diff options
Diffstat (limited to '23419-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 23419-h/23419-h.htm | 2990 |
1 files changed, 2990 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/23419-h/23419-h.htm b/23419-h/23419-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c29e57 --- /dev/null +++ b/23419-h/23419-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2990 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Return of the Soul, by Robert S. Hichens + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Return Of The Soul, by Robert S. Hichens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Return Of The Soul + 1896 + +Author: Robert S. Hichens + +Release Date: November 8, 2007 [EBook #23419] +Last Updated: December 17, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RETURN OF THE SOUL *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE RETURN OF THE SOUL + </h1> + <h2> + By Robert S. Hichens + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1896 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I have been here before, But when, or how, I cannot tell!” + + Rossetti. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Tuesday Night, November 3rd</i>. + </h3> + <p> + Theories! What is the good of theories? They are the scourges that lash + our minds in modern days, lash them into confusion, perplexity, despair. I + have never been troubled by them before. Why should I be troubled by them + now? And the absurdity of Professor Black’s is surely obvious. A child + would laugh at it. Yes, a child! I have never been a diary writer. I have + never been able to understand the amusement of sitting down late at night + and scrawling minutely in some hidden book every paltry incident of one’s + paltry days. People say it is so interesting to read the entries years + afterwards. To read, as a man, the <i>menu</i> that I ate through as a + boy, the love-story that I was actor in, the tragedy that I brought about, + the debt that I have never paid—how could it profit me? To keep a + diary has always seemed to me merely an addition to the ills of life. Yet + now I have a hidden book, like the rest of the world, and I am scrawling + in it to-day. Yes, but for a reason. + </p> + <p> + I want to make things clear to myself, and I find, as others, that my mind + works more easily with the assistance of the pen. The actual tracing of + words on paper dispels the clouds that cluster round my thoughts. I shall + recall events to set my mind at ease, to prove to myself how absurd a man + who could believe in Professor Black would be. “Little Dry-as-dust” I used + to call him ‘Dry’? He is full of wild romance, rubbish that a school-girl + would be ashamed to believe in. Yet he is abnormally clever; his record + proves that. Still, clever men are the first to be led astray, they say. + It is the searcher who follows the wandering light. What he says can’t be + true. When I have filled these pages, and read what I have written + dispassionately, as one of the outside public might read, I shall have + done, once for all, with the ridiculous fancies that are beginning to make + my life a burden. To put my thoughts in order will make a music. The evil + spirit within me will sleep, will die. I shall be cured. It must be so—it + shall be so. + </p> + <p> + To go back to the beginning. Ah! what a long time ago that seems! As a + child I was cruel. Most boys are cruel, I think. My school companions were + a merciless set—merciless to one another, to their masters when they + had a chance, to animals, to birds. The desire to torture was in nearly + all of them. They loved to bully, and if they bullied only mildly, it was + from fear, not from love. They did not wish their boomerang to return and + slay them. If a boy were deformed, they twitted him. If a master were + kind, or gentle, or shy, they made his life as intolerable as they could. + If an animal or a bird came into their power, they had no pity. I was like + the rest; indeed, I think that I was worse. Cruelty is horrible. I have + enough imagination to do more than know that—to feel it. + </p> + <p> + Some say that it is lack of imagination which makes men and women brutes. + May it not be power of imagination? The interest of torturing is lessened, + is almost lost, if we can not be the tortured as well as the torturer. + </p> + <p> + As a child I was cruel by nature, by instinct. I was a handsome, + well-bred, gentlemanlike, gentle-looking little brute. My parents adored + me, and I was good to them. They were so kind to me that I was almost fond + of them. Why not? It seemed to me as politic to be fond of them as of + anyone else. I did what I pleased, but I did not always let them know it; + so I pleased them. The wise child will take care to foster the ignorance + of its parents. My people were pretty well off, and I was their only + child; but my chief chances of future pleasure in life were centred in my + grandmother, my mother’s mother. She was immensely rich, and she lived + here. This room in which I am writing now was her favourite sitting-room. + On that hearth, before a log fire, such as is burning at this moment, used + to sit that wonderful cat of hers—that horrible cat! Why did I ever + play my childish cards to win this house, this place? Sometimes, lately—very + lately only—I have wondered, like a fool perhaps. Yet would + Professor Black say so? I remember, as a boy of sixteen, paying my last + visit here to my grandmother. It bored me very much to come. But she was + said to be near death, and death leaves great houses vacant for others to + fill. So when my mother said that I had better come, and my father added + that he thought my grandmother was fonder of me than of my other + relations, I gave up all my boyish plans for the holidays with apparent + willingness. Though almost a child, I was not short-sighted. I knew every + boy had a future as well as a present. I gave up my plans, and came here + with a smile; but in my heart I hated my grandmother for having power, and + so bending me to relinquish pleasure for boredom. I hated her, and I came + to her and kissed her, and saw her beautiful white Persian cat sitting + before the fire in this room, and thought of the fellow who was my bosom + friend, and with whom I longed to be, shooting, or fishing, or riding. And + I looked at the cat again. I remember it began to purr when I went near to + it. It sat quite still, with its blue eyes fixed upon the fire, but when I + approached it I heard it purr complacently. I longed to kick it. The + limitations of its ridiculous life satisfied it completely. It seemed to + reproduce in an absurd, diminished way my grandmother in her white lace + cap, with her white face and hands. She sat in her chair all day and + looked at the fire. The cat sat on the hearthrug and did the same. The cat + seemed to me the animal personification of the human being who kept me + chained from all the sports and pleasures I had promised myself for the + holidays. When I went near to the cat, and heard it calmly purring at me, + I longed to do it an injury. It seemed to me as if it understood what my + grandmother did not, and was complacently triumphing at my voluntary + imprisonment with age, and laughing to itself at the pains men—and + boys—will undergo for the sake of money. Brute! I did not love my + grandmother, and she had money. I hated the cat utterly. It hadn’t a <i>sou!</i> + </p> + <p> + This beautiful house is not old. My grandfather built it himself. He had + no love for the life of towns, I believe, but was passionately in touch + with nature, and, when a young man, he set out on a strange tour through + England. His object was to find a perfect view, and in front of that view + he intended to build himself a habitation. For nearly a year, so I have + been told, he wandered through Scotland and England, and at last he came + to this place in Cumberland, to this village, to this very spot. Here his + wanderings ceased. Standing on the terrace—then uncultivated forest—that + runs in front of these windows, he found at last what he desired. He + bought the forest. He bought the windings of the river, the fields upon + its banks, and on the extreme edge of the steep gorge through which it + runs he built the lovely dwelling that to-day is mine. + </p> + <p> + This place is no ordinary place. It is characteristic in the highest + degree. The house is wonderfully situated, with the ground falling + abruptly in front of it, the river forming almost a horseshoe round it. + The woods are lovely. The garden, curiously, almost wildly, laid out, is + like no other garden I ever saw. And the house, though not old, is full of + little surprises, curiously shaped rooms, remarkable staircases, quaint + recesses. The place is a place to remember. The house is a house to fix + itself in the memory. Nothing that had once lived here could ever come + back and forget that it had been here. Not even an animal—not even + an animal. + </p> + <p> + I wish I had never gone to that dinnerparty and met the Professor. There + was a horror coming upon me then. He has hastened its steps. He has put my + fears into shape, my vague wondering into words. Why cannot men leave life + alone? Why will they catch it by the throat and wring its secrets from it? + To respect reserve is one of the first instincts of the gentleman; and + life is full of reserve. + </p> + <p> + It is getting very late. I thought I heard a step in the house just now. I + wonder—I wonder if <i>she</i> is asleep. I wish I knew. Day after + day passed by. My grandmother seemed to be failing, but almost + imperceptibly. She evidently loved to have me near to her. Like most old + dying people, in her mind she frantically clutched at life, that could + give to her nothing more; and I believe she grew to regard me as the + personification of all that was leaving her. My vitality warmed her. She + extended her hands to my flaming hearthfire. She seemed trying to live in + my life, and at length became afraid to let me out of her sight. One day + she said to me, in her quavering, ugly voice—old voices are so ugly, + like hideous echoes: + </p> + <p> + “Ronald, I could never die while you were in the room. So long as you are + with me, where I can touch you, I shall live.” + </p> + <p> + And she put out her white, corrugated hand, and fondled my warm boy’s + hand. + </p> + <p> + How I longed to push her hand away, and get out into the sunlight and the + air, and hear young voices, the voices of the morning, not of the + twilight, and be away from wrinkled Death, that seemed sitting on the + doorstep of that house huddled up like a beggar, waiting for the door to + be opened! + </p> + <p> + I was bored till I grew malignant. I confess it. And, feeling malignant, I + began to long more and more passionately to vent myself on someone or + something. I looked at the cat, which, as usual, was sitting before the + fire. + </p> + <p> + Animals have intuitions as keen as those of a woman, keener than those of + a man. They inherit an instinct of fear of those who hate them from a long + line of ancestors who have suffered at the hands of cruel men. They can + tell by a look, by a motion, by the tone of a voice, whether to expect + from anyone kindness or malignity. The cat had purred complacently on the + first day of my arrival, and had hunched up her white, furry back towards + my hand, and had smiled with her calm, light-blue eyes. Now, when I + approached her, she seemed to gather herself together and to make herself + small. She shrank from me. There was—as I fancied—a dawning + comprehension, a dawning terror in her blue eyes. She always sat very + close to my grandmother now, as if she sought protection, and she watched + me as if she were watching for an intention which she apprehended to grow + in my mind. + </p> + <p> + And the intention came. + </p> + <p> + For, as the days went on, and my grandmother still lived, I began to grow + desperate. My holiday time was over now, but my parents wrote telling me + to stay where I was, and not to think of returning to school. My + grandmother had caused a letter to be sent to them in which she said that + she could not part from me, and added that my parents would never have + cause to regret interrupting my education for a time. “He will be paid in + full for every moment he loses,” she wrote, referring to me. + </p> + <p> + It seemed a strange taste in her to care so much for a boy, but she had + never loved women, and I was handsome, and she liked handsome faces. The + brutality in my nature was not written upon my features. I had smiling, + frank brown eyes, a lithe young figure, a gay boy’s voice. My movements + were quick, and I have always been told that my gestures were never + awkward, my demeanour was never unfinished, as is the case so often with + lads at school. Outwardly I was attractive; and the old woman, who had + married two husbands merely for their looks, delighted in feeling that she + had the power to retain me by her side at an age when most boys avoid old + people as if they were the pestilence. + </p> + <p> + And then I pretended to love her, and obeyed all her insufferably tiresome + behests. But I longed to wreak vengeance upon her all the same. My dearest + friend, the fellow with whom I was to have spent my holidays, was leaving + at the end of this term which I was missing. He wrote to me furious + letters, urging me to come back, and reproaching me for my selfishness and + lack of affection. + </p> + <p> + Each time I received one I looked at the cat, and the cat shrank nearer to + my grandmother’s chair. + </p> + <p> + It never purred now, and nothing would induce it to leave the room where + she sat. One day the servant said to me: + </p> + <p> + “I believe the poor dumb thing knows my mistress can’t last very much + longer, sir. The way that cat looks up at her goes to my heart. Ah! them + beasts understand things as well as we do, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + I think the cat understood quite well. It did watch my grandmother in a + very strange way, gazing up into her face, as if to mark the changing + contours, the increasing lines, the down-droop of the features, that + bespoke the gradual soft approach of death. It listened to the sound of + her voice; and as, each day, the voice grew more vague, more weak and + toneless, an anxiety that made me exult dawned and deepened in its blue + eyes. Or so I thought. + </p> + <p> + I had a great deal of morbid imagination at that age, and loved to weave a + web of fancies, mostly horrible, around almost everything that entered + into my life. It pleased me to believe that the cat understood each new + intention that came into my mind, read me silently from its place near the + fire, tracked my thoughts, and was terror-stricken as they concentrated + themselves round a definite resolve, which hardened and toughened day by + day. + </p> + <p> + It pleased me to believe, do I say? I did really believe, and do believe + now, that the cat understood all, and grew haggard with fear as my + grandmother failed visibly. For it knew what the end would mean for it. + </p> + <p> + That first day of my arrival, when I saw my grandmother in her white cap, + with her white face and hands, and the big white cat sitting near to her, + I had thought there was a similarity between them. That similarity struck + me more forcibly, grew upon me, as my time in the house grew longer, until + the latter seemed almost a reproduction of the former, and after each + letter from my friend my hate for the two increased. But my hate for my + grandmother was impotent, and would always be so. I could never repay her + for the <i>ennui</i>, the furious, forced inactivity which made my life a + burden, and spurred my bad passions while they lulled me in a terrible, + enforced repose. I could repay her favourite, the thing she had always + cherished, her feline confidant, who lived in safety under the shadow of + her protection. I could wreak my fury on that when the protection was + withdrawn, as it must be at last. It seemed to my brutal, imaginative, + unfinished boy’s mind that the murder of her pet must hurt and wound my + grandmother even after she was dead. I would make her suffer then, when + she was impotent to wreak a vengeance upon me. I would kill the cat. + </p> + <p> + The creature knew my resolve the day I made it, and had even, I should + say, anticipated it. + </p> + <p> + As I sat day after day beside my grandmother’s armchair in the dim room, + with the blinds drawn to shut out the summer sunlight, and talked to her + in a subdued and reverent voice, agreeing with all the old banalities she + uttered, all the preposterous opinions she propounded, all the commands + she laid upon me, I gazed beyond her at the cat, and the creature was + haggard with apprehension. + </p> + <p> + It knew, as I knew, that its day was coming. Sometimes I bent down and + took it up on my lap to please my grandmother, and praised its beauty and + its gentleness to her And all the time I felt its warm, furry body + trembling with horror between my hands. This pleased me, and I pretended + that I was never happy unless it was on my knees. I kept it there for + hours, stroking it so tenderly, smoothing its thick white coat, which was + always in the most perfect order, talking to it, caressing it. + </p> + <p> + And sometimes I took its head between my two hands, turned its face to + mine, and stared into its large blue eyes. Then I could read all its + agony, all its torture of apprehension: and in spite of my friend’s + letters, and the dulness of my days, I was almost happy. + </p> + <p> + The summer was deepening, the glow of the roses flushed the garden ways, + the skies were clear above Scawfell, when the end at last drew near. My + grandmother’s face was now scarcely recognizable. The eyes were sunk deep + in her head. All expression seemed to fade gradually away. Her cheeks were + no longer fine ivory white; a dull, sickening, yellow pallor overspread + them. She seldom looked at me now, but rested entombed in her great + armchair, her shrunken limbs seeming to tend downwards, as if she were + inclined to slide to the floor and die there. Her lips were thin and dry, + and moved perpetually in a silent chattering, as if her mind were talking + and her voice were already dead. The tide of life was retreating from her + body. I could almost see it visibly ebb away. The failing waves made no + sound upon the shore. Death is uncanny, like all silent things. + </p> + <p> + Her maid wished her to stay entirely in bed, but she would get up, + muttering that she was well; and the doctor said it was useless to hinder + her. She had no specific disease. Only the years were taking their last + toll of her. So she was placed in her chair each day by the fire, and sat + there till evening, muttering with those dry lips. The stiff folds of her + silken skirts formed an angle, and there the cat crouched hour after hour, + a silent, white, waiting thing. + </p> + <p> + And the waves ebbed and ebbed away, and I waited too. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, as I sat by my grandmother, the servant entered with a + letter for me just arrived by the post. I took it up. It was from + Willoughby, my school-friend. He said the term was over, that he had left + school, and his father had decided to send him out to America to start in + business in New York, instead of entering him at Oxford as he had hoped. + He bade me good-bye, and said he supposed we should not meet again for + years; “but,” he added, “no doubt you won’t care a straw, so long as you + get the confounded money you’re after. You’ve taught me one of the lessons + of life, young Ronald—never to believe in friendship.” + </p> + <p> + As I read the letter I set my teeth. All that was good in my nature + centred round Willoughby. He was a really fine fellow. I honestly and + truly loved him. His news gave me a bitter shock, and turned my heart to + iron and to fire. Perhaps I should never see him again; even if I did, + time would have changed him, seared him—my friend, in his wonderful + youth, with the morning in his eyes, would be no more. I hated myself in + that moment for having stayed; I hated still more her who had kept me. For + the moment I was carried out of myself. I crushed the letter up in my + burning hand. I turned fiercely round upon that yellow, enigmatic, dying + figure in the great chair. All the fury, locked within my heart for so + long, rose to the surface, and drove self-interest away. I turned upon my + grandmother with blazing eyes and trembling limbs. I opened my mouth to + utter a torrent of reproachful words, when—what was it?—what + slight change had stolen into the wrinkled, yellow face? I bent over her. + The eyes gazed at me, but so horribly! She sat so low in her chair; she + looked so fearful, so very strange. I put my fingers on her eyelids; I + drew them down over the eyeballs: they did not open again. I felt her + withered hands: they were ice. Then I knew, and I felt myself smiling. I + leaned over the dead woman. There, on the far side of her, crouched the + cat. Its white fur was all bristling; its blue eyes were dilated; on its + jaws there were flecks of foam. + </p> + <p> + I leaned over the dead woman and took it in my arms. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + That was nearly twenty years ago, and yet to-night the memory of that + moment, and what followed it, bring a fear to my heart which I must + combat. I have read of men who lived for long spaces of time haunted by + demons created by their imagination, and I have laughed at them and pitied + them. Surely I am not going to join in their folly, in their madness, led + to the gates of terror by my own fancies, half-confirmed, apparently, by + the chance utterances of a conceited Professor—a man of fads, + although a man of science. + </p> + <p> + That was twenty years ago. After to-night let me forget it. After + to-night, do I say? Hark! the birds are twittering in the dew outside. The + pale, early sun-shafts strike over the moors. And I am tired. To-morrow + night I will finish this wrestle with my own folly; I will give the <i>coup + de grâce</i> to my imagination.. But no more now. My brain is not calm, + and I will not write in excitement. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Wednesday Night, November 4th</i>. + </h3> + <p> + Margot has gone to bed at last, and I am alone. This has been a horrible + day—horrible; but I will not dwell upon it. + </p> + <p> + After the death of my grandmother, I went back to school again. But + Willoughby was gone, and he could not forgive me. He wrote to me once or + twice from New York, and then I ceased to hear from him. He died out of my + life. His affection for me had evidently declined from the day when he + took it into his head that I was only a money-grubber, like the rest of + the world, and that the Jew instinct had developed in me at an abnormally + early age. I let him go. What did it matter? But I was always glad that I + had been cruel on the day my grandmother died. I never repented of what I + did—never. If I had, I might be happier now. + </p> + <p> + I went back to school. I studied, played, got into mischief and out of it + again, like other boys; but in my life there seemed to be an eternal + coldness, that I alone, perhaps, was conscious of. My deed of cruelty, of + brutal revenge on the thing that had never done me injury, had seared my + soul. I was not sorry, but t could not forget; and sometimes I thought—how + ridiculous it looks written down!—that there was a power hidden + somewhere which could not forget either, and that a penalty might have to + be paid. Because a creature is dumb, must its soul die when it dies? Is + not the soul, perhaps—as <i>he</i> said—a wanderer through + many bodies? + </p> + <p> + But if I did not kill a soul, as I killed a body, the day my grandmother + died, where is that soul now? That is what I want to arrive at, that is + what I must arrive at, if I am to be happy. + </p> + <p> + I went back to school, and I passed to Oxford. I tasted the strange, + unique life of a university, narrow, yet pulsating, where the youth, that + is so green and springing, tries to arm itself for the battle with the + weapons forged by the dead and sharpened by the more elderly among the + living. I did well there, and I passed on into the world. And then at last + I began to understand the value of my inheritance; for all that had been + my grandmother’s was now mine. My people wished me to marry, but I had no + desire to fetter myself. So I took the sponge in my strong, young hands, + and tried to squeeze it dry. And I did not know that I was sad—I did + not know it until, at the age of thirty-three, just seventeen years after + my grandmother died, I understood the sort of thing happiness is. Of + course, it was love that brought to me understanding. I need not explain + that. I had often played on love; now love began to play on me. I trembled + at the harmonies his hands evoked. + </p> + <p> + I met a young girl, very young, just on the verge of life and of + womanhood. She was seventeen when I first saw her, and she was valsing at + a big ball in London—her first ball. She passed me in the crowd of + dancers, and I noticed her. As she was a <i>debutante</i> her dress was + naturally snow-white. There was no touch of colour about it—not a + flower, not a jewel. Her hair was the palest yellow I had almost ever seen—the + colour of an early primrose. Naturally fluffy, it nearly concealed the + white riband that ran through it, and clustered in tendrils and tiny + natural curls upon her neck. Her skin was whiter than ivory—a clear, + luminous white. Her eyes were very large and china-blue in colour. + </p> + <p> + This young girl dancing passed and repassed me, and my glance rested on + her idly, even cynically. For she seemed so happy, and at that time + happiness won my languid wonder, if ingenuously exhibited. To be happy + seemed almost to be mindless. But by degrees I found myself watching this + girl, and more closely. Another dance began. She joined it with another + partner. But she seemed just as pleased with him as with her former one. + She would not let him pause to rest; she kept him dancing all the time, + her youth and freshness spoken in that gentle compelling. I grew + interested in her, even acutely so. She seemed to me like the spirit of + youth dancing over the body of Time. I resolved to know her. I felt weary; + I thought she might revive me. The dance drew to an end, and I approached + my hostess, pointed the girl out, and asked for an introduction. Her name + was Margot Magendie, I found, and she was an heiress as well as a beauty. + </p> + <p> + I did not care. It was her humanity that drew me, nothing else. + </p> + <p> + But; strange to say, when the moment for the introduction arrived, and I + stood face to face with Miss Magendie, I felt an extraordinary shrinking + from her. I have never been able to understand it, but my blood ran cold, + and my pulses almost ceased to beat. I would have avoided her; an instinct + within me seemed suddenly to cry out against her. But it was too late: the + introduction was effected; her hand rested on my arm. + </p> + <p> + I was actually trembling. She did not appear to notice it. The band played + a valse, and the inexplicable horror that had seized me lost itself in the + gay music. It never returned until lately. + </p> + <p> + I seldom enjoyed a valse more. Our steps suited so perfectly, and her + obvious childish pleasure communicated itself to me. The spirit of youth + in her knocked on my rather jaded heart, and I opened to it. That was + beautiful and strange. I talked with her, and I felt myself younger, + ingenuous rather than cynical, inclined even to a radiant, though foolish, + optimism. She was very natural, very imperfect in worldly education, full + of fragmentary but decisive views on life, quite unabashed in giving them + forth, quite inconsiderate in summoning my adherence to them. + </p> + <p> + And then, presently, as we sat in a dim corridor under a rosy hanging + lamp, in saying something she looked, with her great blue eyes, right into + my face. Some very faint recollection awoke and stirred in my mind. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” I said hesitatingly—“surely I have seen you before? It + seems to me that I remember your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + As I spoke I was thinking hard, chasing the vagrant recollection that + eluded me. + </p> + <p> + She smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t remember my face?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I yours. If we had seen each other, surely we should recollect it.” + </p> + <p> + Then she blushed, suddenly realizing that her words implied, perhaps, more + than she had meant. I did not pay the obvious compliment. Those blue eyes + and something in their expression moved me strangely; but I could not tell + why. When I said good-bye to her that night, I asked to be allowed to + call. + </p> + <p> + She assented. + </p> + <p> + That was the beginning of a very beautiful courtship, which gave a colour + to life, a music to existence, a meaning to every slightest sensation. + </p> + <p> + And was it love that laid to sleep recollection, that sang a lullaby to + awakening horror, and strewed poppies over it till it sighed itself into + slumber? Was it love that drowned my mind in deep and charmed waters, + binding the strange powers that every mind possesses in flowery garlands + stronger than any fetters of iron? Was it love that, calling up dreams, + alienated my thoughts from their search after reality? + </p> + <p> + I hardly know. I only know that I grew to love Margot, and only looked for + love in her blue eyes, not for any deed of the past that might be mirrored + there. + </p> + <p> + And I made her love me. + </p> + <p> + She gave her child’s heart to my keeping with a perfect confidence that + only a perfect affection could engender. She did love me then. No + circumstances of to-day can break that fact under their hammers. She did + love me, and it is the knowledge that she did which gives so much of fear + to me now. + </p> + <p> + For great changes in the human mind are terrible. As we realize them we + realize the limitless possibilities of sinister deeds that lie hidden in + every human being. A little child that loves a doll can become an old, + crafty, secret murderer. How horrible! + </p> + <p> + And perhaps it is still more horrible to think that, while the human + envelope remains totally unchanged, every word of the letter within may + become altered, and a message of peace fade into a sentence of death. + </p> + <p> + Margot’s face is the same face now as it was when I married her—scarcely + older, certainly not less beautiful. Only the expression of the eyes has + changed. + </p> + <p> + For we were married. After a year of love-making, which never tired either + of us, we elected to bind ourselves, to fuse the two into one. + </p> + <p> + We went abroad for the honeymoon, and, instead of shortening it to the + fashionable fortnight, we travelled for nearly six months, and were happy + all the time. + </p> + <p> + Boredom never set in. Margot had a beautiful mind as well as a beautiful + face. She softened me through my affection. The current of my life began + to set in a different direction. I turned the pages of a book of pity and + of death more beautiful than that of Pierre Loti. I could hear at last the + great cry for sympathy, which is the music of this strange suffering + world, and, listening to it, in my heart there rang an echo. The cruelty + in my nature seemed to shrivel up. I was more gentle than I had been, more + gentle than I had thought I could ever be. + </p> + <p> + At last, in the late spring, we started for home. We stayed for a week in + London, and then we travelled north. Margot had never seen her future + home, had never even been in Cumberland before. She was full of excitement + and happiness, a veritable child in the ready and ardent expression of her + feelings. The station is several miles from the house, and is on the edge + of the sea. When the train pulled up at the wayside platform the day drew + towards sunset, and the flat levels of the beach shone with a rich, + liquid, amber light. In the distance the sea was tossing and tumbling, + whipped into foam by a fresh wind. The Isle of Man lay far away, dark, + mysterious, under a stack of bellying white clouds, just beginning to be + tinged with the faintest rose. + </p> + <p> + Margot found the scene beautiful, the wind life-giving, the flat + sand-banks, the shining levels, even the dry, spiky grass that fluttered + in the breeze, fascinating and refreshing. + </p> + <p> + “I feel near the heart of Nature in a place like this,” she said, looking + up at a seagull that hovered over the little platform, crying to the wind + on which it hung. + </p> + <p> + The train stole off along the edge of the sands, till we could see only + the white streamer of its smoke trailing towards the sun. We turned away + from the sea, got into the carriage that was waiting for us, and set our + faces inland. The ocean was blotted out by the low grass and + heather-covered banks that divided the fields. Presently we plunged into + woods. The road descended sharply. A village, an abruptly winding river + sprang into sight. + </p> + <p> + We were on my land. We passed the inn, the Rainwood Arms, named after my + grandfather’s family. The people whom we met stared curiously and saluted + in rustic fashion. + </p> + <p> + Margot was full of excitement and pleasure, and talked incessantly, + holding my hand tightly in hers and asking a thousand questions. Passing + through the village, we mounted a hill towards a thick grove of trees. + </p> + <p> + “The house stands among them,” I said, pointing. + </p> + <p> + She sprang up eagerly in the carriage to find it, but it was hidden. + </p> + <p> + We dashed through the gate into the momentary darkness of the drive, + emerged between great green lawns, and drew up before the big doorway of + the hall. I looked into her eyes, and said “Welcome!” + </p> + <p> + She only smiled in answer. + </p> + <p> + I would not let her enter the house immediately, but made her come with me + to the terrace above the river, to see the view over the Cumbrian + mountains and the moors of Eskdale. + </p> + <p> + The sky was very clear and pale, but over Styhead the clouds were boiling + up. The Screes that guard ebon Wastwater looked grim and sad. + </p> + <p> + Margot stood beside me on the terrace, but her chatter had been succeeded + by silence. And I, too, was silent for the moment, absorbed in + contemplation. But presently I turned to her, wishing to see how she was + impressed by her new domain. + </p> + <p> + She was not looking towards the river and the hills, but at the terrace + walk itself, the band of emerald turf that bordered it, the stone pots + full of flowers, the winding way that led into the shrubbery. + </p> + <p> + She was looking at these intently, and with a strangely puzzled, almost + startled expression. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Don’t speak to me for a moment,” she said, as I opened my lips. + “Don’t; I want to—— How odd this is!” + </p> + <p> + And she gazed up at the windows of the house, at the creepers that climbed + its walls, at the sloping roof and the irregular chimney-stacks. + </p> + <p> + Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were full of an inward + expression that told me she was struggling with forgetfulness and desired + recollection. + </p> + <p> + I was silent, wondering. + </p> + <p> + At last she said: “Ronald, I have never been in the North of England + before, never set foot in Cumberland; yet I seem to know this terrace + walk, those very flower-pots, the garden, the look of that roof, those + chimneys, even the slanting way in which that great creeper climbs. Is it + not—is it not very strange?” + </p> + <p> + She gazed up at me, and in her blue eyes there was an expression almost of + fear. + </p> + <p> + I smiled down on her. “It must be your fancy,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It does not seem so,” she replied. “I feel as if I had been here before, + and often, or for a long time.” She paused; then she said: “Do let me go + into the house. There ought to be a room there—a room—I seem + almost to see it. Come! Let us go in.” + </p> + <p> + She took my hand and drew me towards the hall door. The servants were + carrying in the luggage, and there was a certain amount of confusion and + noise, but she did not seem to notice it. She was intent on something; I + could not tell what. + </p> + <p> + “Do show me the house, Ronald—the drawing-room, and—and—there + is another room I wish to see.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see them all, dear,” I said. “You are excited. It is natural + enough. This is the drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced round it hastily. + </p> + <p> + “And now the others!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + I took her to the dining-room, the library, and the various apartments on + the ground-floor. + </p> + <p> + She scarcely looked at them. When we had finished exploring, “Are these + all?” she asked, with a wavering accent of disappointment. + </p> + <p> + “All,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then—show me the rooms upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + We ascended the shallow oak steps, and passed first into the apartment in + which my grandmother had died. + </p> + <p> + It had been done up since then, refurnished, and almost completely + altered. Only the wide fireplace, with its brass dogs and its heavy oaken + mantelpiece, had been left untouched. + </p> + <p> + Margot glanced hastily round. Then she walked up to the fireplace, and + drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “There ought to be a fire here,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But it is summer,” I answered, wondering. + </p> + <p> + “And a chair there,” she went on, in a curious low voice, indicating—I + think now, or is it my imagination?—the very spot where my + grandmother was wont to sit. “Yes—I seem to remember, and yet not to + remember.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me, and her white brows were knit. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she said: “Ronald, I don’t think I like this room. There is + something—I don’t know—I don’t think I could sit here; and I + seem to remember—something about it, as I did about the terrace. + What can it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It means that you are tired and overexcited, darling. Your nerves are too + highly strung, and nerves play us strange tricks. Come to your own room + and take off your things, and when you have had some tea, you will be all + right again.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, I was fool enough to believe that tea was the panacea for an + undreamed-of, a then unimaginable, evil. + </p> + <p> + I thought Margot was simply an overtired and imaginative child that + evening. If I could believe so now! + </p> + <p> + We went up into her boudoir and had tea, and she grew more like herself; + but several times that night I observed her looking puzzled and + thoughtful, and a certain expression of anxiety shone in her blue eyes + that was new to them then. + </p> + <p> + But I thought nothing of it, and I was-happy. Two or three days passed, + and Mar-got did not again refer to her curious sensation of pre-knowledge + of the house and garden. I fancied there was a slight alteration in her + manner; that was all. She seemed a little restless. Her vivacity flagged + now and then. She was more willing to be alone than she had been. But we + were old married folk now, and could not be always in each other’s sight. + I had a great many people connected with the estate to see, and had to + gather up the tangled threads of many affairs. + </p> + <p> + The honeymoon was over. Of course we could not always be together. + </p> + <p> + Still, I should have wished Margot to desire it, and I could not hide from + myself that now and then she scarcely concealed a slight impatience to be + left in solitude. This troubled me, but only a little, for she was + generally as fond as ever. That evening, however, an incident occurred + which rendered me decidedly uneasy, and made me wonder if my wife were not + inclined to that curse of highly-strung women—hysteria! + </p> + <p> + I had been riding over the moors to visit a tenant-farmer who lived at + some distance, and did not return until twilight. Dismounting, I let + myself into the house, traversed the hall, and ascended the stairs. As I + wore spurs, and the steps were of polished oak and uncarpeted, I walked + noisily enough to warn anyone of my approach. I was passing the door of + the room that had been my grandmother’s sitting-room, when I noticed that + it stood open. The house was rather dark, and the interior was dim enough, + but I could see a figure in a white dress moving about inside. I + recognised Margot, and wondered what she was doing, but her movements were + so singular that, instead of speaking to her, I stood in the doorway and + watched her. + </p> + <p> + She was walking, with a very peculiar, stealthy step, around the room, not + as if she were looking for anything, but merely as if she were restless or + ill at ease. But what struck me forcibly was this, that there was + something curiously animal in her movements, seen thus in a dim half-light + that only partially revealed her to me. I had never seen a woman walk in + that strangely wild yet soft way before. There was something uncanny about + it, that rendered me extremely discomforted; yet I was quite fascinated, + and rooted to the ground. + </p> + <p> + I cannot tell how long I stood there. I was so completely absorbed in the + passion of the gazer that the passage of time did not concern me in the + least. I was as one assisting at a strange spectacle. This white thing + moving in the dark did not suggest my wife to me, although it was she. I + might have been watching an animal, vague, yet purposeful of mind, tracing + out some hidden thing, following out some instinct quite foreign to + humanity. I remember that presently I involuntarily clasped my hands + together, and felt that they were very cold. Perspiration broke out on my + face. I was painfully, unnaturally moved, and a violent desire to be away + from this white moving thing came over me. Walking as softly as I could, I + went to my dressing-room, shut the door, and sat down on a chair. I never + remember to have felt thoroughly unnerved before, but now I found myself + actually shaken, palsied. I could understand how deadly a thing fear is. I + lit a candle hastily, and as I did so a knock came to the door. + </p> + <p> + Margot’s voice said, “May I come in?” I felt unable to reply, so I got up + and admitted her. + </p> + <p> + She entered smiling, and looking such a child, so innocent, so tender, + that I almost laughed aloud. That I, a man, should have been frightened by + a child in a white dress, just because the twilight cast a phantom + atmosphere around her! I held her in my arms, and I gazed into her blue + eyes. + </p> + <p> + She looked down, but still smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been, and what have you been doing?” I asked gaily. + </p> + <p> + She answered that she had been in the drawing-room since tea-time. + </p> + <p> + “You came here straight from the drawing-room?” I said. + </p> + <p> + She replied, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with an indifferent air which hid real anxiety, I said: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Margot, have you been into that room again—the room you + fancied you recollected?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never,” she answered, withdrawing herself from my arms. “I don’t wish + to go there. Make haste, Ronald, and dress. It is nearly dinner-time, and + I am ready.” And she turned and left me. + </p> + <p> + She had told me a lie. All my feelings of uneasiness and discomfort + returned tenfold. + </p> + <p> + That evening was the most wretched one, the only wretched one, I had ever + spent with her. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + I am tired of writing. I will continue my task to-morrow. It takes me + longer than I anticipated. Yet even to tell everything to myself brings me + some comfort. Man must express himself; and despair must find a voice. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Thursday Night, December 5th</i>. + </h3> + <p> + That lie awoke in me suspicion of the child I had married. I began to + doubt her, yet never ceased to love her. She had all my heart, and must + have it till the end. But the calm of love was to be succeeded by love’s + tumult and agony. A strangeness was creeping over Margot. It was as if she + took a thin veil in her hands, and drew it over and all around her, till + the outlines I had known were slightly blurred. Her disposition, which had + been so clear cut, so sharply, beautifully defined, standing out in its + innocent glory for all men to see, seemed to withdraw itself, as if a + dawning necessity for secrecy had arisen. A thin crust of reserve began to + subtly overspread her every act and expression. She thought now before she + spoke; she thought before she looked. It seemed to me that she was + becoming a slightly different person. + </p> + <p> + The change I mean to imply is very difficult to describe. It was not + abrupt enough to startle, but I could feel it, slight though it was. Have + you seen the first flat film of waveless water, sent by the incoming tides + of the sea, crawling silently up over the wrinkled brown sand, and filling + the tiny ruts, till diminutive hills and valleys are all one smooth + surface? So it was with Margot. A tide flowed over her character, a + waveless tide of reserve. The hills and valleys which I loved disappeared + from my ken. Behind the old sweet smile, the old frank expression, my wife + was shrinking down to hide herself, as one escaping from pursuit hides + behind a barrier. When one human being knows another very intimately, and + all the barricades that divide soul from soul have been broken down, it is + difficult to set them up again without noise and dust, and the sound of + thrust-in bolts, and the tap of the hammer that drives in the nails. It is + difficult, but not impossible. Barricades can be raised noiselessly, + soundless bolts—that keep out the soul—be pushed home. The + black gauze veil that blots out the scene drops, and when it is raised—if + ever—the scene is changed. + </p> + <p> + The real Margot was receding from me. I felt it with an impotence of + despair that was benumbing. Yet I could not speak of it, for at first I + could hardly tell if she knew of what was taking place. Indeed, at this + moment, in thinking it over, I do not believe that for some time she had + any definite cognisance of the fact that she was growing to love me less + passionately than of old. In acts she was not changed. That was the + strange part of the matter. Her kisses were warm, but I believed them + premeditated. She clasped my hand in hers, but now there was more + mechanism than magic in that act of tenderness. Impulse failed within her; + and she had been all impulse? Did she know it? At that time I wondered. + Believing that she did not know she was changing, I was at the greatest + pains to guard my conduct, lest I should implant the suspicion that might + hasten what I feared. I remained, desperately, the same as ever, and so, + of course, was not the same, for a deed done defiantly bears little + resemblance to a deed done naturally. I was always considering what I + should say, how I should act, even how I should look. To live now was + sedulous instead of easy. Effort took the place of simplicity. My wife and + I were gazing furtively at each other through the eye-holes of masks. I + knew it. Did she? + </p> + <p> + At that time I never ceased to wonder. Of one thing I was certain, however—that + Margot began to devise excuses for being left alone. When we first came + home she could hardly endure me out of her sight. Now she grew to + appreciate solitude. This was a terrible danger signal, and I could not + fail to so regard it. + </p> + <p> + Yet something within me held me back from speaking out. I made no comment + on the change that deepened day by day, but I watched my wife furtively, + with a concentration of attention that sometimes left me physically + exhausted. I felt, too, at length, that I was growing morbid, that + suspicion coloured my mind and caused me, perhaps, to put a wrong + interpretation on many of her actions, to exaggerate and misconstrue the + most simple things she did. I began to believe her every look + premeditated. Even if she kissed me, I thought she did it with a purpose; + if she smiled up at me as of old, I fancied the smile to be only a + concealment of its opposite. By degrees we became shy of each other. We + were like uncongenial intimates, forced to occupy the same house, forced + into a fearful knowledge of each other’s personal habits, while we knew + nothing of the thoughts that make up the true lives of individuals. + </p> + <p> + And then another incident occurred, a pendant to the incident of Margot’s + strange denied visit to the room she affected to fear. It was one night, + one deep dark night of the autumn—a season to affect even a cheerful + mind and incline it towards melancholy. Margot and I were now often silent + when we were together. That evening, towards nine, a dull steady rain set + in. I remember I heard it on the window-panes as we sat in the + drawing-room after dinner, and remarked on it, saying to her that if it + continued for two or three days she might chance to see the floods out, + and that fishermen would descend upon us by the score. + </p> + <p> + I did not obtain much response from her. The dreariness of the weather + seemed to affect her spirits. She took up a book presently, and appeared + to read; but, once in glancing up suddenly from my newspaper, I thought I + caught her gaze fixed fearfully upon me. It seemed to me that she was + looking furtively at me with an absolute terror. I was so much affected + that I made some excuse for leaving the room, went down to my den, lit a + cigar, and walked uneasily up and down, listening to the rain on the + window. At ten Margot came in to tell me she was going to bed. I wished + her good-night tenderly, but as I held her slim body a moment in my arms I + felt that she began to tremble. I let her go, and she slipped from the + room with the soft, cushioned step that was habitual with her. And, + strangely enough, my thoughts recurred to the day, long ago, when I first + held the great white cat on my knees, and felt its body shrink from my + touch with a nameless horror. The uneasy movement of the woman recalled to + me so strongly and so strangely the uneasy movement of the animal. + </p> + <p> + I lit a second cigar. It was near midnight when it was smoked out, and I + turned down the lamp and went softly up to bed. I undressed in the room + adjoining my wife’s, and then stole into hers. She was sleeping in the + wide white bed rather uneasily, and as I leaned over her, shading the + candle flame with my outspread hand, she muttered some broken words that I + could not catch. I had never heard her talk in her dreams before. I lay + down gently at her side and extinguished the candle. + </p> + <p> + But sleep did not come to me. The dull, dead silence weighed upon instead + of soothing me. My mind was terribly alive, in a ferment; and the contrast + between my own excitement and the hushed peace of my environment was + painful, was almost unbearable. I wished that a wind from the mountains + were beating against the window-panes, and the rain lashing the house in + fury. The black calm around was horrible, unnatural. The drizzling rain + was now so small that I could not even hear its patter when I strained my + ears. Margot had ceased to mutter, and lay perfectly still. How I longed + to be able to read the soul hidden in her sleeping body, to unravel the + mystery of the mind which I had once understood so perfectly! It is so + horrible that we can never open the human envelope, take out the letter, + and seize with our eyes upon its every word. Margot slept with all her + secrets safeguarded, although she was unconscious, no longer watchful, on + the alert. She was so silent, even her quiet breathing not reaching my + ear, that I felt impelled to stretch out my hand beneath the coverlet and + touch hers ever so softly. I did so. + </p> + <p> + Her hand was instantly and silently withdrawn. She was awake, then. + </p> + <p> + “Margot,” I said, “did I disturb you?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + The movement, followed by the silence, affected me very disagreeably. + </p> + <p> + I lit the candle and looked at her. She was lying on the extreme edge of + the bed, with her blue eyes closed. Her lips were slightly parted. I could + hear her steady breathing. Yet was she really sleeping? + </p> + <p> + I bent lower over her, and as I did so a slight, involuntary movement, + akin to what we call a shudder, ran through her body. I recoiled from the + bed. An impotent anger seized me. Could it be that my presence was + becoming so hateful to my wife that even in sleep her body trembled when I + drew near it? Or was this slumber feigned? I could not tell, but I felt it + impossible at that moment to remain in the room. I returned to my own, + dressed, and descended the stairs to the door opening on to the terrace. I + felt a longing to be out in the air. The atmosphere of the house was + stifling. + </p> + <p> + Was it coming to this, then? Did I, a man, shrink with a fantastic + cowardice from a woman I loved? The latent cruelty began to stir within + me, the tyrant spirit which a strong love sometimes evokes. I had been + Margot’s slave almost. My affection had brought me to her feet, had kept + me there. So long as she loved me I was content to be her captive, knowing + she was mine. But a change in her attitude toward me might rouse the + master. In my nature there was a certain brutality, a savagery, which I + had never wholly slain, although Margot had softened me wonderfully by her + softness, had brought me to gentleness by her tenderness. The boy of years + ago had developed toward better things, but he was not dead in me. I felt + that as I walked up and down the terrace through the night in a wild + meditation. If my love could not hold Margot, my strength should. + </p> + <p> + I drew in a long breath of the wet night air, and I opened my shoulders as + if shaking off an oppression. My passion for Margot had not yet drawn me + down to weakness; it had raised me up to strength. The faint fear of her, + which I had felt almost without knowing it more than once, died within me. + The desire of the conqueror elevated me. There was something for me to + win. My paralysis passed away, and I turned toward the house. + </p> + <p> + And now a strange thing happened. I walked into the dark hall, closed the + outer door, shutting out the dull murmur of the night, and felt in my + pocket for my matchbox. It was not there. I must inadvertently have laid + it down in my dressing-room and left it. I searched about in the darkness + on the hall table, but could find no light. There was nothing for it, + then, but to feel my way upstairs as best I could. + </p> + <p> + I started, keeping my hand against the wall to guide me. I gained the top + of the stairs, and began to traverse the landing, still with my hand upon + the wall. To reach my dressing-room I had to pass the apartment which had + been my grandmother’s sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + When I reached it, instead of sliding along a closed door, as I had + anticipated, my hand dropped into vacancy. + </p> + <p> + The door was wide open. It had been shut, like all the other doors in the + house, when I had descended the stairs—shut and locked, as it always + was at night-time. Why was it open now? + </p> + <p> + I paused in the darkness. And then an impulse seized me to walk forward + into the room. I advanced a step; but, as I did so, a horrible low cry + broke upon my ears out of the darkness. It came from immediately in front + of me, and sounded like an expression of the most abject fear. + </p> + <p> + My feet rooted themselves to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s there?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + There came no answer. + </p> + <p> + I listened for a moment, but did not hear the minutest sound. The desire + for light was overpowering. I generally did my writing in this room, and + knew the exact whereabouts of everything in it. I knew that on the + writing-table there was a silver box containing wax matches. It lay on the + left of my desk. I moved another step forward. + </p> + <p> + There was the sound of a slight rustle, as if someone shrank back as I + advanced. + </p> + <p> + I laid my hand quickly on the box, opened it, and struck a light. The room + was vaguely illuminated. I saw something white at the far end, against the + wall. I put the match to a candle. + </p> + <p> + The white thing was Margot. She was in her dressing-gown, and was crouched + up in an angle of the wall as far away from where I stood as possible. Her + blue eyes were wide open, and fixed upon me with an expression of such + intense and hideous fear in them that I almost cried out. + </p> + <p> + “Margot, what is the matter?” I said. “Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + She made no reply. Her face terrified me. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Margot?” I cried in a loud, almost harsh voice, determined to + rouse her from this horrible, unnatural silence. “What are you doing + here?” + </p> + <p> + I moved towards her. I stretched out my hands and seized her. As I did so, + a sort of sob burst from her. Her hands were cold and trembling. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? What has frightened you?” I reiterated. + </p> + <p> + At last she spoke in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “You—you looked so strange, so—so cruel as you came in,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Strange! Cruel! But you could not see me. It was dark,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Dark!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, until I lit the candle. And you cried out when I was only in the + doorway. You could not see me there.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? What has that got to do with it?” she murmured, still trembling + violently. + </p> + <p> + “You can see me in the dark?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she said. “I don’t understand what you mean. Of course I can + see you when you are there before my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “But——” I began; and then her obvious and complete surprise at + my questions stopped them. I still held her hands in mine, and their + extreme coldness roused me to the remembrance that she was unclothed. + </p> + <p> + “You will be ill if you stay here,” I said. “Come back to your room.” + </p> + <p> + She said nothing, and I led her back, waited while she got into bed, and + then, placing the candle on the dressing-table, sat down in a chair by her + side. + </p> + <p> + The strong determination to take prompt action, to come to an explanation, + to end these dreary mysteries of mind and conduct, was still upon me. + </p> + <p> + I did not think of the strange hour; I did not care that the night was + gliding on towards dawn. I was self-absorbed. I was beyond ordinary + considerations. + </p> + <p> + Yet I did not speak immediately. I was trying to be quite calm, trying to + think of the best line for me to take. So much might depend upon our mere + words now. At length I said, laying my hand upon hers, which was outside + the coverlet: + </p> + <p> + “Margot, what were you doing in that room at such a strange hour? Why were + you there?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated obviously. Then she answered, not looking at me: + </p> + <p> + “I missed you. I thought you might be there—writing.” + </p> + <p> + “But you were in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would have a light.” + </p> + <p> + I knew by her manner that she was not telling me the truth, but I went on + quietly: + </p> + <p> + “If you expected me, why did you cry out when I came to the door?” + </p> + <p> + She tried to draw her hand away, but I held it fast, closing, my fingers + upon it with even brutal strength. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you cry out?” + </p> + <p> + “You—you looked so strange, so cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “So cruel!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You frightened me—you frightened me horribly.” + </p> + <p> + She began suddenly to sob, like one completely overstrained. I lifted her + up in the bed, put my arms round her, and made her lean against me. I was + strangely moved. + </p> + <p> + “I frightened you! How can that be?” I said, trying to control a passion + of mingled love and anger that filled my breast. “You know that I love + you. You must know that. In all our short married life have I ever been + even momentarily unkind to you? Let us be frank with one another. Our + lives have changed lately. One of us has altered. You cannot say that it + is I.” + </p> + <p> + She only continued to sob bitterly in my arms. I held her closer. + </p> + <p> + “Let us be frank with one another,” I went on. “For God’s sake let us have + no barriers between us. Margot, look into my eyes and tell me—are + you growing tired of me?” + </p> + <p> + She turned her head away, but I spoke more sternly: + </p> + <p> + “You shall be truthful. I will have no more subterfuge. Look me in the + face. You did love me once?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she whispered in a choked voice. + </p> + <p> + “What have I done, then, to alienate you? Have I ever hurt you, ever shown + a lack of sympathy, ever neglected you?” + </p> + <p> + “Never—never.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you have changed to me since—since——” I paused a + moment, trying to recall when I had first noticed her altered demeanour. + </p> + <p> + She interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “It has all come upon me in this house,” she sobbed. “Oh! what is it? What + does it all mean? If I could understand a little—only a little—it + would not be so bad. But this nightmare, this thing that seems such a + madness of the intellect——” + </p> + <p> + Her voice broke and ceased. Her tears burst forth afresh. Such mingled + fear, passion, and a sort of strange latent irritation, I had never seen + before. + </p> + <p> + “It is a madness indeed,” I said, and a sense almost of outrage made my + voice hard and cold. “I have not deserved such treatment at your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not yield to it,” she said, with a sort of desperation, suddenly + throwing her arms around me. “I will not—I will not!” + </p> + <p> + I was strangely puzzled. I was torn with conflicting feelings. Love and + anger grappled at my heart. But I only held her, and did not speak until + she grew obviously calmer. The paroxysm seemed passing away. Then I said: + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” she answered, with a directness that had been foreign to her of + late, but that was part and parcel of her real, beautiful nature. “I + cannot understand. I only know there is a change in me, or in you to me, + and that I cannot help it, or that I have not been able to help it. + Sometimes I feel—do not be angry, I will try to tell you—a + physical fear of you, of your touch, of your clasp, a fear such as an + animal might feel towards the master who had beaten it. I tremble then at + your approach. When you are near me I feel cold, oh! so cold and—and + anxious; perhaps I ought to say apprehensive. Oh, I am hurting you!” + </p> + <p> + I suppose I must have winced at her words, and she is quick to observe. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” I said; “do not spare me. Tell me everything. It is madness + indeed; but we may kill it, when we both know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if we could!” she cried, with a poignancy which was heart-breaking to + hear. “If we could!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you doubt our ability?” I said, trying to be patient and calm. “You + are unreasoning, like all women. Be sensible for a moment. You do me a + wrong in cherishing these feelings. I have the capacity for cruelty in me. + I may have been—I have been—cruel in the past, but never to + you. You have no right to treat me as you have done lately. If you examine + your feelings, and compare them with facts, you will see their absurdity.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” she interposed, with a woman’s fatal quickness, “that will not do + away with their reality.” + </p> + <p> + “It must. Look into their faces until they fade like ghosts, seen only + between light and darkness. They are founded upon nothing; they are bred + without father or mother; they are hysterical; they are wicked. Think a + little of me. You are not going to be conquered by a chimera, to allow a + phantom created by your imagination to ruin the happiness that has been so + beautiful. You will not do that! You dare not!” + </p> + <p> + She only answered: + </p> + <p> + “If I can help it.” + </p> + <p> + A passionate anger seized me, a fury at my impotence against this child. I + pushed her almost roughly from my arms. + </p> + <p> + “And I have married this woman!” I cried bitterly. I got up. + </p> + <p> + Margot had ceased crying now, and her face was very white and calm; it + looked rigid in the faint candle-light that shone across the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be angry,” she said. “We are controlled by something inside of us; + there are powers in us that we cannot fight against.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing we cannot fight against,” I said passionately. “The + doctrine of predestination is the devil’s own doctrine. It is the doctrine + set up by the sinner to excuse his sin; it is the coward’s doctrine. + Understand me, Margot, I love you, but I am not a weak fool. There must be + an end of this folly. Perhaps you are playing with me, acting like a girl, + testing me. Let us have no more of it.” + </p> + <p> + She said: + </p> + <p> + “I only do what I must.” + </p> + <p> + Her tone turned me cold. Her set face frightened me, and angered me, for + there was a curious obstinacy in it. I left the room abruptly, and did not + return. That night I had no sleep. + </p> + <p> + I am not a coward, but I find that I am inclined to fear that which fears + me. I dread an animal that always avoids me silently more than an animal + that actually attacks me. The thing that runs from me makes me shiver, the + thing that creeps away when I come near wakes my uneasiness. At this time + there rose up in me a strange feeling towards Margot. The white, fair + child I had married was at moments—only at moments—horrible to + me. I felt disposed to shun her. Something within cried out against her. + Long ago, at the instant of our introduction, an unreasoning sensation + that could only be called dread had laid hold upon me. That dread returned + from the night of our explanation, returned deepened and added to. It + prompted me to a suggestion which I had no sooner made than I regretted + it. On the morning following I told Margot that in future we had better + occupy separate rooms. She assented quietly, but I thought a furtive + expression of relief stole for a moment into her face. + </p> + <p> + I was deeply angered with her and with myself; yet, now that I knew beyond + question my wife’s physical terror of me, I was-half afraid of her. I felt + as if I could not bring myself to lie long hours by her side in the + darkness, by the side of a woman who was shrinking from me, who was + watching me when I could not see her. The idea made my very flesh creep. + </p> + <p> + Yet I hated myself for this shrinking of the body, and sometimes hated her + for rousing it. A hideous struggle was going on within me—a struggle + between love and impotent anger and despair, between the lover and the + master. For I am one of the old-fashioned men who think that a husband + ought to be master of his wife as well as of his house. + </p> + <p> + How could I be master of a woman I secretly feared? My knowledge of myself + spurred me through acute irritation almost to the verge of madness. + </p> + <p> + All calm was gone. I was alternately gentle to my wife and almost + ferocious towards her, ready to fall at her feet and worship her or to + seize her and treat her with physical violence. I only restrained myself + by an effort. + </p> + <p> + My variations of manner did not seem to affect her. Indeed, it sometimes + struck me that she feared me more when I was kind to her than when I was + harsh. + </p> + <p> + And I knew, by a thousand furtive indications, that her horror of me was + deepening day by day. I believe she could hardly bring herself to be in a + room alone with me, especially after nightfall. + </p> + <p> + One evening, when we were dining, the butler, after placing dessert upon + the table, moved to leave us. She turned white, and, as he reached the + door, half rose, and called him back in a sharp voice. + </p> + <p> + “Symonds!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “You are going?” + </p> + <p> + The fellow looked surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Can I get you anything, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + She glanced at me with an indescribable uneasiness. Then she leaned back + in her chair with an effort, and pressed her lips together. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. + </p> + <p> + As the man went out and shut the door, she looked at me again from under + her eyelids; and finally her eyes travelled from me to a small, + thin-bladed knife, used for cutting oranges, that lay near her plate, and + fixed themselves on it. She put out her hand stealthily, drew it towards + her, and kept her hand over it on the table. I took an orange from a dish + in front of me. + </p> + <p> + “Margot,” I said, “will you pass me that fruit-knife?” + </p> + <p> + She obviously hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Give me that knife,” I repeated roughly, stretching out my hand. + </p> + <p> + She lifted her hand, left the knife upon the table, and at the same time, + springing up, glided softly out of the room and closed the door behind + her. + </p> + <p> + That evening I spent alone in the smoking-room, and, for the first time, + she did not come to bid me good-night. + </p> + <p> + I sat smoking my cigar in a tumult of furious despair and love. The + situation was becoming intolerable. It could not be en-dured. I longed for + a crisis, even for a violent one. I could have cried aloud that night for + a veritable tragedy. There were moments when I would almost have killed + the child who mysteriously eluded and defied me. I could have wreaked a + cruel vengeance upon the body for the sin of the mind. I was terribly, + mortally distressed. + </p> + <p> + After a long and painful self-communion, I resolved to make another wild + effort to set things right before it was too late; and when the clock + chimed the half-hour after ten I went upstairs softly to her bedroom and + turned the handle of the door, meaning to enter, to catch Margot in my + arms, tell her how deep my love for her was, how she injured me by her + base fears, and how she was driving me back from the gentleness she had + given me to the cruelty, to the brutality, of my first nature. + </p> + <p> + The door resisted me: it was locked. I paused a moment, and then tapped + gently. I heard a sudden rustle within, as if someone hurried across the + floor away from the door, and then Margot’s voice cried sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Who’s that? Who is there?” “Margot, it is I. I wish to speak to you—to + say good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she said. “But let me in for a moment.” There was a silence—it + seemed to me a long one; then she answered: + </p> + <p> + “Not now, dear; I—I am so tired.” “Open the door for a moment.” “I + am very tired. Good-night.” The cold, level tone of her voice—for + the anxiety had left it after that first sudden cry—roused me to a + sudden fury of action. I seized the handle of the door and pressed with + all my strength. Physically I am a very powerful man—my anger and + despair gave me a giant’s might. I burst the lock, and sprang into the + room. My impulse was to seize Margot in my arms and crush her to death, it + might be, in an embrace she could not struggle against. The blood coursed + like molten fire through my veins. The lust of love, the lust of murder + even, perhaps, was upon me. I sprang impetuously into the room. + </p> + <p> + No candles were alight in it. The blinds were up, and the chill moonbeams + filtered through the small lattice panes. By the farthest window, in the + yellowish radiance, was huddled a white thing. + </p> + <p> + A sudden cold took hold upon me. All the warmth in me froze up. + </p> + <p> + I stopped where I was and held my breath. + </p> + <p> + That white thing, seen thus uncertainly, had no semblance to humanity. It + was animal wholly. I could have believed for the moment that a white cat + crouched from me there by the curtain, waiting to spring. + </p> + <p> + What a strange illusion that was! I tried to laugh at it afterwards, but + at the moment horror stole through me—horror, and almost awe. + </p> + <p> + All desire of violence left me. Heat was dead; I felt cold as stone. I + could not even speak a word. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the white thing moved. The curtain was drawn sharply; the + moonlight was blotted out; the room was plunged in darkness—a + darkness in which that thing could see! + </p> + <p> + I turned and stole out of the room. I could have fled, driven by the + nameless fear that was upon me. + </p> + <p> + Only when the morning dawned did the man in me awake, and I cursed myself + for my cowardice. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The following evening we were asked to dine out with some neighbours, who + lived a few miles off in a wonderful old Norman castle near the sea. + During the day neither of us had made the slightest allusion to the + incidents of the previous night. We both felt it a relief to go into + society, I think. The friends to whom we went—Lord and Lady + Melchester—had a large party staying with them, and we were, I + believe, the only outsiders who lived in the neighbourhood. One of their + guests was Professor Black, whose name I have already mentioned—a + little, dry, thin, acrid man, with thick black hair, innocent of the comb, + and pursed, straight lips. I had met him two or three times in London, and + as he had only just arrived at the castle, and scarcely knew his + fellow-visitors there, he brought his wine over to me when the ladies left + the dining-room, and entered into conversation. At the moment I was glad, + but before we followed the women I would have given a year—I might + say years—of my life not to have spoken to him, not to have heard + him speak that night. + </p> + <p> + How did we drift into that fatal conversation? I hardly remember. We + talked first of the neighbourhood, then swayed away to books, then to + people. Yes, that was how it came about. The Professor was speaking of a + man whom we both knew in town, a curiously effeminate man, whose every + thought and feeling seemed that of a woman. I said I disliked him, and + condemned him for his woman’s demeanour, his woman’s mind; but the + Professor thereupon joined issue with me. + </p> + <p> + “Pity the fellow, if you like,” he uttered, in his rather strident voice; + “but as to condemning him, I would as soon condemn a tadpole for not being + a full-grown frog. His soul is beyond his power to manage, or even to + coerce, you may depend upon it.” + </p> + <p> + Having sipped his port, he drew a little nearer to me, and slightly + dropped his voice. + </p> + <p> + “There would be less censure of individuals in this world,” he said, “if + people were only a little more thoughtful. These souls are like letters, + and sometimes they are sealed up in the wrong envelope. For instance, a + man’s soul may be put into a woman’s body, or <i>vice versâ</i>. It has + been so in D———‘s case. A mistake has been made.” + </p> + <p> + “By Providence?” I interrupted, with, perhaps, just a <i>soupçon</i> of + sarcasm in my voice. + </p> + <p> + The Professor smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we imitate Thomas Hardy, and say by the President of the + Immortals, who makes sport with more humans than Tess,” he answered. + “Mistakes may be deliberate, just as their reverse may be accidental. Even + a mighty power may condescend sometimes to a very practical joke. To a + thinker the world is full of apple-pie beds, and cold wet sponges fall on + us from at least half the doors we push open. The soul-juggleries of the + before-mentioned President are very curious, but people will not realize + that soul transference from body to body is as much a plain fact as the + daily rising of the sun on one half of the world and its nightly setting + on the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that souls pass on into the world again on the death of the + particular body in which they have been for the moment confined?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely: I have no doubt of it. Sometimes a woman’s soul goes into a + man’s body; then the man acts woman, and people cry against him for + effeminacy. The soul colours the body with actions, the body does not + colour the soul, or not in the same degree.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are not irresponsible. We can command ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor smiled dryly. + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” he said. “I sometimes doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I doubt your theory of soul transference.” + </p> + <p> + “That shows me—pardon the apparent impertinence—that you have + never really examined the soul question with any close attention. Do you + suppose that D——— really likes being so noticeably + different from other men? Depend upon it,’ he has noticed in himself what + we have noticed in him. Depend upon it, he has tried to be ordinary, and + found it impossible. His soul manages him as a strong nature manages a + weak one, and his soul is a female, not a male. For souls have sexes, + otherwise what would be the sense of talking about wedded souls? I have no + doubt whatever of the truth of reincarnation on earth. Souls go on and on + following out their object of development.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe that every soul is reincarnated?” + </p> + <p> + “A certain number of times.” + </p> + <p> + “That even in the animal world the soul of one animal passes into the body + of another?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute. Now we are coming to something that tends to prove my + theory true. Animals have souls, as you imply. Who can know them + intimately and doubt it for an instant? Souls as immortal—or as + mortal—as ours. And their souls, too, pass on.” + </p> + <p> + “Into other animals?” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly. And eventually, in the process of development, into human + beings.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed, perhaps a little rudely. “My dear Professor, I thought that old + notion was quite exploded in these modern scientific days.” + </p> + <p> + “I found my beliefs upon my own minute observations,” he said rather + frigidly. “I notice certain animals masquerading—to some extent—as + human beings, and I draw my own conclusions. If they happen to fit in at + all with the conclusions of Pythagoras—or anyone else, for that + matter—well and good. If not, I am not much concerned. Surely you + notice the animal—and not merely the animal, but definite animals—reproduced + in man. There are men whose whole demeanour suggests the monkey. I have + met women who in manner, appearance, and even character, were intensely + like cats.” + </p> + <p> + I uttered a slight exclamation, which did not interrupt him. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I have made a minute study of cats. Of all animals they interest me + the most. They have less apparent intensity, less uttered passion, than + dogs, but in my opinion more character. Their subtlety is extraordinary, + their sensitiveness wonderful. Will you understand me when I say that all + dogs are men, all cats women? That remark expresses the difference between + them.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Go on—go on,” I said, leaning forward, with my eyes fixed upon his + keen, puckered face. + </p> + <p> + He seemed pleased with my suddenly-aroused interest.. + </p> + <p> + “Cats are as subtle and as difficult to understand as the most complex + woman, and almost as full of intuitions. If they have been well treated, + there is often a certain gracious, condescending suavity in their + demeanour at first, even towards a total stranger; but if that stranger is + ill disposed toward them, they seem instinctively to read his soul, and + they are in arms directly. Yet they dissemble their fears in a cold + indifference and reserve. They do not take action: they merely abstain + from action. They withdraw the soul that has peeped out, as they can + withdraw their claws into the pads upon their feet. They do not show fight + as a dog might, they do not become aggressive, nor do they whine and put + their tails between their legs. They are simply on guard, watchful, + mistrustful. Is not all this woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly,” I answered, with a painful effort to assume indifference. + </p> + <p> + “A woman intuitively knows who is her friend and who is her enemy—so + long, at least, as her heart is not engaged; then she runs wild, I allow. + A woman—— But I need not pursue the parallel. Besides, perhaps + it is scarcely to the point, for my object is not to bolster up an absurd + contention that all women have the souls of cats. No; but I have met women + so strangely like cats that their souls have, as I said before souls do, + coloured their bodies in actions. They have had the very look of cats in + their faces. They have moved like them. Their demeanour has been patently + and strongly feline. Now, I see nothing ridiculous in the assumption that + such women’s bodies may contain souls—in process of development, of + course—that formerly were merely cat souls, but that are now gaining + humanity gradually, are working their way upwards in the scale. After all, + we are not so much above the animals, and in our lapses we often become + merely animals. The soul retrogrades for the moment.” + </p> + <p> + He paused again and looked at me. I was biting my lips, and my glass of + wine was untouched. He took my agitation as a compliment, I suppose, for + he smiled and said: + </p> + <p> + “Are you in process of conversion?” + </p> + <p> + I half shook my head. Then I said, with an effort: “It is a curious and + interesting idea, of course. But there is much to explain. Now, I should + like to ask you this: Do you—do you believe that a soul, if it + passes on as you think, carries its memory with it, its memory of former + loves and—and hates? Say that a cat’s soul goes to a woman’s body, + and that the cat has been—has been—well, tortured—possibly + killed, by someone—say some man, long ago, would the woman, meeting + that man, remember and shrink from him?” + </p> + <p> + “That is a very interesting and curious problem, and one which I do not + pretend to have solved. I can, therefore, only suggest what might be, what + seems to me reasonable. + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe that the woman would remember positively, but I think + she might have an intuition about the man. Our intuitions are, perhaps, + sometimes only the fragmentary recollections of our souls, of what + formerly happened to them when in other bodies. Why, otherwise, should we + sometimes conceive an ardent dislike of some stranger—charming to + all appearance—of whom we know no evil, whom we have never heard of + nor met before? Intuitions, so called, are often only tattered memories. + And these intuitions might, I should fancy, be strengthened, given body, + robustness, by associations—of place, for example. Cats become + intensely attached to localities, to certain spots, a particular house or + garden, a particular fireside, apart from the people who may be there. + Possibly, if the man and the woman of whom you speak could be brought + together in the very place where the torture arid death occurred, the + dislike of the woman might deepen into positive hatred. It would, however, + be always unreasoning hatred, I think, and even quite unaccountable to + herself. Still——” + </p> + <p> + But here Lord Melchester rose from the table. The conversations broke into + fragments. I felt that I was pale to the lips. + </p> + <p> + We passed into the drawing-room. The ladies were grouped together at one + end, near the piano. Margot was among them. She was, as usual, dressed in + white, and round the bottom of her gown there was an edging of snow-white + fur. As we came in, she moved away from the piano to a sofa at some + distance, and sank down upon it. Professor Black, who had entered the room + at my side, seized my arm gently. + </p> + <p> + “Now, that lady,” he whispered in my ear—“I don’t know who she may + be, but she is intensely cat-like. I observed it before dinner. Did you + notice the way she moved just then—the soft, yielding, easy manner + in which she sat down, falling at once, quite naturally, into a charming + pose? And her china-blue eyes are——” + </p> + <p> + “She is my wife, Professor,” I interrupted harshly. + </p> + <p> + He looked decidedly taken aback. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon; I had no idea. I did not enter the drawing-room + to-night till after you arrived. I believed that lady was one of my + fellow-guests in the house. Let me congratulate you. She is very + beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + And then he mingled rather hastily in the group near the piano. + </p> + <p> + The man is mad, I know—mad as a hatter on one point, like so many + clever men. He sees the animal in every person he meets just because his + preposterous theory inclines him to do so. Having given in his adherence + to it, he sees facts not as they are, but as he wishes them to be; but he + shall not carry me with him. The theory is his, not mine. It does not hold + water for a moment. I can laugh at it now, but that night I confess it did + seize me for the time being. I could scarcely talk; I found myself + watching Margot with a terrible intentness, and I found myself agreeing + with the Professor to an extent that made me marvel at my own previous + blindness. + </p> + <p> + There was something strangely feline about the girl I had married—the + soft, white girl who was becoming terrible to me, dear though she still + was and must always be. Her movements had the subtle, instinctive and + certain grace of a cat’s. Her cushioned step, which had often struck me + before, was like the step of a cat. And those china-blue eyes! A sudden + cold seemed to pass over me as I understood why I had recognised them when + I first met Margot. They were the eyes of the animal I had tortured, the + animal I had killed. Yes, but that proved nothing, absolutely nothing. + Many people had the eyes of animals—the soft eyes of dogs, the + furtive, cruel eyes of tigers. I had known such people. I had even once + had an affair with a girl who was always called the shot partridge, + because her eyes were supposed to be like those of a dying bird. I tried + to laugh to myself as I remembered this. But I felt cold, and my senses + seemed benumbed as by a great horror. I sat like a stone, with my eyes + fixed upon Margot, trying painfully to read into her all that the words of + Professor Black had suggested to me—trying, but with the wish not to + succeed. I was roused by Lady Melchester, who came toward me asking me to + do something, I forget now what. I forced myself to be cheerful, to join + in the conversation, to seem at my ease; but I felt like one oppressed + with nightmare, and I could scarcely withdraw my eyes from the sofa where + my wife was sitting. She was talking now to Professor Black, who had just + been introduced to her; and I felt a sudden fury in my heart as I thought + that he was perhaps dryly, coldly, studying her, little knowing what + issues—far-reaching, it might be, in their consequences—hung + upon the truth or falsehood of his strange theory. They were talking + earnestly, and presently it occurred to me that he might be imbuing Margot + with his pernicious doctrines, that he might be giving her a knowledge of + her own soul which now she lacked. The idea was insupportable. I broke off + abruptly the conversation in which I was taking part, and hurried over to + them with an impulse which must have astonished anyone who took note of + me. I sat down on a chair, drew it forward almost violently, and thrust + myself in between them. + </p> + <p> + “What are you two talking about?” I said, roughly, with a suspicious + glance at Margot. + </p> + <p> + The Professor looked at me in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I was instructing your wife in some of the mysteries of salmon-fishing,” + he said. “She tells me you have a salmon-river running through your + grounds.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “So you are a fisherman as well as a romantic theorist!” I said, rather + rudely. “How I wish I were as versatile! Come, Margot, we must be going + now. The carriage ought to be here.” + </p> + <p> + She rose quietly and bade the Professor good-night; but as she glanced up + at me, in rising, I fancied I caught a new expression in her eyes. A ray + of determination, of set purpose, mingled with the gloomy fire of their + despair. + </p> + <p> + As soon as we were in the carriage I spoke, with a strained effort at ease + and the haphazard tone which should mask furtive cross-examination. + </p> + <p> + “Professor Black is an interesting man,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” she answered from her dark corner. + </p> + <p> + “Surely. His intellect is really alive. Yet, with all his scientific + knowledge and his power of eliciting facts and elucidating them, he is but + a feather headed man.” I paused, but she made no answer. “Do you not think + so?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I tell?” she replied. “We only talked about fishing. He managed + to make that topic a pleasant one.” + </p> + <p> + Her tone was frank. I felt relieved. + </p> + <p> + “He is exceedingly clever,” I said, heartily, and we relapsed into + silence. + </p> + <p> + When we reached home, and Margot had removed her cloak, she came up to me + and laid her hand on my arm. + </p> + <p> + So unaccustomed was her touch now that I was startled. She was looking at + me with a curious, steady smile—an unwavering smile that chilled + instead of warming me. + </p> + <p> + “Ronald,” she said, “there has been a breach between us. I have been the + cause of it. I should like to—to heal it. Do you still love me as + you did?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer immediately; I could not. Her voice, schooled as it was, + seemed somehow at issue with the words she uttered. There was a desperate, + hard note in it that accorded with that enigmatic smile of the mouth. + </p> + <p> + It roused a cold suspicion within me that I was close to a masked battery. + I shrank physically from the touch of her hand. + </p> + <p> + She waited with her eyes upon me. Our faces were lit tremblingly by the + flames of the two candles we held. + </p> + <p> + At last I found a voice. + </p> + <p> + “Can you doubt it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She drew a step nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Then let us resume our old relations,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Our old relations?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + I shuddered as if a phantom stole by me. I was seized with horror. + </p> + <p> + “To-night? It is not possible!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she said, still with that steady smile of the mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Because—because I don’t know—I—— To-morrow it + shall be as of old, Margot—to-morrow. I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Kiss me, dear.” + </p> + <p> + I forced myself to touch her lips with mine. + </p> + <p> + Which mouth was the colder? + </p> + <p> + Then, with that soft, stealthy step of hers, she vanished towards her + room. I heard the door close gently. + </p> + <p> + I listened. The key was not turned in the lock. + </p> + <p> + This sudden abandonment by Margot of the fantastic precautions I had + almost become accustomed to filled me with a nameless dread. + </p> + <p> + That night I fastened my door for the first time. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Friday Night, November 6th</i>. + </h3> + <p> + I fastened my door, and when I went to bed lay awake for hours listening. + A horror was upon me then which has not left me since for a moment, which + may never leave me. I shivered with cold that night, the cold born of + sheer physical terror. I knew that I was shut up in the house with a soul + bent on unreasoning vengeance, the soul of the animal which I had killed + prisoned in the body of the woman I had married. I was sick with fear + then. I am sick with fear now. + </p> + <p> + To-night I am so tired. My eyes are heavy and my head aches. No wonder. I + have not slept for three nights. I have not dared to sleep. + </p> + <p> + This strange revolution in my wife’s conduct, this passionless change—for + I felt instinctively that warm humanity had nothing to do with the + transformation—took place three nights ago. These three last days + Mar-got has been playing a part. With what object? + </p> + <p> + When I sat down to this gray record of two souls—at once dreary and + fantastic as it would seem, perhaps, to many—I desired to reassure + myself, to write myself into sweet reason, into peace. + </p> + <p> + I have tried to accomplish the impossible. I feel that the wildest theory + may be the truest, after all—that on the borderland of what seems + madness, actuality paces. + </p> + <p> + Every remembrance of my mind confirms the truth first suggested to me by + Professor Black. + </p> + <p> + I know Margot’s object now. + </p> + <p> + The soul of the creature that I tortured, that I killed, has passed into + the body of the woman whom I love; and that soul, which once slept in its + new cage, is awake now, watching, plotting perhaps. Unconsciously to + itself, it recognises me. It stares out upon me with eyes in which the + dull terror deepens to hate; but it does not understand why it fears—why, + in its fear, it hates. Intuition has taken the place of memory. The Change + of environment has killed recollection, and has left instinct in its + place. + </p> + <p> + Why did I ever sit down to write? The recalling of facts has set the seal + upon my despair. + </p> + <p> + Instinct only woke in Margot when I brought her to the place the soul had + known in the years when it looked out upon the world from the body of an + animal. + </p> + <p> + That first day on the terrace instinct stirred in its sleep, opened its + eyes, gazed forth upon me wonderingly, inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + Margot’s faint remembrance of the terrace walk, of the flower-pots, of the + grass borders where the cat had often stretched itself in the sun, her + eagerness to see the chamber of death, her stealthy visits to that + chamber, her growing uneasiness, deepening to acute apprehension, and + finally to a deadly malignity—all lead me irresistibly to one + conclusion. + </p> + <p> + The animal’s soul within her no longer merely shrinks away in fear of me. + It has grown sinister. It lies in ambush, full of a cold, a stealthy + intention. + </p> + <p> + That curious, abrupt change in Margot’s demeanour from avoidance to + invitation marked the subtle, inward development of feeling, the silent + passage from sensation only towards action. + </p> + <p> + Formerly she feared me. Now I must fear her. + </p> + <p> + The soul, Crouching in its cage, shows its teeth. It is compassing my + destruction. + </p> + <p> + The woman’s body twitches with desire to avenge the death of the animal’s. + </p> + <p> + I feel that it is only waiting the moment to spring; and the inherent love + of life breeds in me a physical fear of it as of a subtle enemy. For even + if the soul is brave, the body dreads to die, and seems at moments to + possess a second soul, purely physical, that cries out childishly against + pain, against death. + </p> + <p> + Then, too, there is a cowardice of the imagination that can shake the + strongest heart, and this resurrection from the dead, from the murdered, + appals my imagination. That what I thought I had long since slain should + have companioned me so closely when I knew it not! + </p> + <p> + I am sick with fear, physical and mental. + </p> + <p> + Two days ago, when I unlocked my bedroom door in the morning, and saw the + autumn sunlight streaming in through the leaded panes of the hall windows, + and heard the river dancing merrily down the gully among the trees that + will soon be quite bare and naked, I said to myself: “You have been mad. + Your mind has been filled with horrible dreams, that have transformed you + into a coward and your wife into a demon. Put them away from you.” + </p> + <p> + I looked across the gully. A clear, cold,-thin light shone upon the + distant mountains. The cloud stacks lay piled above the Scawfell range. + The sky was a sheet of faded turquoise. I opened the window for a moment. + The air was dry and keen. How sweet it was to feel it on my face! + </p> + <p> + I went down to the breakfast-room. Mar-got was moving about it softly, + awaiting me. In her white hands were letters. They dropped upon the table + as she stole up to greet me. Her lips were set tightly together, but she + lifted them to kiss me. + </p> + <p> + How close I came to my enemy as our mouths touched! Her lips were colder + than the wind. + </p> + <p> + Now that I was with her, my momentary sensation of acute relief deserted + me. The horror that oppressed me returned. + </p> + <p> + I could not eat—I could only make a pretence of doing so; and my + hand trembled so excessively that I could scarcely raise my cup from the + table. + </p> + <p> + She noticed this, and gently asked me if I was ill. + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. + </p> + <p> + When breakfast was over, she said in a low, level voice: + </p> + <p> + “Ronald, have you thought over what I said last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night?” I answered, with an effort. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, about the coldness between us. I think I have been unwell, unhappy, + out of sorts. You know that—that women are more subject to moods + than men, moods they cannot always account for even to themselves. I have + hurt you lately, I know. I am sorry. I want you to forgive me, to—to”—she + paused a moment, and I heard her draw in her breath sharply—“to take + me back into your heart again.” + </p> + <p> + Every word, as she said it, sounded to me like a sinister threat, and the + last sentence made my blood literally go cold in my veins. + </p> + <p> + I met her eyes. She did not withdraw hers; they looked into mine. They + were the blue eyes of the cat which I had held upon my knees years ago. I + had gazed into them as a boy, and watched the horror and the fear dawn in + them with a malignant triumph. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to forgive,” I said in a broken, husky voice. + </p> + <p> + “You have much,” she answered firmly. “But do not—pray do not bear + malice.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no malice in my heart—now,” I said; and the words seemed + like a cowardly plea for mercy to the victim of the past. + </p> + <p> + She lifted one of her soft white hands to my breast. + </p> + <p> + “Then it shall all be as it was before? And to-night you will come back to + me?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated, looking down. But how could I refuse? What excuse could I + make for denying the request? Then I repeated mechanically: + </p> + <p> + “To-night I will come back to you.” + </p> + <p> + A terrible, slight smile travelled over her face. She turned and left me. + </p> + <p> + I sat down immediately. I felt too unnerved to remain standing. I was + giving way utterly to an imaginative horror that seemed to threaten my + reason. In vain I tried to pull myself together. My body was in a cold + sweat. All mastery of my nerves seemed gone. + </p> + <p> + I do not know how long I remained there, but I was aroused by the entrance + of the butler. He glanced towards me in some obvious surprise, and this + astonishment of a servant acted upon me almost like a scourge. I sprang up + hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Tell the groom to saddle the mare,” I said. “I am going for a ride + immediately.” + </p> + <p> + Air, action, were what I needed to drive this stupor away. I must get away + from this house of tears. I must be alone. I must wrestle with myself, + regain my courage, kill the coward in me. + </p> + <p> + I threw myself upon the mare, and rode out at a gallop towards the moors + of Eskdale along the lonely country roads. + </p> + <p> + All day I rode, and all day I thought of that dark house, of that white + creature awaiting my return, peering from the windows, perhaps, listening + for my horse’s hoofs on the gravel, keeping still the long vigil of + vengeance. + </p> + <p> + My imagination sickened, fainted, as my wearied horse stumbled along the + shadowy roads. My terror was too great now to be physical. It was a terror + purely of the spirit, and indescribable. + </p> + <p> + To sleep with that white thing that waited me! To lie in the dark by it! + To know that it was there, close to me! + </p> + <p> + If it killed me, what matter? It was to live and to be near it, with it, + that appalled me. + </p> + <p> + The lights of the house gleamed out through the trees. I heard the sound + of the river. + </p> + <p> + I got off my horse and walked furtively into the hall, looking round me. + </p> + <p> + Margot glided up to me immediately, and took my whip and hat from me with + her soft, velvety white hands. I shivered at her touch. + </p> + <p> + At dinner her blue eyes watched me. + </p> + <p> + I could not eat, but I drank more wine than usual. + </p> + <p> + When I turned to go down to the smoking-room, she said: “Don’t be very + long, Ronald.” + </p> + <p> + I muttered I scarcely know what words in reply. It was close on midnight + before I went to bed. When I entered her room, shielding the light of the + candle with my hand, she was still awake. + </p> + <p> + Nestling against the pillows, she stretched herself curiously and smiled + up at me. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you were never coming, dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I knew that I was very pale, but she did not remark it. I got into bed, + but left the candle still burning. + </p> + <p> + Presently she said: + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you put the candle out?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her furtively. Her face seemed to me carved in stone, it was + so rigid, so expressionless. She lay away from me at the extreme edge of + the bed, sideways, with her hands toward me. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you?” she repeated, with her blue eyes on me. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t feel sleepy,” I answered slowly. + </p> + <p> + “You never will while there is a light in the room,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You wish me to put it out?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How odd you are to-night, Ronald! Is anything the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered; and I blew the light out. + </p> + <p> + How ghastly the darkness was! + </p> + <p> + I believed she meant to smother me in my sleep. I knew it. I determined to + keep awake. + </p> + <p> + It was horrible to think that, as we lay there, she could see me all the + time as if it were daylight. + </p> + <p> + The night wore on. She was quite silent and motionless. I lay listening. + </p> + <p> + It must have been towards morning when I closed my eyes, not because I was + sleepy, but because I was so tired of gazing at blackness. + </p> + <p> + Soon after I had done this there was a stealthy movement in the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Margot, are you awake?” I instantly cried out sharply. + </p> + <p> + The movement immediately ceased. There was no reply. + </p> + <p> + When the light of dawn stole in at the window she seemed to be sleeping. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Last night I did not close my eyes once. She did not move. + </p> + <p> + She means to tire me out, and she has the strength to do it. To-night I + feel so intensely heavy. Soon I must sleep, and then—— + </p> + <p> + Shall I seek any longer to defend myself? Everything seems so inevitable, + so beyond my power, like the working of an inexorable justice bent on + visiting the sin of the father upon the child. For was not the cruel boy + the father of the man? + </p> + <p> + And yet, is this tragedy inevitable? It cannot be. I will be a man. I will + rise up and combat it. I will take Margot away from this house that her + soul remembers, in which its body so long ago was tortured and slain, and + she will—she must forget. + </p> + <p> + Instinct will sleep once more. It shall be so. I will have it so. I will + strew poppies over her soul. I will take her far away from here, far away, + to places where she will be once more as she has been. + </p> + <p> + To-morrow we will go. To-morrow—— + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Ah, that cry! Was it my own? I am suffocating! What was that? The horror + of it! The pen has fallen from my hand. I must have slept; and I have + dreamed. In my dream she stole upon me, that white thing! Her velvety + hands were on my throat. The soul stared out from her eyes, the soul of + the cat! Even her body, her woman’s body, seemed to change at the moment + of vengeance. She slowly strangled me, and as the breath died from me, and + my failing eyes gazed at her, she was no longer woman at all, but + something lithe and white and soft. Fur enveloped my throat. Those hands + were claws. That breath on my face was the breath of an animal. The body + had come back to companion the soul in its vengeance, the body of—— + </p> + <p> + Ah, it was too horrible! + </p> + <p> + Can vengeance for the dead bring with it resurrection of the dead? + </p> + <p> + Hark! There is a voice calling to me from upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Ronald, are you never coming? I am tired of waiting for you. Ronald!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to me!” + </p> + <p> + “And I must go.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Just at the glimmer of dawn the first pale shaft of the sun struck across + a bed upon which lay the huddled and distorted corpse of a man. His head + was sunk down in the pillows. His eyes, that could not see, stared towards + the rising light. And from the open window of the chamber of death a woman + in a white wrapper leaned out, watching eagerly with wide blue eyes the + birds as they darted to and fro, rested on the climbing creepers, or + circled above the gorge through which the river ran. Her set lips smiled. + She looked like one calm, easy, and at peace. Presently an unwary sparrow + perched on the trellis beneath the window just within her reach. Her white + hand darted down softly, closed on the bird. She vanished from the window. + </p> + <p> + Can the dead hear? Did he catch the sound of her faint, continuous purring + as she crouched with her prey upon the floor? + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Return Of The Soul, by Robert S. Hichens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RETURN OF THE SOUL *** + +***** This file should be named 23419-h.htm or 23419-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/1/23419/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> |