andtoregoodEnglishmenlimbfromlimb,
andtorebrotherfrombrother,andastheheatofthedayincreasedsodidthefuryofthatterriccannonade.There
wasnohelp,itseemed.TheEnglishartillerywasgood,buttherewasnotnearlyenoughofit;itwasbeingsteadily
batteredintoscrapiron.
Therecomesamomentinastormatseawhenpeoplesaytooneanother,“Itisatitsworst;itcanblownoharder,”andthenthereisablasttentimesmoreercethananybeforeit.SoitwasintheseBritishtrenches.
Therewerenostouterheartsinthewholeworldthantheheartsofthesemen;buteventheywereappalledasthis
seven-times-heatedhelloftheGermancannonadefelluponthemandoverwhelmedthemanddestroyedthem.And
atthisverymomenttheysawfromtheirtrenchesthatatremendoushostwasmovingagainsttheirlines.Fivehundred
ofthethousandremained,andasfarastheycouldseetheGermaninfantrywaspressingonagainstthem,column
uponcolumn,agrayworldofmen,tenthousandofthem,asitappearedafterwards.
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Therewasnohopeatall.Theyshookhands,someofthem.Onemanimprovisedanewversionofthebattle-song,
“Good-by,good-bytoTipperary,”endingwith“Andweshan’tgetthere.”Andtheyallwentonringsteadily.Theof-
cerpointedoutthatsuchanopportunityforhigh-classfancyshootingmightneveroccuragain;theTipperaryhumorist
asked,“WhatpriceSidneyStreet?”Andthefewmachinegunsdidtheirbest.Buteverybodyknewitwasofnouse.
Thedeadgraybodieslayincompaniesandbattalions,asotherscameonandonandon,andtheyswarmedand
stirred,andadvancedfrombeyondandbeyond.
“Worldwithoutend.Amen,”saidoneoftheBritishsoldierswithsomeirrelevanceashetookaimandred.Andthen
heremembered—hesayshecannotthinkwhyorwherefore—aqueervegetarianrestaurantinLondonwherehehadonceortwiceeateneccentricdishesofcutletsmadeoflentilsandnutsthatpretendedtobesteak.Onalltheplatesin
thisrestauranttherewasprintedagureofSt.Georgeinblue,withthemotto,“AdsitAnglisSanctusGeorgius”—”May
St.GeorgebeapresenthelptotheEnglish.”ThissoldierhappenedtoknowLatinandotheruselessthings,andnow,
asheredathismaninthegrayadvancingmass—threehundredyardsaway—heutteredthepiousvegetarianmotto.
Hewentonringtotheend,andatlastBillonhisrighthadtoclouthimcheerfullyovertheheadtomakehimstop,
pointingoutashedidsothattheKing’sammunitioncostmoneyandwasnotlightlytobewastedindrillingfunnypat-
ternsintodeadGermans.
ForastheLatinscholarutteredhisinvocationhefeltsomethingbetweenashudderandanelectricshockpass
throughhisbody.Theroarofthebattledieddowninhisearstoagentlemurmur;insteadofit,hesays,hehearda
greatvoiceandashoutlouderthanathunder-pealcrying,“Array,array,array!”
Hisheartgrewhotasaburningcoal,itgrewcoldasicewithinhim,asitseemedtohimthatatumultofvoicesan-
sweredtohissummons.Heheard,orseemedtohear,thousandsshouting:“St.George!St.George!”
“Ha!Messire,ha!sweetSaint,grantusgooddeliverance!”
“St.GeorgeformerryEngland!”
“Harow!Harow!MonseigneurSt.George,succorus!”
“Ha!St.George!Ha!St.George!alongbowandastrongbow.”
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“Heaven’sKnight,aidus!”
Andasthesoldierheardthesevoiceshesawbeforehim,beyondthetrench,alonglineofshapes,withashining
aboutthem.Theywerelikemenwhodrewthebow,andwithanothershout,theircloudofarrowsewsingingand
tinglingthroughtheairtowardstheGermanhosts.
Theothermeninthetrenchwereringallthewhile.Theyhadnohope;buttheyaimedjustasiftheyhadbeenshoot-
ingatBisley.
SuddenlyoneofthemlifteduphisvoiceintheplainestEnglish.
“Gawdhelpus!”hebellowedtothemannexttohim,“butwe’rebloomingmarvels!Lookatthosegray...gentlemen,
lookatthem!D’yeseethem?They’renotgoingdownindozensnorin‘undreds;it’sthousands,itis.Look!look!
there’saregimentgonewhileI’mtalkingtoye.”
“Shutit!”theothersoldierbellowed,takingaim,“whatareyegassingabout?”
Buthegulpedwithastonishmentevenashespoke,for,indeed,thegraymenwerefallingbythethousands.TheEng-
lishcouldhearthegutturalscreamoftheGermanofcers,thecrackleoftheirrevolversastheyshotthereluctant;and
stilllineafterlinecrashedtotheearth.
AllthewhiletheLatin-bredsoldierheardthecry:
“Harow!Harow!Monseigneur,dearSaint,quicktoouraid!St.Georgehelpus!”
“HighChevalier,defendus!”
Thesingingarrowsedsoswiftandthickthattheydarkenedtheair,theheathenhordemeltedfrombeforethem.
“Moremachineguns!”BillyelledtoTom.
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“Don’thearthem,”Tomyelledback.
“But,thankGod,anyway;they’vegotitintheneck.”
Infact,thereweretenthousanddeadGermansoldiersleftbeforethatsalientoftheEnglisharmy,andconsequently
therewasnoSedan.InGermany,acountryruledbyscienticprinciples,theGreatGeneralStaffdecidedthatthe
contemptibleEnglishmusthaveemployedshellscontaininganunknowngasofapoisonousnature,asnowounds
werediscernibleonthebodiesofthedeadGermansoldiers.ButthemanwhoknewwhatnutstastedlikewhentheycalledthemselvessteakknewalsothatSt.GeorgehadbroughthisAgincourtBowmentohelptheEnglish.
A Ghost
ByGuyDeMaupassant
TranslatedforthisvolumebyM.CharlesSommer.
Wewerespeakingofsequestration,alludingtoarecentlawsuit.Itwasatthecloseofafriendlyeveninginaveryold
mansionintheRuedeGrenelle,andeachoftheguestshadastorytotell,whichheassureduswastrue.
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ThentheoldMarquisdelaTour-Samuel,eighty-twoyearsofage,roseandcameforwardtoleanonthemantelpiece.
Hetoldthefollowingstoryinhisslightlyquaveringvoice.
“I,also,havewitnessedastrangething—sostrangethatithasbeenthenightmareofmylife.Ithappenedfty-six
yearsago,andyetthereisnotamonthwhenIdonotseeitagaininmydreams.FromthatdayIhaveborneamark,a
stampoffear,—doyouunderstand?
“Yes,fortenminutesIwasapreytoterror,insuchawaythateversinceaconstantdreadhasremainedinmysoul.
Unexpectedsoundschillmetotheheart;objectswhichIcanilldistinguishintheeveningshadowsmakemelongto
ee.Iamafraidatnight.
“No!Iwouldnothaveownedsuchathingbeforereachingmypresentage.ButnowImaytelleverything.Onemay
fearimaginarydangersateighty-twoyearsold.ButbeforeactualdangerIhaveneverturnedback,mesdames.
“Thataffairsoupsetmymind,lledmewithsuchadeep,mysteriousunrestthatInevercouldtellit.Ikeptitinthat
inmostpart,thatcornerwhereweconcealoursad,ourshamefulsecrets,alltheweaknessesofourlifewhichcannot
beconfessed.
“Iwilltellyouthatstrangehappeningjustasittookplace,withnoattempttoexplainit.UnlessIwentmadforone
shorthouritmustbeexplainable,though.YetIwasnotmad,andIwillproveittoyou.Imaginewhatyouwill.Hereare
thesimplefacts:
“Itwasin1827,inJuly.IwasquarteredwithmyregimentinRouen.
“Oneday,asIwasstrollingonthequay,IcameacrossamanIbelievedIrecognized,thoughIcouldnotplacehim
withcertainty.Iinstinctivelywentmoreslowly,readytopause.Thestrangersawmyimpulse,lookedatme,andfell
intomyarms.
“Itwasafriendofmyyoungerdays,ofwhomIhadbeenveryfond.Heseemedtohavebecomehalfacenturyolderin
theveyearssinceIhadseenhim.Hishairwaswhite,andhestoopedinhiswalk,asifhewereexhausted.Heun-
derstoodmyamazementandtoldmethestoryofhislife.
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“Aterribleeventhadbrokenhimdown.Hehadfallenmadlyinlovewithayounggirlandmarriedherinakindof
dreamlikeecstasy.Afterayearofunalloyedblissandunexhaustedpassion,shehaddiedsuddenlyofheartdisease,
nodoubtkilledbyloveitself.
“Hehadleftthecountryontheverydayofherfuneral,andhadcometoliveinhishotelatRouen.Heremainedthere,
solitaryanddesperate,griefslowlymininghim,sowretchedthatheconstantlythoughtofsuicide.
“’AsIthuscameacrossyouagain,’hesaid,‘Ishallaskagreatfavorofyou.IwantyoutogotomychâteauandgetsomepapersIurgentlyneed.Theyareinthewriting-deskofmyroom,ofourroom.Icannotsendaservantoralaw-
yer,astheerrandmustbekeptprivate.Iwantabsolutesilence.
“’Ishallgiveyouthekeyoftheroom,whichIlockedcarefullymyselfbeforeleaving,andthekeytothewriting-desk.I
shallalsogiveyouanoteforthegardener,whowillletyouin.
“’Cometobreakfastwithmeto-morrow,andwe’lltalkthematterover.’
“Ipromisedtorenderhimthatslightservice.Itwouldmeanbutapleasantexcursionforme,hishomenotbeingmore
thantwenty-vemilesfromRouen.Icouldgothereinanhouronhorseback.
“Atteno’clockthenextdayIwaswithhim.Webreakfastedalonetogether,yethedidnotuttermorethantwenty
words.Heaskedmetoexcusehim.ThethoughtthatIwasgoingtovisittheroomwherehishappinesslayshattered,
upsethim,hesaid.Indeed,heseemedperturbed,worried,asifsomemysteriousstruggleweretakingplaceinhissoul.
“AtlastheexplainedexactlywhatIwastodo.Itwasverysimple.Iwastotaketwopackagesoflettersandsomepa-
pers,lockedintherstdrawerattherightofthedeskofwhichIhadthekey.Headded:
“’Ineednotaskyounottoglanceatthem.’
“Iwasalmosthurtbyhiswords,andtoldhimso,rathersharply.Hestammered:
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“’Forgiveme.Isuffersomuch!’
“Andtearscametohiseyes.
“Ileftaboutoneo’clocktoaccomplishmyerrand.
“Thedaywasradiant,andIrushedthroughthemeadows,listeningtothesongofthelarks,andtherhythmicalbeatof
myswordonmyriding-boots.
“ThenIenteredtheforest,andIsetmyhorsetowalking.Branchesofthetreessoftlycaressedmyface,andnowand
thenIwouldcatchaleafbetweenmyteethandbiteitwithavidity,fullofthejoyoflife,suchasllsyouwithoutrea-
son,withatumultuoushappinessalmostindenable,akindofmagicalstrength.
“AsInearedthehouseItookouttheletterforthegardener,andnotedwithsurprisethatitwassealed.Iwasso
amazedandsoannoyedthatIalmostturnedbackwithoutfulllingmymission.ThenIthoughtthatIshouldthusdis-
playover-sensitivenessandbadtaste.Myfriendmighthavesealeditunconsciously,worriedashewas.
“Themanorlookedasthoughithadbeendesertedthelasttwentyyears.Thegate,wide-openandrotten,held,one
wonderedhow.Grasslledthepaths;youcouldnottelltheower-bedsfromthelawn.
“AtthenoiseImadekickingashutter,anoldmancameoutfromaside-doorandwasapparentlyamazedtoseeme
there.Idismountedfrommyhorseandgavehimtheletter.Hereaditonceortwice,turneditover,lookedatmewithsuspicion,andasked:
“’Well,whatdoyouwant?’
“Iansweredsharply:
“’Youmustknowitasyouhavereadyourmaster’sorders.Iwanttogetinthehouse.’
“He appeared overwhelmed He said:
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Heappearedoverwhelmed.Hesaid:
“’So—youaregoingin—inhisroom?’
“Iwasgettingimpatient.
“’Parbleu!Doyouintendtoquestionme,bychance?’
“Hestammered:
“’No—monsieur—only—ithasnotbeenopenedsince—sincethedeath.Ifyouwillwaitveminutes,Iwillgointosee
whether——’
“Iinterruptedangrily:
“’Seehere,areyoujoking?Youcan’tgointhatroom,asIhavethekey!’
“Henolongerknewwhattosay.
“’Then,monsieur,Iwillshowyoutheway.’
“’Showmethestairsandleavemealone.Icannditwithoutyourhelp.’
“’But—still—monsieur——’
“ThenIlostmytemper.
“’Nowbequiet!Elseyou’llbesorry!’
“Iroughlypushedhimasideandwentintothehouse.
“I rst went through the kitchen then crossed two small rooms occupied by the man and his wife From there I
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Irstwentthroughthekitchen,thencrossedtwosmallroomsoccupiedbythemanandhiswife.FromthereI
steppedintoalargehall.Iwentupthestairs,andIrecognizedthedoormyfriendhaddescribedtome.
“Iopeneditwitheaseandwentin.
“TheroomwassodarkthatatrstIcouldnotdistinguishanything.Ipaused,arrestedbythatmoldyandstaleodor
peculiartodesertedandcondemnedrooms,ofdeadrooms.Thengraduallymyeyesgrewaccustomedtothegloom,
andIsawratherclearlyagreatroomindisorder,abedwithoutsheetshavingstillitsmattressesandpillows,oneofwhichborethedeepprintofanelboworahead,asifsomeonehadjustbeenrestingonit.
“Thechairsseemedallinconfusion.Inoticedthatadoor,probablythatofacloset,hadremainedajar.
“Irstwenttothewindowandopenedittogetsomelight,butthehingesoftheoutsideshuttersweresorustedthat
Icouldnotloosenthem.
“Ieventriedtobreakthemwithmysword,butdidnotsucceed.Asthosefruitlessattemptsirritatedme,andasmyeyeswerebynowadjustedtothedimlight,Igaveuphopeofgettingmorelightandwenttowardthewriting-desk.
“Isatdowninanarm-chair,foldedbackthetop,andopenedthedrawer.Itwasfulltotheedge.Ineededbutthree
packages,whichIknewhowtodistinguish,andIstartedlookingforthem.
“Iwasstrainingmyeyestodeciphertheinscriptions,whenIthoughtIheard,orratherfeltarustlebehindme.Itooknonotice,thinkingadrafthadliftedsomecurtain.Butaminutelater,anothermovement,almostindistinct,sentadis-
agreeablelittleshiverovermyskin.Itwassoridiculoustobemovedthusevensoslightly,thatIwouldnotturnround,
beingashamed.IhadjustdiscoveredthesecondpackageIneeded,andwasonthepointofreachingforthethird,
whenagreatandsorrowfulsigh,closetomyshoulder,mademegiveamadleaptwoyardsaway.InmyspringIhad
turnedround,myhandonthehiltofmysword,andsurelyhadInotfeltthat,Ishouldhaveedlikeacoward.
“Atallwoman,dressedinwhite,wasfacingme,standingbehindthechairinwhichIhadsatasecondbefore.
“Such a shudder ran through me that I almost fell back! Oh no one who has not felt them can understand those grue
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SuchashudderranthroughmethatIalmostfellback!Oh,noonewhohasnotfeltthemcanunderstandthosegrue-
someandridiculousterrors!Thesoulmelts;yourheartseemstostop;yourwholebodybecomeslimpasasponge,
andyourinnermostpartsseemcollapsing.
“Idonotbelieveinghosts;andyetIbrokedownbeforethehideousfearofthedead;andIsuffered,oh,Isuffered
moreinafewminutes,intheirresistibleanguishofsupernaturaldread,thanIhavesufferedinalltherestofmylife!
“Ifshehadnotspoken,Imighthavedied.Butshedidspeak;shespokeinasoftandplaintivevoicewhichsetmy
nervesvibrating.IcouldnotsaythatIregainedmyself-control.No,IwaspastknowingwhatIdid;butthekindofprideIhaveinme,aswellasamilitarypride,helpedmetomaintain,almostinspiteofmyself,anhonorablecounte-
nance.Iwasmakingapose,aposeformyself,andforher,forher,whatevershewas,woman,orphantom.Irealized
thislater,foratthetimeoftheapparition,Icouldthinkofnothing.Iwasafraid.
“Shesaid:
“’Oh,youcanbeofgreathelptome,monsieur!’
“Itriedtoanswer,butIwasunabletoutteroneword.Avaguesoundcamefrommythroat.
“Shecontinued:
“’Willyou?Youcansaveme,cureme.Isufferterribly.Ialwayssuffer.Isuffer,oh,Isuffer!’
“Andshesatdowngentlyinmychair.Shelookedatme.
“’Willyou?’
“Inoddedmyhead,beingstillparalyzed.
“Thenshehandedmeawoman’scomboftortoise-shell,andmurmured:
“’Comb my hair! Oh comb my hair! That will cure me Look at my head how I suffer! And my hair how it hurts!’
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Combmyhair!Oh,combmyhair!Thatwillcureme.Lookatmyhead—howIsuffer!Andmyhair—howithurts!
“Herloosehair,verylong,veryblack,itseemedtome,hungoverthebackofthechair,touchingtheoor.
“WhydidIdoit?WhydidI,shivering,acceptthatcomb,andwhydidItakebetweenmyhandsherlonghair,whichleft
onmyskinaghastlyimpressionofcold,asifIhadhandledserpents?Idonotknow.
“Thatfeelingstillclingsaboutmyngers,andIshiverwhenIrecallit.
“Icombedher,Ihandled,Iknownothow,thathairofice.Iboundandunboundit;Iplaiteditasoneplaitsahorse’s
mane.Shesighed,bentherhead,seemedhappy.
“Suddenlyshesaid,‘Thankyou!’torethecombfrommyhands,andedthroughthedoorwhichIhadnoticedwas
halfopened.
“Leftalone,Ihadforafewsecondsthehazyfeelingonefeelsinwakingupfromanightmare.ThenIrecoveredmy-
self.Irantothewindowandbroketheshuttersbymyfuriousassault.
“Astreamoflightpouredin.Irushedtothedoorthroughwhichthatbeinghadgone.Ifounditlockedandimmovable.
“Thenafeverofightseizedonme,apanic,thetruepanicofbattle.Iquicklygraspedthethreepackagesofletters
fromtheopendesk;Icrossedtheroomrunning,Itookthestepsofthestairwayfouratatime.Ifoundmyselfoutside,
Idon’tknowhow,andseeingmyhorsecloseby,Imountedinoneleapandleftatafullgallop.
“Ididn’tstoptillIreachedRouenanddrewupinfrontofmyhouse.Havingthrownthereinstomyorderly,Iewtomy
roomandlockedmyselfintothink.
“ThenforanhourIaskedmyselfwhetherIhadnotbeenthevictimofanhallucination.CertainlyImusthavehadone
ofthosenervousshocks,oneofthosebraindisorderssuchasgiverisetomiracles,towhichthesupernaturalowesits
strength.
“And I had almost concluded that it was a vision an illusion of my senses when I came near to the window My eyes
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AndIhadalmostconcludedthatitwasavision,anillusionofmysenses,whenIcameneartothewindow.Myeyes
bychancelookeddown.Mytunicwascoveredwithhairs,longwoman’shairswhichhadentangledthemselves
aroundthebuttons!
“Itookthemoffonebyoneandthrewthemoutofthewindowwithtremblingngers.
“Ithencalledmyorderly.Ifelttooperturbed,toomoved,togoandseemyfriendonthatday.Besides,Ineededto
thinkoverwhatIshouldtellhim.
“Ihadhislettersdeliveredtohim.Hegaveareceipttothesoldier.HeinquiredaftermeandwastoldthatIwasnot
well.Ihadhadasunstroke,orsomething.Heseemeddistressed.
“Iwenttoseehimthenextday,earlyinthemorning,bentontellinghimthetruth.Hehadgoneouttheeveningbefore
andhadnotcomeback.
“Ireturnedthesameday,buthehadnotbeenseen.Iwaitedaweek.Hedidnotcomeback.Inotiedthepolice.They
searchedforhimeverywhere,butnoonecouldndanytraceofhispassingorofhisretreat.
“Acarefulsearchwasmadeinthedesertedmanor.Nosuspiciouscluewasdiscovered.
“Therewasnosignthatawomanhadbeenconcealedthere.
“Theinquestgavenoresult,andsothesearchwentnofurther.
“Andinfty-sixyearsIhavelearnednothingmore.Ineverfoundoutthetruth.”
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