famous modern ghost stories, by various, edited by emily dorothy scar borough

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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



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



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!”



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



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,



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



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



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.



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.



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



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-



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.



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



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



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



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.



“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.



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.



“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-



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.



“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



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.



“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



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



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.



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



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



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-



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.



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.



“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



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.



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



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.



“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.”



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.



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-



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.



“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.



“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



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



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——”



“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



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.



“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——”



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.



“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.”



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.



“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.



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 ”



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



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.



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



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!”



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



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



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.



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.



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?”



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.



“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



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.



“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.



“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.



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



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?”



“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.



“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



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



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.



“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



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



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 ”



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.



“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.



“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.



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



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



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



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



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



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.



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?”



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?”



“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



, 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-



, 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.



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——”



“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.



“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-



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.



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!”



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.



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



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



“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.



“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.



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 ”



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.”



“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 ”



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:



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



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.”



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?”



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



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



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——”



“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?”



“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.”



“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——”



“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.”



“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?”



“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.



“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



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



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.



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.



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



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



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



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



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.



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-



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.



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



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



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.



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.



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



, 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:



“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!”



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



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-



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.”



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



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



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.



“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 ’



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



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.



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?”



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



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



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 ”



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



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.



“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 ”



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



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.



“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.”



“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.



“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.”



“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?”



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?”



“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.”



“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



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-



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.”



“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 ”



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



“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



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



“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.”



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.



“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.



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



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-



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.’



“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:



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



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



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



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.”



g y g, p , , g

“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



p y g p , p g y p p y

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



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!”



g p g p p

“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-



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



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



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.



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



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



“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



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



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



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



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



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.



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.



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



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-



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!”



“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



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



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



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.



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.



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.



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.



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



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-



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.”



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.



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 ”



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.”



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



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



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



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



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



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.



“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.”



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 ”



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



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.



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.



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.



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?”



“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



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



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.”



“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?”



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.



“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.



“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.”



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.



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



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



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



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



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



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.”



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



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,



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



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



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



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.”



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.



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



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.



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;



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



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



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



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.



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.”



“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.



“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.



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.



“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:



“’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:



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



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



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!’



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



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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famous modern ghost stories, by various, edited by emily dorothy scar borough

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