diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:09:32 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:09:32 -0700 |
| commit | 0e30d02b0958417f90f1b7bdf687bfe9d9b61764 (patch) | |
| tree | 026596ff280c794eb89ca6fefceeb66ccf5e07b8 /23738-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '23738-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 23738-h/23738-h.htm | 9208 |
1 files changed, 9208 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/23738-h/23738-h.htm b/23738-h/23738-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fdba899 --- /dev/null +++ b/23738-h/23738-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9208 @@ +<!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"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Thing from the Lake, by Eleanor M. Ingram</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + ul {list-style-type: none;} + ul.toc {list-style-type: upper-roman;} + .ralign {position: absolute; + right: 25%} + .divtoc {margin-left: 15%} + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Thing from the Lake, by Eleanor M. Ingram</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Thing from the Lake</p> +<p>Author: Eleanor M. Ingram</p> +<p>Release Date: December 4, 2007 [eBook #23738]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THING FROM THE LAKE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Nick Wall, Suzanne Shell,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE THING FROM THE LAKE</h1> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>ELEANOR M. INGRAM</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of "From the Car Behind", "The Unafraid", etc.</i></p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY<br /> +PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY<br /> +AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS<br /> +PHILADELPHIA, U. S. A. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<div class="divtoc"> +<p><span class="ralign">Page</span><br /></p> + +<ul> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><span class="ralign">007</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><span class="ralign">014</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><span class="ralign">032</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><span class="ralign">074</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><span class="ralign">078</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><span class="ralign">087</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><span class="ralign">100</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a><span class="ralign">117</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>CHAPTER IX</b></a><span class="ralign">122</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>CHAPTER X</b></a><span class="ralign">130</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>CHAPTER XI</b></a><span class="ralign">145</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>CHAPTER XII</b></a><span class="ralign">158</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>CHAPTER XIII</b></a><span class="ralign">169</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>CHAPTER XIV</b></a><span class="ralign">184</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>CHAPTER XV</b></a><span class="ralign">192</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>CHAPTER XVI</b></a><span class="ralign">211</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>CHAPTER XVII</b></a><span class="ralign">237</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>CHAPTER XVIII</b></a><span class="ralign">249</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>CHAPTER XIX</b></a><span class="ralign">265</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>CHAPTER XX</b></a><span class="ralign">288</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b>CHAPTER XXI</b></a><span class="ralign">293</span></li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b>CHAPTER XXII</b></a><span class="ralign">302</span></li> +</ul> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"As well give up the Bible at once, as our belief in apparitions."—<span class="smcap">Wesley.</span></p></div> + + +<p>The house cried out to me for help.</p> + +<p>In the after-knowledge I now possess of what +was to happen there, that impression is not more +clearly definite than it was at my first sight of the +place. Let me at once set down that this is not the +story of a haunted house. It is, or was, a beleaguered +house; strangely besieged as was Prague in +the old legend, when a midnight army of spectres +unfurled pale banners and encamped around the +city walls.</p> + +<p>Of course, I did not know all this, the day that +my real-estate agent brought his little car to a stop +before the dilapidated farm. I believed the house +only appealed to be lived in; for deliverance from +the destroying work of neglect and time. A spring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +rain was whispering down from a gray sky, dripping +from broken gutters and eaves with a patter like +timid footsteps hurrying by, yet even in the storm +the house did not look dreary.</p> + +<p>"There, Mr. Locke, is a bargain," the agent +called back to me, where I sat in my car. "Finest +bit in Connecticut for a city man's summer home! +Woodland, farm land, lake and a house that only +needs a few repairs to be up-to-date. Look at that +double row of maples, sir. Shade all summer! +Fine old orchard, too; with a trifle of attention."</p> + +<p>I nodded, surveying the house with an eagerness +of interest that surprised myself. A box-like, fairly +large structure of commonplace New England ugliness, +it coaxed my liking as had no other place I had +ever seen; it wooed me like a determined woman. +And as one would long to clothe beautifully a beloved +woman, I looked at the house and foresaw what +an architect could do for it; how creamy stucco; +broad white porches and a gay scarlet roof would +transform it.</p> + +<p>"Come inside," my agent urged, hope in his +voice as he observed my face; "let me show you the +interior. I brought the keys along. Of course, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +rooms may seem a bit musty. No one has lived in +it for—some time. It's the old Michell property; +been in the family for a couple of hundred years. +Last Michell is dead, now, and it's being sold for the +benefit of some religious institute the old gentleman +left it to. Trifle wet to walk over the land today! +But I've a plan and measurements in my portfolio."</p> + +<p>I said that we would go in. If he had but known +the fact, the place was already sold to me; before +I left my car, before I entered the house, before I +had seen the hundred-odd acres that make up +the estate.</p> + +<p>There was a narrow, flagged path to the veranda, +where the planking moved and creaked under our +weight while my companion unlocked the front door. +Rather astonishingly, the air of the long-closed place +was neither musty nor damp, when we stepped in. +Instead, there was a faint, resinous odor, very pleasant +and clean; perhaps from the cedar of which the +woodwork largely consisted.</p> + +<p>The house was partially furnished. Not, of +course, with much that I would care to retain, but +a few good antiques stood out among their commonplace +associates. A large bedroom on the north side,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +which I appointed as my own at first sight, held +an old rosewood set including a four-posted, pineapple-carved +bed. I threw open the shutters in this +room and looked out.</p> + +<p>I received the first jar to my satisfaction. On +this side of the place, the grounds ran down a +slight slope for perhaps half a block to the five-acre +hollow of shallow water and lush growth which the +agent called a lake. From it flowed a considerable +creek, winding behind the house and away on its +journey to the Sound. For that under-water marsh +I felt a shock of violent dislike.</p> + +<p>"You don't care for the lake?" my companion +deprecated, at my elbow. "Fine trout in that stream, +though! I'd like you to see it in the sunshine."</p> + +<p>"I should care more for it if it was a lake, not +a swamp," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but that is only because the old dam is +down," he exclaimed eagerly. "That lets all the +water out, you see. Why, if the dam were put back, +you'd have as pretty a lake for a canoe as there is in +the State! Its natural depth is four or five feet all +over, and about eight or ten where the stream flows +through to the dam. Even yet, a few wild duck stop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +there spring and fall, and when I was a boy I've +seen heron. Put back the dam, Mr. Locke, and I'll +guarantee you'll never say swamp again!"</p> + +<p>"We will try it," I said. "Now let us find a +lawyer and see how quickly I can be put in +possession."</p> + +<p>We drove back to the little town from which we +had that morning started out, and where my agent +lived; my sleek car following his small one with +somewhat the effect of a long-limbed panther striding +behind an agitated mouse.</p> + +<p>It appeared that the sale was simply consummated. +I do not mean that all the formalities were +completed in a day. But by nightfall I could feel +myself the owner of the place.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the giddiness of being a land-owner +for the first time, or perhaps it was the abject +wretchedness of the only hotel in town that inspired +the whim which seized me during my solitary dinner. +I had spent one night here, and did not welcome +the prospect of a second. A return to New York +was not practicable, because I had arranged to meet +several contractors and an architect at the farm, +next morning, to discuss the alterations I wanted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +made. Why not drive out to my new house this +evening and sleep tonight in the rosewood-furnished +bedroom?</p> + +<p>The idea gained favor as I contemplated it. I +could go over the house tonight and sketch more +clearly what I wanted done, while I would be on the +ground when my men arrived next morning. There +was an allure of camping out about it, too.</p> + +<p>In the end I went, of course.</p> + +<p>It was dark when I stabled my roadster in the +barn that was part of my new possessions; where +the car seemed to glitter disdain of the hay-littered, +ragged shelter. Equipped with a flashlight, suitcase +and bundle, I followed a faint path that wound +its way to the house through wet blackberry vines +whose thorns had outlived the winter. My steps +broke the blank silence that brooded over the place. +At this season there was no insect life; nor any other +stirring thing within hearing or sight. But just as +I stepped upon the veranda, I heard a vague sound +from the lake that lay a few hundred feet to the +north. There was no wind, yet the water had +seemed to move with a sound like the smacking of +soft, glutinous lips. Or as if some soft body drew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +itself from a bed of clinging mud. I wondered idly +if the tide could run this far back from Long +Island Sound.</p> + +<p>The house reiterated the impression of welcoming +me. I shut and locked the old door behind me, +and went up to the room I had chosen as my own. +There I unshuttered and opened the windows, +lighted one of the candles I had brought and set it +on a little bookcase filled with dingy volumes, and +threw my blankets on the bed. I had moved in!</p> + +<p>My pleasant sense of proprietorship continued to +grow. Before I thought of sleep, I had been through +the house several times from cellar to attic and +accumulated a list of things to be done. Back +in my room, an hour passed in revising the list, +by candle-light.</p> + +<p>Near ten o'clock, I rolled myself in a dressing-gown +and my blankets, spread an automobile robe +over the four-posted bed, and fell asleep.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Beware of her fair hair, for she excels<br /> +All women in the magic of her locks."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Shelley</span> (<i>Trans.</i>).<br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>It trailed suavely through my fingers, slipping +across my palm like a belt of silk. It glided with +the noiseless haste of a thing in flight. Quite naturally, +even in the dazed moment of awakening I closed +my hand upon it. It was soft in my grasp, yet +resilient; solid, yet supple. If I may speak irrationally, +it felt as if it must be fragrant. It was a +strange visitor to my experience, yet I recognized +its identity unerringly as a blind man gaining sight +might identify a flower or a bird. In brief, it was—it +only could be an opulent braid of hair.</p> + +<p>When I grasped it, it ceased to move.</p> + +<p>In the dense darkness of my bedroom, I lay still +and considered. I was alone, or rather, should have +been alone in the old house I had bought the day +before. The agent assured me that it had been unoccupied +for years. Who, then, was my guest? A +passer-by seeking refuge in a supposedly deserted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +house would hardly have moved about with such +silent caution. A tramp of this genus would be a +rarity indeed. I had nothing with me of value to +attract a thief. The usual limited masculine jewelry—a +watch, a pair of cuff-links, a modest pin—surely +were not sufficiently tempting to snare so dainty a +bird of prey as one wearing such plumage as I held. +I have not a small fist, yet that braid was a generous +handful. How did it come to trail across my bed, +in any case? And why was its owner locked in +silence and immobility? Surely startled innocence +would have cried out, questioned my grasp or struggled +against it! My captive did neither.</p> + +<p>I began to paint a picture against the darkness; +the picture of a crouching woman, fear-paralyzed; +not daring to stir, to sob or pant or shiver lest she +betray herself. Or, perhaps, a woman who was +not hushed by panic, but by deliberation. A woman +who slowly levelled a weapon, assuring her aim in +the blank darkness by such guides as my breathing +and the taut direction of her imprisoned tresses. An +ugly woman could not have such hair as this. Or, +could she? I had a doubtful recollection of various +long-haired demonstrators glimpsed in drugshop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +windows, who were not beautiful. Yes, but they +would never have found themselves in such a situation +as this one! Only resolve or recklessness could +bring a woman to such a pass; and with spirit and +this hair no woman could be ugly.</p> + +<p>How quiet she was! I suddenly reflected that +she must be thinking the same thing of me, since +neither of us had moved during a considerable space +of time. Possibly she fancied me only half-aroused, +and hoped that I would relapse into sleep without +realizing upon what my drowsy grasp had closed. +No doubt it would have been the course of chivalry +for me to pretend to do so, but it was not the course +of curiosity.</p> + +<p>The deadlock could not last indefinitely. Apparently, +though, it must be I who should break it. As +quietly as possible, I brought my left hand forward +to grope along that silken line which certainly must +guide me to the intruder herself. My hand slipped +along the smooth surface to the full reach of my +arm; and encountered nothing. Check, for the first +attempt! The candle and matches I had bought in +the village were also beyond my reach, unless I released +my captive and rolled across the bed toward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +the little bookcase where I had placed them beside +the flashlight. If I should speak, what would she +do? And—a new thought!—was she alone in +the house?</p> + +<p>There came a gentle draw at the braid, instantly +ceasing as I automatically tightened my hold. The +pretense that I slept was ended. I spoke, as soothingly +and kindly as I could manage.</p> + +<p>"If you will let me strike a light, we can explain +to each other. Or, if you will agree not to +escape——?"</p> + +<p>In spite of my efforts, my voice boomed startlingly +through the dark, still room. No reply followed, +but the braid quivered and suddenly relaxed +from its tension. She must have come closer to me. +Delighted by so much success attained and intrigued +by the novelty of the adventure, I moved +slightly, stretching my free arm in the direction +of the flashlight.</p> + +<p>"I am not a difficult person," I essayed encouragement. +"Nor too dull, I hope, to understand a +mistake or a necessity. Nor am I affiliated with the +police! Permit me——"</p> + +<p>I halted abruptly. A cool edge of metal had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +been laid across the wrist of my groping hand. As +the hand came to rest, palm uppermost, I could feel, +or imagined I could feel my pulse beating steadily +against the menacing pressure of the blade. The +warning was eloquent and sufficient; I moved no +further toward my flashlight. Of course, if I had +lifted my right hand from its guard of the braid, I +could easily have pinioned the arm which poised the +knife before I suffered much harm. But I might +have lost my captive in the attempt; an event for +which I was not ready, yet.</p> + +<p>"Check," I admitted. "Although, it is rather +near a stalemate for us both, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>The knife pressed closer, suggestively.</p> + +<p>"No," I dissented with the mute argument. "I +think not. I do not believe you could do it; not in +cold blood, anyway!"</p> + +<p>"You do not know," insisted the closer pressing +blade, as if with a tongue.</p> + +<p>"No, I do not know," I translated aloud. "But +I am confident enough to chance it. What reason +have you for desperate action? I would not harm +you. Have I not a right to curiosity? This is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +my house, you know. Or perhaps you did not +know that?"</p> + +<p>A sigh stirred the silence, blending with the +ceaseless whisper of the rain that had recommenced +through the night. The braid did not move in my +right hand, nor did the blade touching my left.</p> + +<p>"Speak!" I begged, with an abrupt urgency that +surprised myself. "You are the invader. Why? +What would you have from me? If I am to let you +go, at least speak to me, first! This is—uncanny."</p> + +<p>"There is magic in the third time of asking," +came a breathed, just audible whisper. "Yet, be +warned; call not to you that which you may neither +hold nor forbid."</p> + +<p>"But I do call—if that will make you speak to +me," I returned, my pulses tingling triumph. +"Although, as to not holding you——"</p> + +<p>"You fancy you hold me? It is not you +who are master of this moment, but I who am +its mistress."</p> + +<p>Her voice had gained in strength; a soft voice, +yet not weak, used with a delicate deliberation that +gave her speech the effect of being a caprice of her +own rather than a result of my compulsion. Yet, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +thought, she must be crouched or kneeling beside +me, on the floor, held like the Lady of the Beautiful +Tresses.</p> + +<p>"Still, I doubt if you have the disposition to use +your advantage," I began.</p> + +<p>"You mean, the cruelty," she corrected me.</p> + +<p>"I am from New York," I smiled. "Let me +say, the nerve. If you pressed that knife, I might +bleed to death, you know."</p> + +<p>"Would you hear a story of a woman of my +house, and her anger, before you doubt too far?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me," I consented; and smiled in the darkness +at the transparent plan to distract my attention +from that imprisoned braid.</p> + +<p>She was silent for so long that I fancied the plan +abandoned, perhaps for lack of a tale to tell. Then +her voice leaped suddenly out of the blackness that +closed us in, speaking always in muted tones, but +with a strange, impassioned urgency and force that +startled like a cry. The words hurried upon one +another like breaking surf.</p> + +<p>"See! See! The fire leaps in the chimney; it +breathes sparks like a dreadful beast—it is hungry; +its red tongues lick for that which they may not yet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +have. Already its breath is hot upon the wax image +on the hearth. But the image is round of limb and +sound. Yes, though it is but toy-large, it is perfect +and firm! See how it stands in the red shine: the +image of a man, cunningly made to show his stalwartness +and strength and bravery of velvet and +lace! The image of a great man, surely; one +high in place and power. One above fear and +beyond the reach of hate!</p> + +<p>"The woman sits in her low chair, behind the +image. The fire-shine is bright in her eyes and in +her hair. On either side her hair flows down to the +floor; her eyes look on the image and are dreadfully +glad. Ha, was not Beauty the lure, and shall it not +be the vengeance?</p> + +<p>"The nine lamps have been lighted! The feathers +have been laid in a circle! The spell has been +spoken; the spell of Hai, son of Set, first man to +slay man by the Dark Art!</p> + +<p>"The man is at the door of the woman's house. +Yes, he who came in pride to woo, and proved traitor +to the love won—he is at her door in weakness +and pain.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>"As the wax wastes, the man wastes! As the +mannikin is gone, the man dies!</p> + +<p>"On her doorstep, he begs for life. He is coward +and broken. He suffers and is consumed. He calls +to her the love-names they both know. And the +woman laughs, and the door is barred.</p> + +<p>"The door is barred, but what shall bar out the +Enemy who creeps to the nine lamps?</p> + +<p>"See, the fire shines through the wax! The +image is grown thin and wan. Three days, three +nights, it has shrunk before the flames. Three days, +three nights, the woman has watched. As the fire is +not weary, she is not weary. As the fire is beautiful, +she is beautiful.</p> + +<p>"The man is borne to her door again. He lifts up +his hands and cries to her. But now he begs for +death. Now he knows anguish stronger than fear. +And the woman laughs, and the door is barred.</p> + +<p>"The fire shines on a lump of wax. The man is +dead. From her chair the woman has arisen and +stands, triumphant.</p> + +<p>"<i>But what crouches behind her, unseen? The +lamps are cast down! The pentagram is crossed! +The Horror takes its own.</i>"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>The impassioned speech broke off with the effect +of a snapped bar of thin metal. In the silence, the +steady whisper of rain came to my ears again, continuing +patiently. I became aware of a rich yet +delicate fragrance in the air I breathed. It was not +any perfume I could identify, either as a composition +or as a flower scent. If I may hope to be understood +it sparkled upon the senses. It produced a +thirst for itself, so that the nostrils expanded for it +with an eagerness for the new pleasure. I found +myself breathing deeply, almost greedily, before +answering my prisoner's story.</p> + +<p>"'Sister Helen,'" I quoted, as lightly as I could.</p> + +<p>"And do you think Rossetti had no truth to base +his poem upon?" her quiet voice flowed out of the +darkness, seeming scarcely the same speech as the +swift, irregular utterance of a moment before. "Do +you think that all the traditions and learning of the +younger world meant—nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Are you asking me to believe in witchcraft +and sorcery?"</p> + +<p>"I ask nothing."</p> + +<p>"Not even to believe that you will press the +knife if I refuse to free you?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>"Not even that; now!"</p> + +<p>Compunction smote me. Her voice sounded +more faint, as if from fatigue or discouragement. +It seemed to me that the blade against my wrist had +relaxed its menace of pressure and just rested in +position. I seemed to read my lady's weariness in +the slackened vigilance. Perhaps she was really +frightened, now that her brave attempt to lull me +into incaution had failed.</p> + +<p>"Listen, please," I spoke earnestly. "I am +going to set you free. I apologize for keeping you +captive so long! But you will admit the provocation +to my curiosity? You will forgive me?"</p> + +<p>A sigh drifted across the darkness.</p> + +<p>"I ask no questions," I urged. "But will you +not trust me to make a light and give what help I +can? You are welcome to use the house as you +please. Or, if you are lost or stormbound, my car +is in the old barn and I will drive you anywhere that +you say. Let us not spoil our adventure by suspicion. +In good faith——"</p> + +<p>I opened my hand, releasing the lovely rope by +which I had detained my prisoner. Then, with a +quickening pulse, I waited. Would she stay? Would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +she spring up and escape? Would she thank me, or +would she reply with some eccentricity unpredictable +as her whim to tell me that tale?</p> + +<p>She did none of these things. The braid of hair, +freed entirely, continued to lie supinely across my +open palm. The coolness of the blade still lightly +touched my wrist. She might be debating her course +of action, I reflected. Well, I was in no haste to +conclude the episode!</p> + +<p>When the silence had lasted many moments, +however, I began to grow restive. Anxiety tinged +my speculations. Suppose she had fainted? Or did +she doubt my intentions, and was her quietness that +of one on guard? I stirred tentatively.</p> + +<p>Two things happened simultaneously with my +movement. The braid glided away from me, while +the knife slipped from its position and tinkled upon +the floor. I started up, perception of the truth seizing +my slow wits, and reached for my flashlight.</p> + +<p>There was no one in the room except myself. +Down my blanket was slipping a severed braid of +hair, perhaps a foot in length, jaggedly cut across +at the end farthest from my hand. Leaning over, I +saw on the floor beside the bed a paper-knife of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +own; a sharp, serviceable tool that formed part of my +writing kit. Before going to bed, I had taken it +from my suitcase to trim a candle-wick, and had left +it upon the bookstand.</p> + +<p>Now I understood why her voice had sounded +more distant than seemed reasonable while I held her +beside me. No doubt she had hacked off the detaining +braid almost as soon as I grasped it. The knife +she had pressed against my wrist to keep me where +I lay while she made ready for flight; or amused +herself with me. Flight? Say rather that she had +leisurely withdrawn! Perhaps she had not even +heard my magnanimous speech offering her the freedom +that she already possessed. If she had stayed +to hear me, probably she had laughed.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she was still in the house.</p> + +<p>I rose and lighted a candle, under the impulsion +of that idea, reserving my flashlight for the search. +But there was no one in any of the dusty, sparsely +furnished rooms and halls through which I hunted. +The ancient locks on doors and windows were fastened +as I had left them, although my lady certainly +had entered and left at her pleasure. Puzzled and +amused, I finally returned to my bedchamber.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>There was some difference in that room. I was +conscious of the fact as soon as I entered and closed +the door behind me. The candle still burned where +I had left it, flickering slightly in some current of air. +There was no change that the eye could find, no +sound except the rain, yet I felt an extreme reluctance +to go on even a step from where I stood. What I +wanted to do was to tear open the door behind me, +to rush out into the hall and slam the door shut +between this room and myself.</p> + +<p>Why? I looked around me, sending the beam of +the flashlight playing over the quiet place. Nothing, +of course! I walked over to the bookcase, took up +the braid I had left there, and sat down in an old +armchair to study my trophy. On principle and by +habit I had no intention of being mastered by nerves. +It was humiliating to discover that I could be made +nervous by the mere fact of being in an unoccupied +farmhouse after midnight.</p> + +<p>The braid was magnificent. It was as broad as +my palm, yet compressed so tightly that it was thick +and solid to the touch. If released over someone's +shoulders, it would have been a sumptuous cloak, +indeed! In what madness of panic had the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +sacrificed this beauty? How she must hate me, +now the panic was past! The color, too, was unique, +in my experience; a gold as vivid as auburn. Or +was it tinged with auburn? As I leaned forward +to catch the candle-light, a drift of that fragrance +worn by my visitor floated from her braid.</p> + +<p>At once I knew what had changed in the room. +The air that had been so pure when the house was +opened, now was heavy with an odor of damp and +mould that had seeped into the atmosphere as moisture +will seep through cellar walls. One would have +said that the door of some hideous vault had been +opened into my bedchamber. This stench struggled, +as it were, with the volatile perfume that clung about +the braid; so that my senses were thrust back and +forth between disgust and delight in the strangest +wavering of sensation.</p> + +<p>I made the strongest effort to put away the effect +this wavering had upon me. I forced myself to sit +still and think of normal things; of the men whom +I was to see next morning, of the plans I meant to +discuss with them.</p> + +<p>Useless! The stench was making me ill. A +wave of giddiness swept over me, and passed. My<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +heart was beating slowly and heavily. Something in +my head pulsed in unison. I felt a frightful depression, +that suddenly burst into an attack of fear gripping +me like hysteria. I wanted to shriek aloud like +a woman, to cover my eyes and run blindly. But +at the same time my muscles failed me. Will and +strength were arrested like frozen water.</p> + +<p>As I sat there, facing the door of the room, I +became aware of Something at the window behind +my back. Something that pressed against the open +window and stared at me with a hideous covetousness +beside which the greed of a beast for its prey +is a natural, innocent appetite. I felt that Thing's +hungry malignance like a soft, dreadful mouth sucking +toward me, yet held away from me by some force +vaguely based on my own resistance. And I understood +how a man may die of horror.</p> + +<p>Yet, presently, I turned around. Weak and sick, +with dragging effort I turned in my chair and faced +the black, uncurtained window where I felt It to be.</p> + +<p>Nothing was there, to sight or hearing. I sat +still, and combated that which I knew <i>was</i> there. +In the profound stillness, I heard the wind stir the +naked branches of the trees, the flowing water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +through the fragments of the one-time dam, the +sputtering of my candle which needed trimming. +Sweat ran down my face and body, drenching me +with cold. It crouched against the empty window, +staring at me.</p> + +<p>After a time, the presence seemed not so close. +At last, I seemed to know It was gone. In the gush +of that enormous relief my remaining strength was +swept away like a swimmer in a torrent and I collapsed +half-fainting in my chair.</p> + +<p>When I was able, I rose and walked through the +house again. Again the rooms showed nothing to +my flashlight except dull furniture, walls peeling +here and there from long neglect, pictures of no +merit and dreary subject. I had expected nothing, +and I found nothing.</p> + +<p>It was on my way upstairs to my bedroom that +a sentence from the invisible lady's story came back +to my mind.</p> + +<p>"What crouches behind her, unseen? The +Horror takes Its own——"</p> + +<p>The bedroom door opened quietly under my +hand. The rain had ceased and a freshening breeze +came from the west, filling the room with sweet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +country air. The candle had burned down. While +I stood there, the flame flickered out.</p> + +<p>After a brief indecision, I made my way to the +bed, rolled myself in the blankets, and laid down +between the four pineapple-topped posts. This time +I kept the flashlight at my hand. But almost at once +I slept, and slept heavily far into a bright, windy +March morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Wide is the seat of the man gentle of speech."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Instruction of Ke' Gemni.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>On the second day after my return to New +York, my Aunt Caroline Knox called me up on +the telephone.</p> + +<p>There are reasons why I always feel myself at a +disadvantage with Aunt Caroline. The first of +these brings me to a trifling matter that I should +have set down before, but which I have made a habit +of ignoring so far as possible in both thought and +speech. As was Lord Byron, I am slightly lame. +I admit that is the only quality in common; still, I +like the romantic association. Now, my limp is very +slight, and I never have found it interfered much +with things I cared to do. In fact, I am otherwise +somewhat above the average in strength and vigor. +But from my boyhood Aunt Caroline always made +a point of alluding to the physical fact as often +as possible. She considered that course a healthful +discipline.</p> + +<p>"My nephew," she was accustomed to introduce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +me. "Lame since he was seven. Roger, do not +scowl! Yes; run over trying to save a pet dog. A +mongrel of no value whatever!"</p> + +<p>Which would have left some doubt as to whether +she referred to poor Tatters or to me, had it not been +for her exceeding pride in our family tree.</p> + +<p>The second reason for my disadvantage before +her, was her utter contempt for my profession as a +composer of popular music.</p> + +<p>Today her voice came thinly to me across the +long-distance wire.</p> + +<p>"Your Cousin Phillida has failed in her examinations +again," she announced to me, with a species +of tragic repose. "In view of her father's intellect +and my—er—my family's, her mental status is +inexplicable. Although, of course, there is your +own case!"</p> + +<p>"Why, she is the most educated girl I know," I +protested hastily.</p> + +<p>"I presume you mean best educated, Roger. +Pray do not quite lose your command of language."</p> + +<p>I meant exactly what I had said. Phillida has +studied since she was three years old, exhaustively +and exhaustedly. A vision of her plain, pale little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +face rose before me when I spoke. It is a burden +to be the only child of a professor, particularly for a +meek girl.</p> + +<p>"She has studied insufficiently," Aunt Caroline +pursued. "She is nineteen, and her position at +Vassar is deplorable."</p> + +<p>"Her health——" I murmured.</p> + +<p>"Would not have hampered her had she given +proper attention to athletics! However, I did not +call up to hear you defend Phillida in a matter of +which you are necessarily ignorant. Her father and +I are somewhat better judges, I should suppose, than +a young man who is not a student in any true sense +of the word and ignores knowledge as a purpose in +life. Not that I wish to wound or depreciate you, +Roger. There is, I may say, a steadiness of moral +character beneath your frivolity of mind and pursuit. +If my poor brother had trained you more wisely; if +you had been <i>my</i> son——"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Aunt," I acknowledged the benevolent +intention, with an inward quailing at the clank +of fetters suggested. "Was there something I can +do for you?"</p> + +<p>"Will you meet Phillida at the Grand Central<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +and bring her home? I cannot have her cross New +York alone and take a second train out here. Her +father has a lecture this afternoon and I have a club +meeting at the house."</p> + +<p>"With pleasure, Aunt! What time does her +train get in?"</p> + +<p>"Half after four. Thank you, Roger. And, +she looks on you as an elder brother. I believe an +attitude of cool disapproval on your part might +impress upon her how she has disappointed +the family."</p> + +<p>"Leave it to me, Aunt. May I take her to tea, +between trains, and get out to your place on the six +o'clock express?"</p> + +<p>"If you think best. You might advise her +seriously over the tea."</p> + +<p>"A dash of lemon, as it were," I reflected. +"Certainly, Aunt, I could."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I am really obliged!"</p> + +<p>"The pleasure is mine, Aunt."</p> + +<p>But that it was going to be Phillida's, I had +already decided. She would need the support of tea +and French pastry before facing her home. As for +treating her with cool disapproval, I would sooner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +have spent a year at Vassar myself. It was my intention +to meet her with a box of chocolates instead of +advice. Phil was not allowed candy, her complexion +being under cultivation. On the occasions when +we were out together it had been my custom to +provide a box of sweets, upon which she browsed +luxuriously, bestowing the remnants upon some +street child before reaching her home.</p> + +<p>From the telephone I turned back to that frivolous +pursuit of which my aunt had spoken with +such tactfully veiled contempt. She was not softened +by the respectable fortune I had made from +several successful musical comedies and a number of +efforts which my publishers advertise as "high-class +parlor pieces for the home." In fact, she felt it to be +a grievance that my lightness should be better paid +than the Professor's learning. In which she was +no doubt right!</p> + +<p>Ever since my return from my newly purchased +farm in Connecticut, however, I had not been working +for money or popular approval, but for my own +pleasure. There was a Work upon which I spent +only special hours of delicious leisure and infinite +labor. It held all that was forbidden to popular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +compositions; depth and sorrow and dissonances +dearer than harmony. I called it a Symphony Polynesian, +and I had spent years in study of barbaric +music, instruments and kindred things that this love-child +of mine might be more richly clothed by a tone +or a fancy. Aunt Caroline had interrupted, this +morning, at a very point of achievement toward +which I had been working through the usual alternations +of enjoyment and exasperation, elevation and +dejection that attend most workmen. Pausing only +to set my alarm-clock, I hurried into recording what +I had found, in the tangible form of paper and ink.</p> + +<p>I always set the alarm-clock when I have an +engagement, warned by dire experiences.</p> + +<p>Aunt Caroline had summoned me about eleven in +the morning. When the strident voice of the clock +again aroused me, I had just time to dress and reach +the Grand Central by half-past four. I recognized +that I was hungry, that the vicinity was snowed over +with sheets of paper, that the piano keys had acquired +another inkstain, and my pipe had charred another +black spot on the desk top. Well, it had been a good +day; and Phillida's tea would have to be my belated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +luncheon or early dinner. Even so, it was necessary +to make haste.</p> + +<p>It was in that haste of making ready that I uncovered +the braid of glittering hair which I had +brought from Connecticut. I use no exaggeration +when I say it glittered. It did; each hair was lustrous +with a peculiar, shining vitality, and crinkled slightly +along its full length. With a renewed self-reproach +at sight of its humbled exile and captivity, I took up +the trophy of my one adventure. While I am without +much experience, such a quantity seemed unusual. +Also, I had not known such a mass of hair could be +so soft and supple in the hand. My mother and little +sister died before I can remember; and while I have +many good friends, I have none intimate enough to +educate me in such matters. Perhaps a consciousness +of that trifling physical disadvantage of mine has +made me prefer a good deal of solitude in my hours +at home.</p> + +<p>The faint, tenacious yet volatile perfume drifted +to my nostrils, as I held the braid. Who could the +woman be who brought that costly fragrance into a +deserted farmhouse? For so exquisite and unique a +fragrance could only be the work of a master per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>fumer. +There was youth in that vigorous hair, +coquetry in the individual perfume, panic in her useless +sacrifice of the braid I held; yet strangest self-possession +in the telling of that fanciful tale of +sorcery to me.</p> + +<p>On that tale, told dramatically in the dark, I had +next morning blamed the weird waking nightmare +that I had suffered after her visit. The horror of +the night could not endure the strong sun and wind +of the March morning that followed. Like <i>Scrooge</i>, +I analyzed my ghost as a bit of undigested beef or +a blot of mustard. Certainly the thing had been +actual enough while it lasted, but my reason had +thrust it away. That was over, I reflected, as I laid +the braid back in the drawer. But surely the lady +was not vanished like the nightmare? Surely I +should find her in some neighbor's daughter, when +my house was finished and I went there for the +summer? She could not hide from me, with that +bright web about her head whose twin web I held.</p> + +<p>It had grown so late that I had to take a taxicab +to the Terminal, just halting at a shop long enough +to buy a box of the chocolates my cousin preferred. +But when I reached the great station and found my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +way through the swirl of travelers to the track +where Phil's train should come in, I was told the +express had been delayed.</p> + +<p>"Probably half an hour late," the gateman informed +me. "Maybe more! Of course, though, she +may pull in any time."</p> + +<p>Which meant no tea for Phillida; instead, a rush +across town to the Pennsylvania station to catch the +train for her home. As I could not leave my post +lest she arrive in my absence, it also meant nothing +to eat for me until we reached Aunt Caroline's hospitality; +which was cool and restrained rather +than festive.</p> + +<p>I foresaw the heavy atmosphere that would brood +over all like a cold fog, this evening of Phil's disgraceful +return from the scholastic arena. Ascertaining +from the gateman that the erring train was +certain not to pull in during the next ten minutes, I +sought a telephone booth.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Caroline, Phil's train is going to be very +late, possibly an hour late," I misinformed my kinswoman, +when her voice answered me. "I have had +nothing to eat since breakfast, and she will be hungry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +long before we reach your house. May I not take her +to dinner here in town?"</p> + +<p>"Please do not call your cousin 'Phil'," she +rebuked me, and paused to deliberate. "You had +no luncheon, you say?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"Why not? Were you ill?"</p> + +<p>"No; just busy. I forgot lunch. I am beginning +to feel it, now. Still, if you wish us to come +straight home, do not consider me!"</p> + +<p>I knew of old how submission mollified Aunt +Caroline. She relented, now.</p> + +<p>"Well——! You are very good, Roger, to save +your uncle a trip into the city to meet her. I must +not impose upon you. But, a quiet hotel!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Aunt."</p> + +<p>"Phillida does not deserve pampering enjoyment. +I am consenting for your sake."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Aunt. I wonder, then, if you +would mind if we stopped to see a show that I especially +want to look over, for business reasons? We +could come out on the theatre express; as we have +done before, you remember?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>"Thank you. I'll take good care of her. +Good-bye."</p> + +<p>The receiver was still talking when I hung up. +There is no other form of conversation so incomparably +convenient.</p> + +<p>The train arrived within the half-hour. With +the inrush of travelers, I sighted Phillida's sober +young figure moving along the cement platform. +She walked with dejection. Her gray suit represented +a compromise between fashion and her +mother's opinion of decorum, thus attaining a length +and fulness not enough for grace yet too much for +jauntiness. Her solemn gray hat was set too squarely +upon the pale-brown hair, brushed back from her +forehead. Her nice, young-girl's eyes looked out +through a pair of shell-rimmed spectacles. She was +too thin and too pale to content me.</p> + +<p>When she saw me coming toward her, her face +brightened and colored quite warmly. She waved +her bag with actual abandon and her lagging step +quickened to a run.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Roger!" she exclaimed breathlessly. +"Oh, how good of you to come!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>She gripped my hands in a candid fervor of relief +and pleasure.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad it is you," she insisted. "I was +sorry the train could not be later; I wished, almost, +it would never get in—and all the time it was you who +were waiting for me!"</p> + +<p>"It was, and now you are about to share an +orgy," I told her. "I have your mother's permission +to take you to dinner, Miss Knox."</p> + +<p>"Here? In town? Just us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And afterward we will take in any show +you fancy. How does that strike you?"</p> + +<p>She gazed up at me, absorbing the idea and my +seriousness. To my dismay, she grew pale again.</p> + +<p>"I—I really believe it will keep me from +just dying."</p> + +<p>I pretended to think that a joke. But I recognized +that my little cousin was on the sloping way +toward a nervous breakdown.</p> + +<p>"No baggage?" I observed. "Good! I hope +you did not eat too much luncheon. This will be an +early dinner."</p> + +<p>She waited to take off the spectacles and put them +in her little bag.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>"I do not need them except to study, but I didn't +dare meet Mother without them," she explained. +"No; I could not eat lunch, or breakfast either, +Cousin Roger. Nor much dinner last night! Oh, +if you knew how I dread—the grind! I should +rather run away."</p> + +<p>"So we will; for this evening."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Where—where were you going to +take me?"</p> + +<p>We had crossed the great white hall to street +level, and a taxicab was rolling up to halt before us. +Surprised by the anxiety in the eyes she lifted to +mine, I named the staid, quietly fastidious hotel +where I usually took her when we were permitted an +excursion together.</p> + +<p>"Unless you have a choice?" I finished.</p> + +<p>"I have." She breathed resolution. "I want to +go to a restaurant with a cabaret, instead of going +to the theatre. May I? Please, may I? Will you +take me where I say, this one time?"</p> + +<p>Her earnestness amazed me. I knew what her +mother would say. I also knew, or thought I knew +that Phillida needed the mental relaxation which +comes from having one's own way. In her mood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +no one else's way, however, wise or agreeable, will +do it all.</p> + +<p>"All right," I yielded. "If you will promise me, +faith of a gentlewoman, to tell Aunt Caroline that I +took you there and you did not know where you were +going. My shoulders are broader than yours and +have borne the buffeting of thirty-two years instead +of nineteen. Had you chosen the place, or shall I?"</p> + +<p>To my second surprise, she answered with the +name of an uptown place where I never had been, +and where I would have decidedly preferred not +to take her.</p> + +<p>"They have a skating ballet," she urged, as I +hesitated. "I know it is wonderful! Please, +please——?"</p> + +<p>I gave the direction to the chauffeur and followed +my cousin into the cab. It seemed a proper moment +to present the chocolates from my overcoat pocket. +When she proved too languid to unwrap the box, I +was seriously uneasy.</p> + +<p>"You cannot possibly know how dreadful it is +to be the only child of two intellectual people who +expect one to be a credit," she excused her lack of +appetite, nervously twitching the gilt cord about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +package. "And to be stupid and a disappointment! +Yes, as long as I can remember, I have been a disappointment. +If only there had been another to +divide all those expectations. If only you had been +my brother!"</p> + +<p>"Heaven forbid!" I exclaimed hastily. "That +is——"</p> + +<p>"Don't bother about explaining," she smiled +wanly, "I understand. But you are distinguished, +and you look it. I never will be, and I am ugly. +Mother expects me to be an astronomer like Father +and work with him, or to go in for club life and +serious writing as she does. I never can do either."</p> + +<p>"Neither could I, Phil."</p> + +<p>"You are clever, successful. Everybody knows +your name. When we are out, and people or an +orchestra play your music, Mother always says: 'A +trifle of my nephew's, Roger Locke. Very original, +is it not? Of course, I do not understand music, +but I hear that his last light opera——' And then +she leans back and just <i>eats up</i> all the nice things +said about your work. She would never let you +know it, but she does. And that is the sort of thing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +she wants from me. I—I want to make cookies, +and I love fancywork."</p> + +<p>The taxicab drew up with a jerk before the +gaudy entrance to Silver Aisles.</p> + +<p>I imagine Phillida had the vaguest ideas of what +such places were like. When we were settled at a +table in a general blaze of pink lights, beside a fountain +that ran colored water, I regarded her humorously. +But she seemed quite contented with her +surroundings, looking about her with an air I can best +describe as grave excitement. At this hour, the +room was not half filled, and the jazz orchestra had +withdrawn to prepare for a hard night's work.</p> + +<p>After I had ordered our dinner, I glanced up to +see her fingers busied loosening the severe lines of +her brushed back hair.</p> + +<p>"Everyone here looks so nice," she said wistfully. +"I wish my hair did shine and cuddle around +my face like those women's does. Do—do I look +queer, Cousin? You are looking at me so——?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking what pretty eyes you have."</p> + +<p>Her pale face flushed.</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Most truthfully. As for the hair, isn't that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +matter of bottled polish and hairdressers? But you +remind me of a question for you. Isn't a braid of +hair this wide," I laid off the dimensions on the +table, "this long, and thick, a good deal for a woman +to own?"</p> + +<p>"Show me again."</p> + +<p>I obeyed, while she leaned forward to observe.</p> + +<p>"Not one girl in a hundred has so much," she +pronounced judgment. "Who is she? Probably it +isn't all her own, anyhow!"</p> + +<p>"It is not now, but it was," I said remorsefully.</p> + +<p>"How could you tell? Did you measure it?"—with +sarcasm. "Do you remember the maxim we +used to write in copybooks? 'Measure a thousand +times, and cut once?' One has to be cautious!"</p> + +<p>"I cut it first, and then measured."</p> + +<p>"What? Tell me."</p> + +<p>At last she was interested and amused. There +was no reason why I should not tell her of my midnight +adventure. We never repeated one another's +little confidences.</p> + +<p>She listened, with many comments and exclamations, +to the story of the unseen lady, the legend of +the fair witch, the dagger that was a paper-knife by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +day and the severed tresses. She did not hear of the +singular nightmare or hallucination that had been my +second visitor. My reason had accounted for the +experience and dismissed it. Some other part of +myself avoided the memory with that deep, unreasoning +sense of horror sometimes left by a +morbid dream.</p> + +<p>The dinner crowd had flowed in while we ate +and talked. A burst of applause aroused me to this +fact and the commencement of the first show of the +evening. The orchestra had taken their places.</p> + +<p>"They will hardly begin with their best act," I +remarked, surprised by Phillida's convulsive start +and rapt intentness upon the stretch of ice that +formed the exhibition floor. "Your ballet on skates +probably will come later."</p> + +<p>"I did not come to see the ballet," she answered, +her voice low.</p> + +<p>"No? What, then?"</p> + +<p>"A—man I know?"</p> + +<p>Once when I was a little fellow, I raced headlong +into the low-swinging branch of a tree, the bough +striking me across the forehead so that I was bowled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +over backward amid a shower of apples. I felt a +twin sensation, now.</p> + +<p>"Here, Phillida?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Someone from your home town or your college +town?" I essayed a casual tone.</p> + +<p>"Neither. He belongs here, and they call him +Flying Vere. He—Look! Look, Cousin!"</p> + +<p>I turned, and saw that the first performer was +upon the ice floor.</p> + +<p>He came down the center like a silver-shod Mercury. +In the silence, for the orchestra did not accompany +his entrance, the faint musical ringing of his +skates ran softly with him. My first unwilling +recognition of his good looks and athletic grace was +followed by an equally reluctant admission of his +skill. Reluctant, because my anger and bewilderment +were hot against the man. My little cousin, my +pathetic, unworldly Phillida—and this cabaret entertainer! +At the mere joining of their names my senses +revolted. What could they have in common? How +had she seen him? Having seen him, it was easy to +understand how he had fascinated her inexperience. +Only, what was his object?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>He had seen us, where we sat. I saw his dark +eyes fix upon her and flash some message. Her +plain little face irradiated, her fingers unconsciously +twisting and wringing her napkin, she leaned forward +to watch and answer glance for glance.</p> + +<p>I would rather not put into words my thoughts. +Yet, I watched his performance. In spite of myself, +he held me with his swift, certain skill, his vitality +and youth.</p> + +<p>He was gone, with the swooping suddenness of +his appearance. The jazz music clattered out. +Phillida turned back to me and began to speak with +a hushed rapture that baffled and infuriated me.</p> + +<p>"You understand, Cousin Roger? Now that +you have seen him, you do understand? No! Let +me talk, please. Let me tell you, if I can. It began +last summer, at the school where I was cramming for +college work. Oh, how tired I was of study! How +tired of it I am, and always shall be! I think that +side of me never will get rested. Then, in the +woods, I met him. He was stopping at a hotel not +far away. I—we——"</p> + +<p>I waited for her to go on. Instead, she abruptly +spread wide her hands in a gesture of helplessness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>"After all, I cannot tell you. Not even you, +Cousin! He—he liked me. He treated me just as +a really, truly girl who would have partners at dances +and wear fluffy frocks and curl her hair. He thought +I was pretty!"</p> + +<p>The naïve wonder and triumph of her cry, the +challenge in her brown eyes, to my belief, were moving +things. I registered some ugly mental comments +on the rearing of Phil and the kind of humility that +is <i>not</i> good for the soul.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" I demanded. "Of course!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No. Thank you, but—no! Not pretty, except +to him. Only to him, because he loves me."</p> + +<p>I do not know what impatience I exclaimed. She +checked me, leaning across the table to grasp my hand +in both hers.</p> + +<p>"Hush! Oh, hush, dear Cousin Roger! For it +is quite too late. We were married six months ago; +last autumn."</p> + +<p>When I could, I asked:</p> + +<p>"Married legally, beyond mistake? Were you +not under eighteen years old?"</p> + +<p>"I was eighteen years and a half. There is no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +mistake at all. We walked over to the city hall in +the nearest town, and took out our license, and +were married."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I will take you home to your +father and mother, now; then see this man, myself. +If there is indeed no flaw in the marriage and it +cannot be annulled, a divorce must be arranged. Any +money I have or expect to have would be a small +price to set you free from the miserable business. +But the first thing is to get you home. We will +start now."</p> + +<p>She detained my hand when I would have signalled +our waiter. Her eyes, shining and solemn +as a small child's, met mine.</p> + +<p>"No, Cousin, please! I am not going home any +more. At least, not alone. I asked you to bring +me here where he is, because I am going to stay +with my husband."</p> + +<p>"Never," I stated firmly.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Not if I have to send for your father and take +you home by force."</p> + +<p>"You cannot. I am of age."</p> + +<p>"Phillida, I am responsible for you to your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +parents tonight. Let me take you home, explain +things to them, and then decide your course."</p> + +<p>"But that is what I most do not want to do!" +she naïvely exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"You will not?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry. No."</p> + +<p>"Then I must see the man."</p> + +<p>"Not—hurt——?"</p> + +<p>I recalled the man we had just seen on the skating +floor, with a qualm of quite unreasonable bitterness. +That anxiety of Phillida's had a flavor of irony +for me.</p> + +<p>"Hardly," I returned. "There are fortunately +other means of persuasion than physical force."</p> + +<p>"Oh! But you cannot persuade him to give +me up."</p> + +<p>I was silent. At which, being a woman, she +grew troubled.</p> + +<p>"How could you?" she urged.</p> + +<p>"You have had no opportunity of judging what +influence money has on some people, Phil."</p> + +<p>She laughed out in relief.</p> + +<p>"Is that all? Try, Cousin."</p> + +<p>"You trust him so much?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>"In everything, forever!"</p> + +<p>"Then if I succeed in buying him off, promise +me that you will come home with me."</p> + +<p>"If he takes money to leave me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I should die. But I will promise if you want +me to, because I know it never will happen. Just +as I might promise to do anything, when I knew that +I never would have to carry it out."</p> + +<p>"Very well," I accepted the best I could get. +"I will go find him."</p> + +<p>"There is no need. He is coming here to our +table as soon as he is free."</p> + +<p>"I will not have you seen with him in this place."</p> + +<p>"But I am going to stay here with him," she said.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, the meek eyes of Phillida, defied me. +My faint authority was a sham. What could be +done, I recognized, must be done through the man.</p> + +<p>We sat in silence, after that. Presently, her gaze +fixed aslant on me as if to dare my interference, she +drew up a thin gold chain that hung about her neck +and ended beneath her blouse. From it she unfastened +a wedding ring and gravely put the thing on +her third finger, the school-girl romanticism of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +gesture blended with an air of little-girl naughtiness. +She looked more fit for a nursery than for +this business.</p> + +<p>I could tell from the change in her expression +when the man was approaching. I rose, meaning +to meet him and turn him aside from our table. But +Phillida halted me with one deftly planted question.</p> + +<p>"You would not leave me alone in this place, +Cousin?"</p> + +<p>Certainly I would not leave her alone at a table +here; not even alone in appearance while I had my +interview with the man close at hand. Yet it +seemed impossible to speak before her. She calmly +answered my perplexity.</p> + +<p>"You must talk to him here, of course. I—want +to listen to you both. Indeed, I shall not interfere +at all, or be angry or hurt! I know how good you +mean to be, dear; only, you do not understand."</p> + +<p>I sat down again, perforce. When the man's +shadow presently fell across our table, it did not +soothe me to see Phil thrust her hand in his, her +small face enraptured, her fingers locking about his +with a caress plain as a kiss. She said proudly, +if tremulously:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>"Cousin Roger, this is my husband. Mr. Locke, +Ethan dear."</p> + +<p>He said nothing. His hesitating movement to +offer his hand I chose to ignore. I admit that my +spirit rose against him to the point of loathing as +he stood there, tall, correct in attire—the focus of +admiring glances from other diners—in every way +the antithesis of my poor Phillida.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," I bade curtly, when he did not +speak. "Miss Knox insists that we have our interview +here. I should have preferred otherwise, but +her presence must not prevent what has to be said."</p> + +<p>"It won't prevent anything I want to say, Mr. +Locke," he answered.</p> + +<p>He spoke with a drawl. Not the drawl of affectation, +nor the drawl of South or West so cherished +by the romantic, but the slow, deliberate speech of +New England's upper coasts. It had the oddest +effect, that honest, homely accent on the lips of a +performer in this place. Phil drew him down to the +third chair at the table. After which, she folded +her hands on the edge of the cloth as if to signify to +me how she kept her promise of neutrality, and +looked fixedly at her glass of water instead of at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +either of us. Plainly, all action was supposed to +proceed from me.</p> + +<p>"My cousin has just told me of her marriage," I +opened, as dryly concise as I could manage explanation. +"It is of course impossible that she should +adopt your way of living, as she seems to have in +mind. You may not understand, yet, that it also is +impossible for you to adopt hers. No doubt you +have supposed her to be the daughter of wealthy +people, or at least people of whom money could be +obtained. You were wrong. Professor Knox has +nothing but his modest salary. Her parents are of +the scholarly, not of the moneyed class. She has +no kin who could or would support her husband or +pay largely to be rid of him. Of all her people, I +happen to be the best off, financially. It happens also +that I am not sentimental, nor alarmed at the idea of +newspaper exploitation for either of us. It is necessary +that all this be plainly set forth before we +go further.</p> + +<p>"Now, for your side: you have involved Miss +Knox to the extent of marriage. To free her from +this trap into which her inexperience has walked is +worth a reasonable price. I will pay it. I shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +take her home to her father and mother tonight, and +consult my lawyer tomorrow. He will conduct +negotiations with you. The day Miss Knox is +divorced from you without useless scandal or trouble-making, +I will pay to you the sum agreed upon with +my lawyer. If you prefer to make yourself objectionable, +you will get nothing, now or later."</p> + +<p>He took it all without a flicker of the eyelids, not +interrupting or displaying any affectation of being +insulted. I acknowledge, now, that it was an outrageous +speech to make to a man of whom I knew +nothing. But it was so intended; summing up what +I considered an outrageous situation brought about +by his playing upon a young girl's ignorance of such +fellows as himself. Phillida's usually pale cheeks +were burning. Several times she would have broken +in upon me with protests, if Vere had not silenced her +by the merest glances of warning. A proof of his +influence over her which had not inclined me toward +gentleness with him!</p> + +<p>When I finished there was a pause before he +turned his dark eyes to mine, and held them there.</p> + +<p>"Honest enough!" he drawled, with that incongruous +coast-of-Maine tang to his leisureliness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +"I'll match you there, Mr. Locke. I don't care +whether you make fifty thousand a year with your +music writing, or whether you grind a street-piano +with a tin-cup on top. It's nothing to me. I guess +we can do without your lawyer, too. Because, you +see, I married Mrs. Vere because I wanted her; and +I figure on supporting her. If her folks are too +cultivated to stand me, I'm sorry. But they won't +have to see me. So that's settled!"</p> + +<p>He was honest. His glance drove that fact home +to me with a fist-like impact. There was nothing I +was so poorly prepared to meet.</p> + +<p>Phillida's hands went out to him in an impulsive +movement. He covered them both with one of his +for a moment before gently putting them in her lap +with a gesture of reminder toward the revellers all +about us. The delicacy of that thought for her was +another disclosure of character, unconsciously made. +Worthy or unworthy, he did love Phil.</p> + +<p>I am not too dully obstinate to recognize a mistake +of my own. Whatever my bitterness against +the man, I had to accord him some respect. I sat +for a while striving to align my forces to attack +this new front.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>"I don't blame you for thinking what you said, +Mr. Locke," his voice presently spoke across my perplexity. +"I can see the way things came to you; +finding me here, and all! I'm glad to have had this +chance to talk it out with one of my wife's relations. +I'd like them to know she'll be taken care of. Outside +of that, I guess there is nothing we have to say +to each other."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I owe you both an apology," I +said stiffly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right—for both of us! I can see +how much store you set by her."</p> + +<p>"But what are you going to do with her, man?" +I burst forth. "Do you expect to keep her here; +sitting at a table in this place and watching you do +your turn, making your fellow performers her +friends, seeing and learning——?" I checked my +outpouring of disgust. "Or do you propose to shut +her up in some third-class boarding house day and +night while you hang around here? Good heavens, +Vere, do you realize what either life would be for an +nineteen-year-old girl brought up as she has been?"</p> + +<p>He colored.</p> + +<p>"As for bringing up," he retorted, "I guess she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +couldn't be a lot more miserable than her folks worried +her into being. But—you're right about the +rest. That's why I was going to leave her with her +folks yet a while, until I had a place for her. I +mean, while I saved up enough to get the place."</p> + +<p>"But I wrote to him when I failed in my exams, +Cousin Roger," Phillida broke in. "I told him that +I would not go home. I could not bear it. I was +coming to him, and he would just have to keep me +with him or I should <i>die</i>. Indeed, I do not care about +places. I think it will be lovely fun to sit here and +watch him, or go behind the scenes with him and +make friends with the other people. I—I am surprised +that you are so narrow, Cousin Roger, when +all your own best friends are theatrical people and +artists and you think so highly of them."</p> + +<p>I answered nothing to that. The distance between +the stage and this class of cabaret show was +not to be traversed in a few seven-league words. I +looked at Vere, who returned my look squarely +and soberly.</p> + +<p>"You needn't worry about her being here, Mr. +Locke," he said. "I know better than that! But +she has to come to me; it's her right, don't you think?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +I'll promise you to take her to a better place as soon +as I can manage."</p> + +<p>"What kind of a place?"</p> + +<p>"I'm saving to get a place in the country," he +answered diffidently. "I'm a countryman, and +Phillida thinks she'd like it."</p> + +<p>"You?" I exclaimed, unable to smother my +derision and unbelief. My glance summed up his +fastidious apparel and grooming, the gloss on his +curling dark hair and the dubious diamond on his +little finger.</p> + +<p>He reddened through his clear, dark skin, but his +eyes were not those of a man taken in a lie.</p> + +<p>"Did you take notice of what I do here?" He +asked me, with the first touch of humility I had seen +in him. "I couldn't dance or sing or do parlor tricks. +I wasn't bred to parlors or indoors. But I learned +to skate pretty fancy from a boy up. My folks' farm +was on one side of a lake and the schoolhouse on +the other. About November that lake used to freeze +solid. My brother and I used to skate five miles to +school, and back again, before we were six years old. +We lived on skates about half the year, I guess. +Well—you don't care about the rest; how the farm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +was just about big enough to support my elder brother +and his family, and I came to New York. Nor how +I found New York pretty well filled up with folks +who knew considerably more than I did. It was +the manager of this place who advertised for expert +skaters, who dressed me up like this, and paid me the +first living wages I'd had in the city. All the same, +I was bred a farmer, and I mean to get back to it. +Always have! You're a man, Mr. Locke, and I'd +hate you to think I was a shimmy dancer on ice and +nothing else, or I wouldn't mention it. My father +would have taken the buggy-whip to me, I guess, if +he'd lived to see me in this rig. Soon as I've enough +put by, I'll shed this perfumed suit and the cheap +jewelry and take my wife where she can have a chance +to forget I ever wore them."</p> + +<p>"But I <i>like</i> them," put in Phillida ardently. +"Please do not fuss so, Ethan; because I really do."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" I turned upon her. "Are you sure, +then, that it is not all this cabaret glamour you really +are in love with? Would you care for him as an ordinary, +hard-working fellow in a pair of overalls and +a flannel shirt? No applause, no lights, no stage?"</p> + +<p>She laughed up at me.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>"You have forgotten that I met Ethan while he +was on a vacation from his work here, and roughing +it. When I married him, I had hardly seen him in +anything except his Navy flannel shirt, scrubby +trousers, and funny blunt-toed shoes."</p> + +<p>"You served in the war?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes. On a submarine chaser. Got pneumonia +from exposure and was invalided home just before +the Armistice."</p> + +<p>"And you came back here?"</p> + +<p>"I came here," he corrected me. "I enlisted +from Maine. I was discharged in New York. That +was when I couldn't find anything I could do, until +this skating trick came along."</p> + +<p>I sat thinking for a time; as long thoughts as I +could command. The obvious course was to send for +Phillida's father. Yet what could that vague and +learned gentleman do that I could not? I visioned +the Professor standing in this riotous, gaudy restaurant, +swinging his eye-glasses by their silk ribbon +and peering at Vere in helpless distaste and consternation. +It was practically certain that Phil would +refuse to go home with him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>What if she did go home? I could picture the +scene there, when the truth came out. The mortification +of her people, the gossip in the little town, +her outcast position among the girls and boys with +whom she had grown up—what a martyrdom for +a sensitive spirit! Of course, the only possible +thing considered by Aunt Caroline would be a +prompt divorce.</p> + +<p>If Phillida refused to consent to a divorce, how +could she live at home as the wife of a man her +parents had pronounced unfit to receive? If she +yielded and gave up Vere, would she be much better +off? An embarrassment to her family, the heroine +of a stolen marriage and Reno freedom, what chance +of happiness would she have in her conventional +circle? Especially as she neither was a beauty nor +the dashing type of girl who might make capital of +such a reputation. Probably she would bury herself +in nunlike seclusion, stay in her room when callers +came, and wear a veil when she went out to walk.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, she would break her heart for Vere.</p> + +<p>Could matters be any worse if she tried life with +him, even if the experiment eventually proved a +failure and ended in a divorce instead of beginning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +there? Might not her parents be spared much they +most dreaded, if their friends could be told simply +that Phillida had made a love match and was with +her husband?</p> + +<p>Finally, Phillida was a human creature with the +right to manage her own life. Had any of us the +right to lay hands upon her existence and mould it +to our fancy?</p> + +<p>I looked up from my revery to find the eyes of +both of them fixed on me as if I held their doom +balanced upon my palm. Perhaps, in a sense, I did.</p> + +<p>"Phil, will you come home to your father and +mother, and consider all this a bit more before you +decide?" I asked her.</p> + +<p>I thought I knew the answer to this, and I did.</p> + +<p>"No, Cousin Roger," she refused firmly. +"Please forgive me. I know how kind you mean +to be, but—no! I shall stay with Ethan. If ever you +love anyone, you will understand."</p> + +<p>I accepted the decision. There was no reason +why I should think of the woman who had spoken to +me across the darkness in a voice of melody and +power, or why I should seem to feel again the ex<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>quisite, +live softness of her braid within my hand. +But it was so.</p> + +<p>"Very well," I said. "Vere, it is to you, then, +as Phillida's husband, that I must address any plans. +I do not pretend to like the course she has taken. I +do not know what action her parents may take, +although I believe they will listen to my advice. +Putting all that aside, she refuses to come with me +and you agree that she cannot stay here.</p> + +<p>"I have just bought a farm in Connecticut, intending +to use it as a summer home. There are some +alterations and repairs being made, but little is to be +changed inside the house and it is in perfectly livable +shape. Here is my offer. Take Phillida there, and +I will make you manager of the place. I will pay all +reasonable expenses of putting the land into proper +condition and getting such stock and equipment as +you judge best; all expenses and up-keep of the house +and whatever salary usually is drawn by such managers +of small estates. I shall be there, on and off, but +you and Phillida must take charge of everything. I +am neither a farmer nor a housekeeper, and do not +wish to be either. I bought the place only because +New York is too hot to work in during three months<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +of the year, and I hate summer resorts. Keep my +room ready, and you will find I disturb you little. +Of course, hire what servants are necessary.</p> + +<p>"Now, if you make the place self-supporting inside +of five years, I will deed the whole thing to you +two. To put it better, if you succeed in making the +farm pay a living for yourselves, I will make it over to +you and withdraw. If you fail—well, I suppose you +will be no worse off than you are now!"</p> + +<p>They were stricken speechless. Perhaps my attitude +had not pointed to such a conclusion of our interview. +Phillida told me long afterward that she expected +me to bid them good-evening and abandon +them forever, as my mildest course; with alternative +possibilities such as summoning a policeman and +having Vere haled to prison. Seeing their condition, +I rose.</p> + +<p>"I will stroll about and leave you a chance to +talk it over," I declared; although there are few +ordeals I dislike more than displaying my limp about +such public rooms.</p> + +<p>Vere stopped me, rising as I rose.</p> + +<p>"No need of that, for us," he answered, facing +me across the little table. "About giving us your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +farm, Mr. Locke, that's for the future! Just now, +the manager's job is plenty big enough to thank you +for. I wish I could say it better. If you'll stay here +with Phillida for ten minutes, until I can get back, +I'll be obliged."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To resign here, and get my outfit into a +suitcase."</p> + +<p>He had taken up my challenge like a man, at +least. There were none of the hesitations and excuses +to stay in town that I had half expected. It +pleased me that he decided for Phil as well as himself. +Some of my ideas about marriage are antiquated, +I admit. I nodded to him, and sat +down again.</p> + +<p>It is unnecessary to record the childish things +Phillida tried to say to me, while he was gone.</p> + +<p>"I am so happy," was her apology for threatened +tears. "I never knew anyone—except Ethan—could +be so kind. And—and, will you tell Father +and Mother?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." I winced, though, at that prospect. +"Give me that little bag you carry on your wrist."</p> + +<p>She obeyed, wide-eyed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>"You do tote a powder-puff. I did not know +whether Aunt Caroline permitted it. Rub it on your +nose," I advised, passing the bit of fluff to her.</p> + +<p>While she complied, almost like a normally frivolous +girl, I used the moment to transfer a few banknotes +to the bag, so some need might not find +her penniless.</p> + +<p>Vere came back in not much more than the promised +ten minutes. He had changed to gray street +clothes and carried a suitcase. I noted that the diamond +had disappeared from his finger and his curly +head looked as if it had been held under a water-faucet +and vigorously toweled to lessen the brilliantine +gloss.</p> + +<p>"If you'll tell us where your farm is, Mr. +Locke, we'll start," he volunteered.</p> + +<p>Phillida looked up at him with eyes of adoring +trust.</p> + +<p>"I had the porter at the Terminal check my suitcase +to be called for. We shall have to get it, dear."</p> + +<p>In spite of myself, I smiled at their amazing +promptitude. There was both reassurance and +pathos in its unconscious youth. All this eagerness +pressing forward—where? They did not know, nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +I. Certainly we did not dream how strange a goal +awaited one of us three, or on what weird, desolate +path that traveler's foot was already set.</p> + +<p>"You had better go to a good hotel for tonight," +I modified their plan. "Tomorrow is time enough +to go out to the farm, by daylight. Phil has had +enough excitement for one day. I will write full +directions for the trip, Vere, on the back of this +timetable of the railroad you must take."</p> + +<p>They were enchanted with this suggestion. Indeed, +they were in a state of mind to have assented +if I advised them to sit out on a park bench +until morning.</p> + +<p>Yet, when I had put them and their scanty luggage +into a taxicab, I suffered a bad pang of misgiving. +What responsibility was I assuming in letting +my little-girl cousin go like this? What did I +know of this man, or where he would take her? I +think Phillida divined something of my trouble, for +she leaned out the door to me and held up her face +like a child's to be kissed.</p> + +<p>"I am so <i>happy</i>," she whispered.</p> + +<p>I turned to Vere; who had a long envelope in +readiness to put in my hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>"I guess you might like to have these for a +while, Mr. Locke," he said, with one of his slow, +straightforward glances.</p> + +<p>With which farewells I had to be content, and +watch their taxi swing out into the bright-dark flow +of traffic where it was lost from my sight. After +which, I entered another taxicab by my unromantic +self and was driven to that railroad station where +I would find a train bound to the college town that +was the home of Aunt Caroline and her husband. +One always thought of Phil's parents in that order, +although the Professor was a moderately distinguished +scientist and his spouse merely masterful in +her own limited circle.</p> + +<p>The envelope Vere had given me contained their +marriage certificate, his release from the Navy, and +his membership card in the American Legion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Fair speech is more rare than the emerald found by slave +maidens on the pebbles."—<span class="smcap">Ptah-Hotep.</span></p></div> + + +<p>At ten o'clock, next morning, I was summoned +from my sleep by the bell of the telephone beside my +bed. It was not a pleasant sleep, although I had not +returned to my apartment until dawn. Nightmare +doubts galloped ruthless hoofs over any repose.</p> + +<p>Phillida's voice came over the wire to me like +the morning song of a bird.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Cousin Roger. We are going +to take the train in a few moments. But I could not +leave New York without telling you how happy I +am. Are you—did I wake you up? I was afraid +that I might, but Ethan said you would like me to +call, even so."</p> + +<p>"My dear, it was the kindest thought you ever +had," I told her fervently.</p> + +<p>"Was it?" she hesitated. "Then—were they +pretty dreadful to you at home?"</p> + +<p>"Quite!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>"Do you suppose they will <i>do</i> anything dreadful +about us?"</p> + +<p>"No. Nothing."</p> + +<p>It did not seem necessary to tell her that Aunt +Caroline did not know where the runaways had gone, +and was thereby debarred from hasty action. Phillida's +father had privately agreed with me in this.</p> + +<p>"I am so very happy, Cousin Roger!"</p> + +<p>"I am glad, Phil."</p> + +<p>"And you will come to the farm soon?"</p> + +<p>"Soon," I promised.</p> + +<p>So the nightmares of immediate anxiety for her +galloped themselves away, routed for that time. Like +my gold-fish when their bowl has been unduly shaken, +I sank down again into the quieted waters of my +little world and absorption in my own affairs. There +have been hours when I wondered if I was of more +importance than they, as a matter of cosmic fact.</p> + +<p>A month passed before I kept my promise to go +to the farm in Connecticut.</p> + +<p>As a first reason, I wanted to leave my young +couple alone for a period of adjustment. Also, I was +curious to see how they would handle the business +left to them. I held telephone conversations with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +Phillida, and with various contractors now and then. +I sent out the furnishings for my own room. Everything +else I purposely left to the experimenters.</p> + +<p>There was a second reason, more obscure. I +wanted to keep for a while the little mystery of the +lady who had come to the farmhouse room in the +dark of the night. She was pure romance, a rare +incident in a prosaic age. My table had been bare +of such delicately spiced morsels, and I relished the +savor of this one upon my palate. I was not quite +ready to find her in the matter-of-fact daughter of +some neighbor, who had sought shelter from the +storm in that supposedly empty house and probably +mistaken me for a tramp.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I was equally reluctant to go back and +prove that the adventure was ended, that she had +been a bird of passage who had gone on with no +thought of return.</p> + +<p>With all these delays, and the fact that my work +really kept me busy in town, April was verging +toward May when I finally saw the last of my luggage +put into the car and started on my fifty-mile +drive to the house by the lake. I did not take this +first visit very seriously, or intend it to be over long.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +To be a constraint upon the household I had established, +or assume a right there, was far from the +course I planned. It was not certain Vere and I +would be comfortable housemates. But to stay +away altogether would have hurt Phillida as much +as to stay too long, I considered. Probably a week +would be about enough for this time.</p> + +<p>So lightly, so ignorantly, I stepped from the first +great division of my life into the second; not hearing +the closing of the gate through which there was no +turning back.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"The very room, coz she was in,<br /> +Seemed warm from floor to ceilin'."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">—</span><span class="smcap">The Courtin'.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>I arrived at noon, when a bright sun set the +country air afloat with motes like dust of gold. The +place seemed drenched in golden light. Even the +young grass had gold in its green, and the lake glittered +hot with yellow sparkles.</p> + +<p>The house was transformed. The cream-colored +stucco that hid its homely walls, deep, arched porches +that took the place of the old shallow affairs, scarlet +Spanish tiles where bleached shingles had been—all +united in giving it the gayest, most modern air +imaginable. A gravel drive curved in beneath the +new porte-cochère, inviting the wheels of my car to +explore. Grass had been put in order, flower-beds +laid out. The new dam was up, and the miniature +lake no longer suggested a swamp. If the place had +appealed to me in its dreary neglect, now it held out +its arms to me and laughed an invitation.</p> + +<p>As I stepped from my car, I heard running feet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +and a girl sped around the veranda to meet me. She +cast herself into my arms before I fairly realized this +was Phillida. A Phillida as new to my eyes as the +house! After the first greetings I held her off to +analyze the change.</p> + +<p>She was tanned and actually rosy. The corners +of her once sad little mouth turned up instead of +down and developed—I looked twice—yes, developed +a dimple. The dull hair I always had seen +brushed plainly back, now was parted on one side +and fluffed itself across her forehead and about her +cheeks with an astonishing effectiveness. She was +attired in a China-blue linen frock with a scarlet sash +knotted in front quite daringly, for Phillida.</p> + +<p>"Why, Phil, how pretty we are!" I admired.</p> + +<p>She looked up at me like a praised little girl, and +smoothed the sash. I noticed she wore above her +wedding ring that "diamond" which once had +adorned Vere's finger so distastefully to me. It +shone bravely in the sunlight with quite a display of +fire. Tracing my gaze, she held out her hand for +me to see.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was his, Cousin Roger. Of course, we +have not very much money yet, and I do not care<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +about all the engagement rings that ever were +thought of. But, I was afraid people up here might +notice that I had none and think slightingly of Ethan. +So I asked him, and we went to a jeweler, who made +it smaller to fit me. It is not a false stone, you know. +It is a white topaz, and I love it better than the +biggest diamond."</p> + +<p>"Then you are still happy?"</p> + +<p>"Forever and ever, world without end," she +answered solemnly.</p> + +<p>We went in.</p> + +<p>Sun and sweet wind had worked white magic +in the long-closed house. Quaint furniture, no +longer dust-grimed but lustrous with cleanliness and +polish, had quite a different air. Fresh upholstery +in cheerful tints, fresh paper on the walls, good rugs, +order and daintiness everywhere changed the interior +out of my recognition. Already the atmosphere of +home and cheer was established.</p> + +<p>"Come see your rooms," Phillida invited, enraptured +by my admiration. "They are so pretty!"</p> + +<p>She ran up the stairs, around the passage, and +ushered me into the room of graceful adventure and +grotesque nightmare. I stopped on the threshold.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>I had ordered the partition removed between the +two chambers on this side, giving me one large room. +This, with the little bathroom attached, occupied the +entire large frontage of the house. This long, +spacious room; floors covered by my Chinese rugs, +walls echoing the rugs' smoke-blue, my piano in a +bright corner, my special easychairs and writing-table +in their due places, welcomed me with such +familiar comfort that I could not identify the neglected +chamber where I had slept one night in the old +bed with the four pineapple-topped posts. The windows +were opened, and white curtains with their +over-draperies of blue silk were swinging in and out +on a fresh breeze where the Horror of my dream +had seemed to press itself against the black panes. +Decidedly, I must have had a bad attack of indigestion +that night!</p> + +<p>"See how nice?" Phillida was urging appreciation +at my side. "We swung those lovely old hangings +from the arch, so they can be drawn across the +bedroom end of your room, if you like. Although I +do not know why you <i>should</i> like, everything is +so pretty! Your long Venetian mirror came safely, +and all your darling lamps. And—and I hope you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +like it so well, Cousin Roger, that you will stay +here always!"</p> + +<p>When she left me alone, I walked to the different +windows, contemplating the stretches of lawn dotted +with budding apple trees and the lake that lay beyond +shining in the sun. Was Phillida's charming wish +to become a fact, I wondered? Could this rest +and calm hold me content here, where I had meant +merely to pause and pass on? I looked at the yellow +country road meandering past the lake into unseen +distance. Should I ever see my Lady of the Beautiful +Tresses come that way, or travel that road to where +she lived? If I did meet her, would she forgive me +the loss of her braid? There would be a test for the +sweetness of her disposition!</p> + +<p>When a chiming dinner-gong summoned me +downstairs, I found Vere awaiting me beside Phillida. +We shook hands, and he made some brief, pleasant +speech about their having expected me sooner. If +pale, timid Phil had become a surprising butterfly, +Vere had taken the reverse progress toward the sober +grub. I like him better in outing clothes, although +he showed even more the unusual good looks which +so unreasonably prejudiced me against him. If he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +felt any strain in our meeting, his slow, tranquil +trick of speech and manner covered it. I hope I did +as well! It was then I discovered that his wife's +pet name for him fitted like a glove. She called +him "Drawls."</p> + +<p>The luncheon was good; cooked and served by a +middle-aged Swedish woman named Cristina. +Afterward, I was conducted into the kitchen by +the lady of the house, to view the new fittings and +improvements. Most odd and pretty it was to see +Phillida in that rôle of housewife, and to watch her +pride in Vere and deference to him. Let me record +that I never saw the daughter of Aunt Caroline fail +in this settled course toward her husband. Whether +it was born of revulsion from her mother's hectoring +domestic methods, or of consciousness that outsiders +might rate Vere below his wife in station and education, +so her respect for him must forbid their slight, +I do not know. But I never saw her oppose him or +speak rudely to him before other people. I suppose +they may have had the usual conjugal differings, +neither of them being angelic. If so, no outsider +ever glimpsed the fact.</p> + +<p>We spoke of nothing serious on that first day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +They both showed me the various improvements +finished or progressing, indoors or out.</p> + +<p>We dined as agreeably as we had lunched. Quite +early, afterward, I excused myself, and left together +the two who were still on their honeymoon.</p> + +<p>At the door of my room, I pushed a wall-switch +that lighted simultaneously three lamps. In this I +had repeated the arrangement used by me for years +in my city apartment. I have a demand for light +somewhere in my make-up, and no reason for not +indulging it. There flashed out of the dusk a large +lamp upon my writing-table, a tall floor-lamp beside +the piano, and a reading-lamp on a stand beside my +bed at the far end of the room. All three were +shaded in a smoke-blue and rose-color effect that long +since had caught my fancy for night work; the +shades inset with imitation semi-precious stones, +rough-cut things of sapphire, tourmaline-pink and +baroque pearl.</p> + +<p>I lay emphasis upon this, to make clear how +normal, serene and even familiar in effect was the +room into which I came. Yet, as I closed the door +behind me and stood in that softly brilliant radiance, +a shudder shook me from head to foot with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +violence of an electric shock. A sense of suffocation +caught at my throat like an unseen hand.</p> + +<p>Both sensations were gone in the time of a drawn +breath, leaving only astonishment in their wake. +Presently I went on with the purpose that had +brought me upstairs; lifting a portfolio to the table +and beginning to unpack the work which I had been +doing in New York. As I laid out the first sheets of +music, there drifted to my ears that vague sound +from the lake I had heard on my first night visit here, +while I stood on the tumble-down porch. The sound +that was like the smack of glutinous lips, or some +creature drawing itself out of thick, viscid slime. +As before, I wondered what movement of the shallow +waters could produce that result. Not the tide, now, +for the new dam was up and the lake cut off from +Long Island Sound. The pouring of the waterfall +flowed on as a reminder of that fact.</p> + +<p>The sound was not repeated. The dusk outside +the windows offered nothing unusual to +be seen. I finished my unpacking and sat down at +my writing-table.</p> + +<p>I am not accustomed to heed time. There never +has been anyone to care what hours I kept, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +work best at night. Midnight was long past when I +thought of rest.</p> + +<p>I declare that I thought of nothing more; not +even recalling the vague unease felt on entering the +room. A day spent in the fresh air, followed by +an evening of hard work and journeyings between +the piano and table, had left me utterly weary. When +I lay down, it was to sleep at once.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"I have made a story that hath not been heard;<br /> +A great feat of arms that hath not been seen!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Amenemhe'et.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>I woke slowly. It seemed that I struggled to +wakefulness as a spent swimmer struggles toward +shore. Up, up through deep poles of sleep I dragged +myself, driven by some dimly sensed necessity. +Peril had stolen upon me in my unconsciousness, a +stalking beast. I knew that with nightmare certainty. +It was as if my soul stood affrighted beside +my brain, wailing upon its ally to arouse and stand +with it against the menace. And my brain answered, +but with infinite difficulty; like a drugged +warrior who hears the clang of battle and forces +numbed limbs to stir, arise and grasp the sword.</p> + +<p>I was awake. Suddenly; the swimmer reaching +the surface!</p> + +<p>How shall I describe Fear incarnate? The Horror +was at the open window opposite the foot of +my bed, staring in upon me with slavering covetousness +of the prey It watched. I lay there, and felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +It seek for me across the darkness with tentacles of +evil that groped for some part of me upon which It +might lay hold.</p> + +<p>The room was still. Between the draperies, the +window showed nothing to the eye except a dark +square faintly tinged with the night luminance of the +sky. There was nothing to see; nothing to hear. +But gradually I became aware of a hideous odor of +mould and mildew, of must and damp decay that +loaded the air with disgust.</p> + +<p>I lay there, and opposed the approach of the +Thing with all the will of resistance in me. The +sweat poured from my whole body, so that I lay as in +water and the drenched linen of my sleeping-suit +clung coldly to me.</p> + +<p>It could not pass the defense of my will. I felt +the malevolent fury of Its striving. Like the antennæ +of some monstrous insect brushing about my +body, I felt Its evil desires wavering about my mental +self, examining, searching where It might seize. It +had not yet found the weakness It sought. If +It did——?</p> + +<p>The sickening, vault-like air I must breathe +fought for It. So did the darkness. All this time,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +or the time that seemed so long, I had no more command +of my body than a cataleptic patient. Every +ounce of force in me had rushed to support the two +warriors of the battle: the brain and will that opposed +the clutching menace. But now, as I grew more and +more fully awake, out of very loathing and danger +I drew determination. Slowly, painfully, I began to +free my right arm and hand from this paralysis.</p> + +<p>As I advanced in resolution, the Thing seemed +to recoil. Inch by inch, I moved my hand across the +bed toward my reading-lamp on the stand beside me. +In proportion as I moved, the dreadful tentacles +drew back and away. A last effort, and the chain +was in my fingers. I jerked spasmodically.</p> + +<p>Rosy light from the lamp flashed over the room. +All the quiet comfort of the place sprang into view as +if to reassure me; the piano open as I had left it, the +table strewn with my evening's work, each bit of +furniture, each drapery or trinket undisturbed.</p> + +<p>The Thing was gone. In the hush I heard my +panting breath and the tick of my watch on the +stand. It was two o'clock in the morning. As I +mechanically read the hour, a cock somewhere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +shrilled its second call before dawn. The Horror +had been true to the legendary time of apparitions.</p> + +<p>Weak and chilled, I presently made an attempt +to rise. But at the movement, a wave of sickness +swept through me. The room seemed to rock and +swing. I had just time to recognize the grip of +faintness before I fell back on the pillow.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Vivifying sweetness was in my nostrils, which +expanded avidly for this new air. Perfume that was +a tonic, a subtle elixir; that sparkled upon the senses, +sank suavely and healingly through me, so that I +seemed to draw refreshment with each breath. Reluctantly, +I aroused more and more in response to +this unusual stimulant; which somehow gave delicious +rest yet drew me from it into life.</p> + +<p>I could have sworn someone had touched me. +With some exclamation on my lips, I started up; to +find myself in darkness. The lamps I had left lighted +burned no longer.</p> + +<p>This time there was no terror in my awakening. +No Thing of nightmare pressed against my window-space. +The fragrance persisted; the ghastly smell +of mould and corruption was gone. But I wanted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +light for all that! Reaching for the lamp beside me +on its stand, I found the little chain. I felt the +chain draw in my fingers and heard the click that +should have meant light; but no answering brightness +sprang up.</p> + +<p>Instead, across the dark came a voice; a voice +low-pitched, soft without weakness, keen with +exultation:</p> + +<p>"Victory! Victory! You have no need of +light—who conquered in darkness! The Enemy +has fled. It has covered the Unspeakable Eyes from +the eyes of a man. By the will of a man Its will +has been forbidden. It has dragged Itself back to +the Barrier and cowers there for this time. Oh, +soldier on the dreadful Frontier, be proud, putting +off your armor tonight! Be proud, and rest."</p> + +<p>Those practical people who are never unnerved +by the intangible, may gauge if they can the weirdness +of this address following my first experience, +and then smile their contempt of me. For I confess +to a moment of uncanny chill. The voice was that +of the woman who had trailed her braid of hair into +my grasp, the night I first slept here. But, how +did she know of the Thing's visit to me? I had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +spoken nor uttered a cry throughout Its visitation. +How could she have knowledge of that silent struggle +between It and me, or of my escape so narrowly won. +How, unless she too——?</p> + +<p>I groped for a glass of water left on my stand. +I drank, and felt my dry throat relax.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" I asked.</p> + +<p>A sigh trembled toward me.</p> + +<p>"I am one who stands on the threshold of your +beautiful world, as a traveler stands outside a lighted +palace, gazing where she may not enter, and feeling +the winter about her."</p> + +<p>"Do not suppose me quite a superstitious fool," +I said bruskly. "You are a woman. The woman +who left a very real braid of hair in my hands, not +long ago, to save herself from capture!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yet, I am neither more nor less real than +the One which came for you a while since."</p> + +<p>"Then my nightmare was real? A thing of +flesh and blood, or clever mechanism? You know it. +Perhaps you produced it?"</p> + +<p>The rush of my angry suspicion dashed in useless +heat against her cool melancholy.</p> + +<p>"Real? What is real?" she challenged me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +"Turn to the sciences that you should understand better +than I, and ask. Stretch out your arm. For a +million years men have vowed you touch empty air. +They saw and felt it empty. But now a child knows +air swarms with life. In that thin nothingness, +crowd and move the distributors of death, disease, +health, vigor—existence itself. The water you have +just tasted is pure and clear in the glass? Pure? +Each drop is an ocean of inhabitants clean and unclean. +I speak commonplaces. But is there no +knowledge not yet commonplace? Oh man, with +all the unfathomed universe about us, <i>dare</i> you pronounce +what is real?"</p> + +<p>"What is natural," I began.</p> + +<p>She interrupted me.</p> + +<p>"Doubtless what is not natural cannot and does +not exist. Have you, then, measured Nature? He +was a great thinker, one of deep knowledge, who +compared Man to a child wandering on the shore of +a vast ocean and picking up a pebble here and there."</p> + +<p>"Of what would you convince me? And, why?"</p> + +<p>"Of what? Danger! Why? Would you watch +a man enter a jungle where some hideous beast +crouched in ambush, while you neither warned nor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +armed him? I am here to turn you back. I +am the native of that country who runs to cry +warning to a stranger; to put into his hand the +weapon of understanding."</p> + +<p>So solemn, so urgent a sincerity was in her voice, +that again chill touched me. The clammy dampness +of my garments hung on my limbs as a reminder of +the Thing, real or unreal, that twice had made Its +presence felt beyond denial. Wild as her words +might be, their incredible suggestion was matched +by my experience. I sought with my eyes for her, +before answering. The room was dark, yet the +darker bulk of furniture loomed out enough to be +distinguishable. No figure was visible, even traced +by the direction of her voice. I was certain that any +movement to seek her would mean her flight.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you want me to go away +from this place?" I questioned.</p> + +<p>The sigh came again, just audibly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Why should you die?"</p> + +<p>Was I wrong in fancying the sigh regretful? +Did I not hear a wistful reluctance in her tone? Excitement +ran along my veins like burning oil on flowing +water. The woman hidden in the dark, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +association of her voice with the strange, exquisite +fragrance I breathed, the thought of beauty in her +born of that lovely braid of hair I had seized—all +blended in a spell of human magic. I have said I +was a man much alone, and a lame man who +craved adventure.</p> + +<p>"Just now," I said, "you spoke of some victory. +You called me—soldier."</p> + +<p>"Is it not victory to have driven back the Dark +One? Is he not a soldier who, aroused in the night +to meet dreadful assault, sets his face to the enemy +and battles front to front? Before the Eyes men +and women have died or lost reason, or fled across +half the world, broken by fear. What are the wars +of man with man, compared with a man's battle +against the Unknown? I honor you! I salute you! +But—soldier alone on the forbidden Frontier, go! +Join your fellows in the world alloted to you; live, +nor seek to tread where mankind is not sent."</p> + +<p>"How can there be wrong in facing a situation +that I did not cause?"</p> + +<p>"There is no wrong. There is danger."</p> + +<p>"What danger?" I persisted.</p> + +<p>"Can you ask me?" she retorted with a hint of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +impatience. "You who have felt Its grope toward +your inner spirit?"</p> + +<p>I shuddered, remembering the brush of those +antennæ, exploring, examining! But I persisted, beyond +my every-day nature. Her speech was for me +like that liquor distilled from honey that inflamed +the Norsemen to war fury.</p> + +<p>"You say I came off victor," I reminded her.</p> + +<p>"Yes. But can you conquer again, and again, +and again? Will you not feel strength fail, health +break, madness creep close? Will you not be worn +down by the Thing that knows no weariness and +fall its prey at last?"</p> + +<p>"It will come—often?"</p> + +<p>"Until one conquers, It will come."</p> + +<p>I forced away a qualm of panic.</p> + +<p>"How can you know?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"Ask me not. I do know."</p> + +<p>"But, look here!" I argued. "If as you say, +this creature was not meant to meet mankind, how +can It come after me this way?"</p> + +<p>She seemed to pause, finally answering with +reluctance:</p> + +<p>"Because, two centuries ago one of the race<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +of man here broke through the awful Barrier that +rears a wall between human kind and those dark +forms of life to which It belongs. For know that a +human will to evil can force a breach in that Barrier, +which those on the other side never could pass +without such aid."</p> + +<p>I neither understood nor believed. At least, I +told myself that I did not believe her wild, legendary +explanation of the nightmare Thing that visited me. +I did not want to believe. Neither did I wish to +offend her by saying so!</p> + +<p>"You will go," she presently mistook my silence +for surrender. "You are wise as well as brave. +Good go with you! Good walk beside you in that +happy world where you live!"</p> + +<p>"Wait!" I cried sharply. Her voice had +seemed to recede from me, a retreating whisper at +the last word. "No! I will not go. I must—I +will know more of you. You are no phantom. Who +are you? Where—when can I see you in daylight?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I came to hold a light before the dreadful path. +The warning is given."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>"But you will come again?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"What? The Thing will come, and not you?"</p> + +<p>"What have I to do with It, who am more +helpless before It than you? Go; and give thanks +that you may."</p> + +<p>"Listen," I commanded, as firmly as I could. +"I am not going away from this house without better +reason. All this is too sudden and too new to +me. If you have more knowledge than I, you +have no right to desert me half-convinced of what +I should do."</p> + +<p>"I can stay no longer."</p> + +<p>"Why can you not come again?"</p> + +<p>"You plan to trap me," she reproached.</p> + +<p>"No. Word of honor! You shall come and go +as you please; I will not make a movement +toward you."</p> + +<p>"Not try—to see me, even?" she hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Not even that, if you forbid."</p> + +<p>There was a long pause.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps——" drifted to me, a faint distant +word on the wind that had begun to stir the tree-branches +and flutter through my room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>She was gone. There sounded a click whose +meaning did not at once strike me, intent as I was +upon the girl. Twice I spoke to her, receiving no +reply, before judging that I might rise without +breaking my promise. Then I recognized the click +of a moment before, as that of the electric switch +beside my door. No doubt she had turned off my +lights at her entrance and now restored them. I +pulled the chain of my reading-lamp, and this time +light flashed over the room.</p> + +<p>I had known no one would be there, and no one +was. Yet I was disappointed.</p> + +<p>As I drew on my dressing-gown I heard a clock +downstairs strike four. Not a breath or a step +stirred in the house. The damp freshness of coming +dawn crept in my windows, bringing scents of tansy +and bitter-sweet from the fields to strive against the +unknown fragrance in my room. The melancholy +depression of the hour weighed upon me. Beneath +the gentle strife of sweet odors, my nostrils seemed +to detect a lurking foulness of mould and decay.</p> + +<p>I sat down at my desk, to wait beside the lamp +for the coming of sunrise.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"For it is well known that Peris and such delicate beings +live upon sweet odours as food; but all evil spirits abominate +perfumes."—<span class="smcap">Oriental Mythology.</span></p></div> + + +<p>The breakfast bell, or rather Phillida's Chinese +chimes, merrily summoned me to the dining-room; +a homely spell to exercise the phantoms of the night.</p> + +<p>My little cousin, rosy beyond belief, trim in white +middy blouse and blue skirt, was already in her place +behind the coffeepot. Vere sat opposite her at the +round table. They were holding hands across the +rolls and bacon and eggs, their glances interlocked in +a shining content that made my solitariness rather +drab and dull to my own contemplation. At my +clumsy step the picture dissolved, of course. Vere +rose while Phillida welcomed me to my chair and +went into a young housewife's pretty solicitude about +my fruit and hot eggs.</p> + +<p>The sun glinted across the table. The very servant +had a smiling air of enjoying the occasion. I +never had a more pleasant breakfast. A big brindle +cat purred on the window-sill beside Phillida; no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +dainty Persian or Angora, but a battered veteran +whose nicked ears and scarred tail proved him a +battling cat of ring experience.</p> + +<p>"I planned to have a wee white kitten," Phil +explained, while putting a saucer of milk before the +feline tough. "One that would wear a ribbon, you +know. You remember, Cousin Roger, how Mother +always forbade pets because she believed animals +carry germs? I meant to have a puss, if ever I had +a home of my own. This one just walked into the +kitchen on the first day we came here. Ethan said it +was a lucky sign when a cat came to a new home. +He gave it the meat out of his sandwiches that we +had brought for lunch, and it stayed. So I decided +to keep it instead of a kitten. It really is more cat!"</p> + +<p>What footing was here for dreary terrors? In +a mirror across the room I glimpsed my own countenance +looking quite as usual. No over-night white +hairs appeared; no upstanding look such as the +legend gave to Sir Sintram after he met the +Little Master.</p> + +<p>After the meal, Vere asked me to walk over to +the lake with him.</p> + +<p>We strolled through the old orchard toward the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +dam. This was my side of the house. In passing, +I looked up at the window against which the Thing +had seemed to press Itself with sickening lust for +me. Phillida was framed in the open square, and +shook a dustcloth at us by way of greeting and +evidence of her busyness.</p> + +<p>The wide, shallow lake lay almost without movement, +except at the head of the dam. There the +water poured over with foam and tumult, an amber-brown +cataract some twenty-odd feet across, to rush +on below in a winding stream that grew calmer +as it flowed.</p> + +<p>"We must put our lake in order, Vere," I observed, +as we stood on a knoll at the head of the dam. +"All this growth of rank vegetation ought to be +pulled up, the banks graded and turfed perhaps, the +bottom cleaned up. Water-lilies would look better +than cat-tails."</p> + +<p>To my surprise, he did not assent. Instead, he +set his foot on a boulder and rested his arm upon +his knee; looking into the clear water.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Locke, I just about hate saying what I +have to," he told me in his sober, leisurely fashion. +"I expect you won't like it; not at all. Well—best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +said before you get deeper in. I can't see my way +to make farming this place pay."</p> + +<p>I was bitterly disappointed. Even at the worst +estimate of Vere, I had imagined he would stick the +thing out a little longer than this. Poor Phillida's +time of happiness should have lasted more than these +few weeks. But the call of New York, of the +"lounge lizard's" ease and unhealthy excitement +had won already, it seemed. I said nothing at all. +The blow was too sore.</p> + +<p>"There are too few acres of arable land, and +they're used up," Vere was continuing. "I've seen +plenty of impoverished, run-out farms in New England. +You could pour money into the soil out of +a gold pitcher these five years to come, before it +began to pay you back. And then your money +might better have been put anywhere in bank, for +profit! I saw that, the first week here. Since then +I've been looking around for something better to do."</p> + +<p>"And have found it, of course," I said bitingly. +"Or else you would be drawing your salary as manager +and saying nothing to me of all this! Well, +where does poor Phil go, and when?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>He turned his dark-curled head and regarded me +with calm surprise.</p> + +<p>"I didn't exactly know that my wife was going +anywhere, Mr. Locke."</p> + +<p>"What? You do not mean to leave the farm?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless you're tired of our bargain. I've +been calculating how to make it pay. That won't +be by planting corn and potatoes and taking a wagon-load +into town! If you think I'm wrong, call in any +practical man who knows this sort of business. +We've got to think closer to win here. That's why +I'd like to set the lake to work instead of just prettying +it up."</p> + +<p>"The lake, Vere? There isn't enough water-power +over the dam to do any more than run a toy, +is there?"</p> + +<p>He motioned me nearer to where he stood +gazing down.</p> + +<p>"Notice what kind of water this is, Mr. Locke? +Brown like forest water, sort of green-lighted because +the bottom is like turf; neither mud nor sand, +but a kind of under-water moss? You see? It's +pure and clean, with a little fishy smell about it. +Matter of fact, it is forest water! Comes from way<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +off yonder, the stream does, before it spreads out +into our lake, here. I borrowed a boat and followed +back two miles before it got too shallow for me. +Boys have caught trout here three times since I've +been watching."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"My father was fish-warden in our district. I +learned the business. If you're willing, I can start +some trout-raising that ought to pay well. You +know, the State is glad to help game preserving, +free."</p> + +<p>He proceeded to give me a brief lecture on the +subject, in his quiet, unpretentious manner; producing +notes and diagrams from his pockets. He +had written to various authorities and exhibited their +replies. He knew exactly what the State would do, +what he himself must do, and what investment of +money would be required. I listened to him in admiration +and astonishment.</p> + +<p>From fish raising, he went on to discuss each +acre of the farm; its best use in view of its situation, +condition, and our needs. We could afford so much +labor, it appeared, and no more. We must have +certain apparatus; methodically listed with prices.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +If we used a certain sheltered south field for a peach +orchard, the trees planted should be such an age and +have giant-powder blast deep beds for them in order +that they might soon bear fruit.</p> + +<p>When at last he ended his deceptive speech that +sounded so lazy while implying so much energy, and +turned his black eyes from the papers on his knee to +my face, I had been routed long since.</p> + +<p>"Vere," I said abruptly, "did you know that I +thought you were going to desert the farm, when +you began to speak?"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess so. You don't exactly like me; +haven't had any occasion to! You don't judge me a +fit match for your cousin. Well, neither would anyone +else, yet!"</p> + +<p>He began to gather his papers together, his attention +divided with them while he finished his answer:</p> + +<p>"There will be plenty of time before that 'yet' +runs out. Mighty pleasant time, thanks to you, +Mr. Locke! Phillida and I expect to enjoy building +things up as much as we'll enjoy it after they're all +built. Meantime, I prize what you're doing all the +more because I know how you feel. Now, if you'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +be interested to look over these plans or submit +them to someone you've confidence in, for inspection, +I'll just turn them over to you."</p> + +<p>He had so accurately measured me that I was +disconcerted. It was quite true that he was compelling +my respect, while my first dislike of him +still obstinately lurked in the background of my mind. +I felt ungenerous, but I would not lie to him.</p> + +<p>"I am a queer fellow, Vere," I said. "Leave +that to time, as you say! As for the plans, they +are far beyond my scope. A city man, it has been +my way to 'phone for an expert when anything was +to be done, or to buy what I fancied and pay the +bills. In this case, you are the expert. The plans +seem brilliant to me. Certainly they are moderate +in cost. Keep them, and carry them out as soon as +that may be done. You are master here, not I."</p> + +<p>We walked back together through the sun and +freshness of the early spring morning. As we +neared the house Phillida's voice hailed us. She +was at my window again, leaning out with her hair +wind-ruffled about her face.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Roger," she summoned me, "I have +found out what makes your room as sweet as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +garden of spices. See what it is to be a composer +completely surrounded by royalties, able to buy the +most gorgeous scents to lay on one's pillow! And +all enclosed in antique gold!"</p> + +<p>She held up some small object that shone in +the sunlight. "Throw it down," I begged, startled +into excitement.</p> + +<p>She complied, laughing. Vere sprang forward, +but I made a quicker step and caught the thing.</p> + +<p>It was one of those filigree balls of gold wrought +into openwork, about the size of a walnut, that +fine ladies used to wear swung from a chain or ribbon +and call a pomander. The toy held a chosen +perfume or essence supposed to be reviving in case +miladi felt a swoon or megrim about to overwhelm +her; as ladies did in past centuries and do no longer.</p> + +<p>Whose gentle pity had brought this pomander to +my pillow, to help me from that faintness which had +followed my struggle with the Thing? Whose was +the exquisite, individual fragrance contained in the +ball I held? I had a vision of a figure, surely light +and soft of movement, haloed with such matchless +hair as the braid I had captured, stealing step by +timid step across my room; within my reach while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +I lay inert. Perhaps her face had bent near mine +in her doubt of my life or death; hidden eyes had +studied me in the scanty starlight.</p> + +<p>Oh, for Ethan Vere's good looks and athlete's +grace, to lure my lady from her masquerade!</p> + +<p>"Where did you buy it, Cousin Roger? 'Fess +up!" Phillida's merry voice coaxed me.</p> + +<p>"It was given to me," I slowly answered. "I +cannot offer it to you, Phil. But I will buy any other +pretty thing you fancy, instead, next time I go +to town."</p> + +<p>She made a gesture of disclaim.</p> + +<p>"I did not mean <i>that</i>! Only, do tell me what the +perfume is?"</p> + +<p>"I was going to ask if you knew."</p> + +<p>"No. Something very expensive and imported, +I suppose. Perhaps whoever gave it to you had it +made for herself alone, as some wealthy women do. +It is the most clinging, yet delicately refreshing scent +I ever met."</p> + +<p>"Tuberose," suggested Vere.</p> + +<p>"Drawls, no. How can you? Like an old-fashioned +funeral!" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Tuberose didn't always go to funerals," he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +corrected her teasingly, as she made a face at him. +"I remember them growing in my Aunt Bathsheba's +garden. Creamy looking posies, kind of kin to a +gardenia, seems to me! Thick-petalled, like white +plush, and holding their sweet smell everlastingly. +But Mr. Locke's perfumery isn't just that, either. +There was something else grew in that garden—I +can't call to mind what I mean. Basil, maybe?"</p> + +<p>"The basil plant, that feeds on dead men's +brains," quoted Phil with a mock shiver. "You <i>are</i> +happy in your ideals, Drawls!"</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>"Well, that garden smelled pretty fine when the +dew was just warming up in the sun, mornings—and +so does this little gilt ball! I'll guess Mr. Locke's +lady never got it from France. Smells like old +New England."</p> + +<p>There was no reason why a vague chill should +creep over me, or the sunshine seem to darken as +if a thin veil drifted between me and the surrounding +brightness. Let me say again that no place could +have been more unlike the traditional haunted house. +There hung about it no sense of morbidity or depression. +Yet, what was I to think? I was not sick or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +mad; and the Thing had come to me twice. I turned +from the married lovers and made my way to the +veranda, where I might be alone to consider the +pomander whose perfume was like a diaphanous presence +walking beside me.</p> + +<p>Seated there, in one of the deep willow-chairs +Phillida had cushioned in peacock chintz and marked +especially mine by laying my favorite magazines on +its arm, I studied my new trophy of the night. There +was a satisfaction in its material solidity. It was real +enough, resting in my palm.</p> + +<p>Yes; but it was not ordinary among its quaint +kind! As I picked out the design of the gold-work, +that fact was borne in upon my mind. Here was no +pattern of scroll or blossom or cupids and hearts. +The small sphere was belted with the signs of the +Zodiac, beautiful in minute perfection. All the rest +of the globe was covered with lace-fine work repeating +one group of characters over and over. I was +not learned enough to tell what the characters were, +but the whole plainly belonged to those strange, outcast +academies of astrology, alchemy—magic, in +short. It contained what appeared to be a pinkish +ball; originally a scented paste rolled round and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +dried, I judged by peering through the interstices +of the gold.</p> + +<p>Had the old-world trinket been left to bewilder +me? Why, and by whom? What interest had my +lady of the dark in elaborately deceiving me? Why +muffle her identity in mystery? Why the indefinable +quaintness of language, the choice of words that +made her speech so different from even the college-bred +Phillida's?</p> + +<p>She urged me to leave the house. If she, or +anyone associated with her wanted the place left +vacant for some reason, why did not the Thing and +the warning come to others of our household group? +Vere, Phillida, the Swedish woman, Cristina—all +had lived here for weeks without any experiences like +mine. I had not been told to leave my room, but +the house. The danger, then, was only for me?</p> + +<p>Well, was I to run away, hands over my eyes, at +the first alarm?</p> + +<p>The gray cat came purring about me and presently +leaped upon my knee. On impulse, I offered +the pomander to its nostrils. The unwinking yellow +eyes shut, the beast's powerful claws closed and +unclosed with convulsive pleasure, it breathed with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +that thirsty eagerness for the scent so familiar to +my own senses.</p> + +<p>"Better than catnip, Bagheera?" I questioned. +"You wouldn't bolt from it, either, would you?"</p> + +<p>Phillida's battered pet relaxed luxuriously, by +way of answer, sniffed toward the hand I withdrew, +and composed itself to sleep. I put the pomander +in my waistcoat pocket.</p> + +<p>I could not deny as mere nightmare the Thing +which had visited me. Better confront that fact! It +was real. Only, real in what sense? What human +agency could produce an effect so frightful, an illusion +so hideous that I could scarcely bear to recall +it here in full daylight, without the use of a sight +or sound to confuse the brain?</p> + +<p>Had the girl told the truth in her wild explanation? +A truth hinted at by alchemists, Pythagoreans, +Rosicrucians, pale students of sorcery and magnificent +charlatans, these many centuries? Were +there other races between earth and heaven; strange +tribes of the middle spaces whose destinies were fixed +and complete as our own, but between whose lives +and ours were fixed barriers not to be crossed? Had +I met one of these beings, inimical to man as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +cobra, intelligent as man, hunting Its victim by +methods unknown to us?</p> + +<p>Was I a cheated fool, or a pioneer on the borders +of a new country?</p> + +<p>Could I meet that Thing tonight, and tomorrow +night? Could I bear the agony of Its presence, the +stench of death and corruption that was Its atmosphere? +At the mere memory my forehead grew wet.</p> + +<p>The postman's buggy had stopped at our mailbox. +Phillida ran down to meet the event of the morning. +Her laughing chatter came back to me while she +waited, fists thrust in middy pockets, for the old man +to sort our letters from his bags. It did not appear +so hard to make a woman happy, I mused. A man +might attempt it with hope, if he could but persuade +her to try him.</p> + +<p>My lady had promised to come again. Perhaps, +with patience——?</p> + +<p>Phillida came across the lawn with an armful +of gaudy-covered catalogues and a handful of letters.</p> + +<p>"Catalogues for Ethan; letters for you," she +called in advance of her arrival. "What an important +person you are, Cousin Roger! It always gives +me a quivery thrill to realize <i>who</i> you are as well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +as how nice you are. Now, isn't that a jumbled +speech to tumble out of me?"</p> + +<p>I took her tanned little hand along with the letters; +letters that were so many voices summoning +me back to pleasant, busy Manhattan.</p> + +<p>"It is a fine speech for a humble person to answer, +Phil! But does that sort of thing matter to +you women? What do you love Vere for, at bottom? +Because he is strong and supple and has curly +hair? No?" as she shook her head. "Because he +has worn the uniform, then; proved his courage in +war at sea? Because he had the glamour about him +of real adventure and cabaret glitter? Or because he +took you away from a life you hated? Or, perhaps, +because he is kind and loves you? No! For none of +these reasons? Why, then, love Ethan Vere?"</p> + +<p>She stopped vigorously shaking her head in repeated +denial, and smiled at me triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Because he <i>is</i> Ethan Vere," she promptly responded. +"Oh, Cousin Roger, you clever people are +so stupid! It would not make any difference at all +if Drawls were ugly, or never had been a sailor, or +could not skate or do things, or had not been able to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +make me happy. It is something very much bigger +than all that!"</p> + +<p>"And all the divorce courts, Phil? The breach +of promise suits, and the couples who make each +other miserable?"</p> + +<p>"But they never had anything," she said. "Perhaps +they will have it, some day. Don't you know, +Cousin Roger, that the most important things in the +world are those most people never know about?"</p> + +<p>I was not sure whether I knew that, or not. After +last night, I was not sure of many things. Still, if +such gifts were given as she believed, if it was +merely a question of being Ethan Vere—or +Roger Locke——?</p> + +<p>But I had never seriously considered leaving +the adventure.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The heart is a small thing, but desireth great matters. It +is not sufficient for a kite's dinner, yet the whole world is not +sufficient for it."—<span class="smcap">Hugo de Anima.</span></p></div> + + +<p>That evening Vere and I settled the business +details of the developments he had planned. Also +while we three were quietly together, I launched a +discussion that had been gathering in my mind all +day while I watched Phillida.</p> + +<p>"You are doing as efficient work as Vere," I +told her. "In fact, you are a most moderate pair! +I gave you an open bank account, Phil; and you have +furnished the house for so little that I am amazed. +And it is all so gay, so freshly pretty! Being an +ignorant man, the details are beyond me. But—one +servant? Aren't you working yourself too hard? +I had expected you to need several. Of course, we +are not counting Vere's outdoor force."</p> + +<p>She turned in her low chair beside the lamp and +glanced toward the window behind her, before replying. +I noticed the action, because a moment before +Vere had turned precisely the same way.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>"It is good of you to think of those things, +Cousin Roger," she declared. "But, I want to be a +real wife to Drawls. I do, indeed! And I have it +all to learn because I was not brought up for that. +Look at this dish-towel I am hemming. Cristina +would laugh at the stitches if she dared, yet they +are better than when I began. Some day I shall sew +fine things. So it is with all my housekeeping. I +think we should begin as we mean to go on, so I +have furnished the house for—us. Perhaps if it +had been for you alone, I should have chosen satin-wood +and tapestry instead of willow and cretonne. +The same way about Cristina. If Ethan and I are +to save and earn this lovely place, as you offered, +we cannot afford more than one maid. You understand +what I am trying to explain, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I assented. "Surely! What were you +looking for, just now, behind you?"</p> + +<p>"I? Oh, nothing! I just fancied someone had +passed by the window and stared in. I can't imagine +what made me fancy that. Unless the cat——" +She hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Bagheera is asleep under Mr. Locke's chair," +Vere observed casually.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>"Truly, Cousin Roger, I love the way we are +living," she resumed. "It is very miserable of me, +I daresay, not to be more intellectual after all Father +and Mother labored with me. But it is so! I want +to live this way all my life; to be busy, and +plan things with Ethan, and make them come +true together."</p> + +<p>Under cover of the table she put her hand into +Vere's, and silence held us a little while. I watched +Bagheera the cat, who sat beside my chair staring +with unblinking yellow eyes toward the window +across the room. Did I imagine a slight uneasiness +in those eyes, a wary readiness in gathered limbs and +muscles bulking under the old cat's scant fur? Now +the tail twitched with a lashing movement.</p> + +<p>Presently Bagheera looked away and relaxed. A +moment more, and he curled down, composing himself +to sleep.</p> + +<p>"You like the place, Phil?" I questioned. "You +do not find it lonely here, or in any way depressing?"</p> + +<p>The candor of her surprise told me that no +dweller between the worlds had visited her.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Roger? This darling house? Why?"</p> + +<p>I passed that question safely, and after a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +minutes bade them good-night. They had a fashion +of gazing at one another that made it a matter of +necessary kindness to leave them alone together.</p> + +<p>As I made my solitary way upstairs, I will not +deny a growing excitement, or that dread fought +with my resolution. Who would keep tryst with me +tonight? The Horror or the lady? Both; as each +time before? If so, which one would come first, and +what might be my measure of success or failure? +If some trick were being played upon me, I meant +to pluck it out of the mystery.</p> + +<p>The quietly pleasant room received me without +a hint of the unusual. I lighted the lamps and sat +down to my work.</p> + +<p>The house was still by ten o'clock, all lights out +except mine. At midnight I lay down in the dark, +the pomander under my pillow. Whether I put the +gold ball there from sentiment, or from some absurd +fancy about its perfume and mystic carving being +somehow a talisman against evil, or because I feared +the trinket might be taken from me during the night, +I should be troubled to answer. I did place it there, +and lay lapped in its sweet odor while the moments +dragged past; heavy, slow-footed moments of strain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +and dreadful expectation scarcely relieved by a hope +uneasy as fear.</p> + +<p>The cock crowed for the first hour; and for the +second. I slept, at last. When I awoke, level sun-rays +were striking across the world.</p> + +<p>Nothing had happened.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"These Macedonians are a rude and clownish people that +call a spade a spade."—<span class="smcap">Plutarch</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Next morning, I took my car and began a systematic +investigation of the neighborhood. There +proved to be few houses within reasonable distance +where such a woman as my lady could be lodged. +However, I made my cautious inquiries even where +the quest seemed useless, resolved to leave no chance +untried. No better plan occurred to me than exhibition +of the pomander with a vague story of wishing +to return it to a young lady with red-gold hair. But +nowhere did a native show recognition of the top or +the description.</p> + +<p>On my way home I overtook a familiar, travel-stained +buggy that inspired me with a fresh disrespect +for my own abilities. Why had I not put my +question to our rural mail deliverer in the beginning? +Surely here was a man who knew everyone and +went everywhere!</p> + +<p>The old white horse rolled placid eyes toward the +car that drew up beside it, then returned to cropping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +the young grass by the roadside. The postman +looked up from the leather sack open before him, +and nodded to me.</p> + +<p>"Morning, Mr. Locke," he greeted. "Now let +me get the right stuff into this here box, an' I'll sort +your family's right out for you. There's a sample +package of food sworn to make hens lay or kill 'em, +for Cliff Brown here, that's gone to the bottom of +the bag. I don't know but Cliff's poultry'd thank +me to leave it be! Up it's got to come, though!"</p> + +<p>"Will it make them lay?" I asked, watching the +ruddy old face peering into the sack.</p> + +<p>"I guess it might, if Cliff told 'em they'd have to +lay or eat it, judgin' from the smell that sample's put +in my bag."</p> + +<p>"Not as sweet as this?" I suggested, and leaned +across to lay the pomander in his gnarled hand.</p> + +<p>The familiar expression of acute, almost greedy +pleasure flowed into his face. His nostrils expanded +with eager intake of the perfume that seemed an +elixir of delight. He said nothing, absorbed +in sensation.</p> + +<p>"Do you know of a lady who wears that scent?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +I asked. "A lady with bright fair hair, colored like +copper-bronze?"</p> + +<p>"Not I!" he denied briefly.</p> + +<p>"No one at all like that—with hair warmer in +shade than ordinary gold color, and a lot of it?"</p> + +<p>"No. Not around here, nor anywhere I've been! +What do you call this perfumery, Mr. Locke?"</p> + +<p>"I have no idea," I answered, sharply disappointed. +"No one knows except the young lady I +am trying to find. Are you sure you cannot help me +at all? There is no newcomer in the neighborhood, +no visitor at any house who might be the one I am +looking for?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head, giving back the pomander +with marked reluctance.</p> + +<p>"No one who might be able to tell more than +yourself?" I persisted.</p> + +<p>A gleam of humor lit his eyes. He dropped a +cardboard cylinder into Mr. Clifford Brown's mailbox +and began to sort out my letters.</p> + +<p>"Far as that goes, I guess Mis' Hill don't miss +much of what goes on around here. When she hears +a good bit of tattle, she has her husband hitch up, and +she goes drivin' all day. Ain't a house she knows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +that don't get to hear the whole yarn! You know +Mis' Royal Hill? Mis' Vere gets butter and cheese +from her. Might ask her!"</p> + +<p>I thanked him and drove on.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hill, garrulous wife of the farmer who +owned the place next to ours, was on her porch when +I came to a halt before the house. She granted me +more interest than the other natives upon whom I +had called that morning; inviting me into her parlor +to "set," when she had identified me. But she knew +nothing of the object of my quest.</p> + +<p>"I guessed you must be the new owner up to the +Michell place," she observed, her beady, faded brown +eyes busy with my appearance, picking up details in +avid, darting little glances suggestive of a bird pecking +crumbs. "Cliff Brown said a lame feller had +bought it. I don't see as that little limp cripples you +much, the way you can rampus 'round in that fast +automobile of yours! Now, I'm perfectly sound, and +I wouldn't be paid to drive the thing. You'd ought +to get the other fellow to run it for you; the handsome +one. I guess you like to do it, though? +Writer, ain't you? Books or newspapers?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>I rallied my scattered faculties to answer the +machine-gun attack.</p> + +<p>"Music?" she echoed, her narrow, sun-dried +face wrinkling into new lines of inquisitiveness. +"They said you had a piano in your bedroom, but +I thought they were just foolin' me! Seems I never +heard of havin' a piano upstairs. Most folks like to +show 'em off in the parlor. Must be kind of funny, +takin' your company upstairs to play for 'em. But +then it's kind of a funny thing for a man to take to, +anyhow! I got a niece ten years old next August who +can play piano so good there don't seem anythin' left +to learn her, so——! But there ain't no use of you +drivin' 'round here lookin' for a fair-headed girl, +Mr. Locke. The Slav folk down in the shanties by +the post road are about the only light-complected ones +in this neighborhood. Somehow, we run mostly to +plain brown. Senator Allen has two girls, but +they're only home from a boardin' school for vacation. +How do you like your place?"</p> + +<p>"Very much," I assured her. "Only, I do not +know a great deal about it, yet. Its history, I mean. +Are there any interesting stories about the house? +You know, we city people like a nice legend or ghost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +story to tell our friends when they come to visit us."</p> + +<p>She chuckled, swinging in her plush-covered +rocking-chair, arms folded on her meagre breast.</p> + +<p>"Guess you'll have to make one up! I never +heard of none. The Michell family always owned +it—and they were so stiff respectable an' upright +everyone was scared of 'em! Most of the men were +clergymen in their time. The last, Reverend Cotton +Mather Michell, went abroad to foreign parts for +missionary work with the heathen, twenty-odd years +ago; an' died there. He never married, so the +family's run out. The Michells were awful hard on +women; called 'em vessels of wrath an' beguilers of +Adam. Preached it right out of the pulpit—so I +guess no girl in these parts could have been hired +to wed with him, if he'd wanted. His mother died +when he was born, so he'd had no softenin' influence. +After news came of his death, the house was shut up +'till you bought it. My, how you've changed it, +already! I'd admire to go through it."</p> + +<p>When I had invited her to call on Phillida and +inspect our domicile, and paid due thanks for information +received, she followed me out to the car.</p> + +<p>"All this land 'round here is old and full of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +Indian relics," she remarked. "Over to the Sound +where the swamps used to be, there was lots of +fightin' with savages. An' they say a witch was +stoned to death where the Catholic convent stands +now, on the road up above your place. So I guess +you can figure out a story to tell your company, +if you like."</p> + +<p>"A convent?" I repeated, my attention caught +by a new possibility. "Do they, perhaps, have visitors +there, ladies in retreat for a time, as convents +often do abroad?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hill laughed, shaking her tightly-combed +head.</p> + +<p>"No hope of your girl there," she chuckled. +"They're the strictest sisterhood in America, folks +say. Poor Clares, I think they're called. No one, +not even their relations, ever see their faces after +they join. They're not allowed to talk to each other, +even. Just stay in their cells, an' pray, even in the +middle of the night, an' shave their heads an' live on +a few vegetables an' dry bread."</p> + +<p>I laughed with her. Certainly no convent would +harbor my lady of marvelous tresses and magical +perfume, of wild fancies and heretical theories. That<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +thought of mine was indeed far afield. But where, +then, was I next to seek?</p> + +<p>I made a detour and used some strategy to gain +a view of the Senator's daughters. They proved to +be brunettes who wore their locks cropped after the +fashion of certain Greenwich villagers. My disappointment +was not great; my lady was not suggestive +of a boarding-school miss. But I had hoped to find +somewhere a trace of the copper-bronze head whose +royalty of hair I had shorn as the traitors shore +King Childeric's Gothic locks.</p> + +<p>I drove home with a sense of blankness upon me. +Suppose she never came again? Suppose the episode +was ended? Not even freedom from the Thing +could compensate for the baffled adventure.</p> + +<p>Think of the lame feller with an Adventure!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Plato expresses four kinds of Mania—Firstly, the musical; +secondly, the telestic or mystic; thirdly, the prophetic; and +fourthly, that which belongs to Love."—<span class="smcap">Preface to Zanoni</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>For myself, I have always found that excitement +stimulates imagination. There are others, I know, +who can do no creative work except when all within +and without is lulled and calm. Perhaps I have too +much calm as an ordinary thing! That evening, +when I went to my room, lighted my lamps and closed +my door, I stood alone for awhile breathing the +mingled sweetness of the country air and the pomander +ball. In that interval, there came to me, complete +and whole as a gift thrust into my hand, the +melody which an enthusiastic publisher since assured +me has reached every ear in America.</p> + +<p>As to that extravagant statement, I can only +measure by the preposterous amount of money the +melody has brought me. Perhaps there is a magic +about it. For myself, I cannot hear it—ground on +a street-organ, given on the stage, played on a phonograph +record or delicately rendered by an orchestra<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>—without +feeling again the exaltation and enchantment +of that night.</p> + +<p>I flung myself down at my writing-table, tossing +my former work right and left to make room for this. +If it should escape before I could set it down! If +the least of those airy cadences should be lost!</p> + +<p>At three o'clock in the morning I came back to +realization of time and place. The composition was +finished; it stood up before me like a flower raised +over-night. Eight hours had passed since I sat down +to the work, after dinner. I was tired. As I began +to draw into a pile the sheets of paper I had covered +with notes, weariness gripped me like a hand.</p> + +<p>Eight hours? If I had shoveled in a ditch twice +that long I could have felt no more exhausted. +Yielding to drained fatigue of mind and body, I +dropped my head upon the arms I folded upon the +table. My hot, strained eyes closed with relief, my +stiff fingers relaxed. Rest and content flowed over +me; my work was done, and good.</p> + +<p>Rest passed into sleep, no doubt.</p> + +<p>The sleep could not have been long, for not many +hours remained before dawn. When I started awake +and lifted my head, I found the room in darkness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +A perfume was in the air, and the sense of a presence +scarcely more tangible than the perfume. Even in +the first dazed moment, I knew my lady had +come again.</p> + +<p>"Do not rise!" her murmuring voice cautioned +me. "Unless you wish me to go?"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"I am here because I promised to come. It was +not wise of you to ask that of me."</p> + +<p>"Then I prefer folly to wisdom," I answered, +steadying myself to full wakefulness. "Or, rather, +I am not sure that you can decide for me which +is which!"</p> + +<p>"Why? After all, why? Just—curiosity?"</p> + +<p>"You, who speak so learnedly of magic and +sorcery," I retorted, smiling under cover of the +darkness, "have you never heard of the white magic +conjured by a tress of hair, a perfume ball, and a +voice sweeter than the perfume? An image of wax +does not melt before a witch's fire so easily as a +man before these things."</p> + +<p>"My hair pleased you?" she questioned naïvely.</p> + +<p>"Or so easily as a woman melts before admiration!" +I supplemented. "I am delighted to prove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +you human, mystic lady. Please me? Could anyone +fail to be pleased with that most magnificent braid? +But how can either you or I forgive the cruelty that +took it from its owner? Why did you cut it off?"</p> + +<p>"So little of it! And I did not know you, then."</p> + +<p>"Little? That braid?"</p> + +<p>"It reached below my knee, now it is but little +less," she answered with indifference. "We all have +such hair."</p> + +<p>I gasped. My imagination painted the picture of +all that shining richness enwrapping a slim young +body. It was fantastic beyond belief to sit there +at my desk, beneath my fingers the tools of sober, +workaday life, and stare into the dark room that held +the reality of my vision. She was there, but I could +not rise and find her. She was opposite my eyes, +but my promise forbade me to touch the lamp and +see her.</p> + +<p>"Who are 'we'?" I slowly followed her last +sentence.</p> + +<p>A sigh answered me. On the silence, a memory +floated to me of the story she had told while I held +her prisoner that first night:</p> + +<p>"<i>The woman sits in her low chair.</i> The fire-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span><i>shine +is bright in her eyes and in her hair. On either +side, her hair flows down to the floor.</i>"</p> + +<p>Yes, by legend young witches had such hair; +sylphs, undines and all of the airy race of Lilith. I +thrust absurdities away from me and offered a quotation +to fill the pause:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><p> +<span class="i0">"'I met a lady in the meads'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Full beautiful; a faery's child.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Her hair was long, her foot was light,'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'And her eyes were wild.'"<br /></span> +</p></div></div> + +<p>She did not laugh, or put away the suggestion. +When I had decided that she did not mean to reply, +and was seeking my mind for new speech to detain +her with me, she finally spoke what seemed another +quotation:</p> + +<p>"'A spirit—one of the invisible inhabitants of +this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning +whom Josephus and Michael Psellus of +Constantinople may be consulted. They are very +numerous, and there is no climate or element without +one or more.' Have you read the writings of +the learned Jew or of the Platonist, you who are so +very bold?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>"Neither," I meekly admitted. "But neither +ancient gentleman could convince me that you +are unhuman."</p> + +<p>Her answer was just audible:</p> + +<p>"Not I—but, It!"</p> + +<p>Now I was silenced, for dreadful and uncanny +was that whisper in the dark to a man who had met +here in this room What I had met.</p> + +<p>"Tell me more of this Thing without a name," +I urged, mastering my reluctance to evoke even the +idea of what the blood curdled to recall. "Why +does It hate me?"</p> + +<p>"What can I tell you? Even in your world, +does not evil hate good as naturally as good recoils +from evil? But this One has another cause also!" +She hesitated. "And you yourself? How have you +challenged and mocked It this very night? Here, +where It glooms, you have dared bring the high joy +of the artist who creates? Oh, brave, brave!—he +who could await alone the visit of the Unspeakable, +in the chamber into which the Loathsome Eyes have +looked, and write the music of hope and beauty!"</p> + +<p>I started, with a hot rush of surprise and pleasure. +She had heard my work. She approved it. More<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +than that, not to her was I the lame fellow who ought +to get a better man to drive his car!</p> + +<p>"Nor should you, who have two worlds of your +own," she added in a lower tone, "doubt the existence +of many both dark and bright. Go, then, out of +this haunted place where a human madness broke +through the Barrier. Be satisfied with the victories +you have had. Let the visits of the Dark One fade +into mere nightmare; and know I am no more a living +woman than Franchina Descartes."</p> + +<p>"Who was she?"</p> + +<p>"Have you not read that early in the seventeenth +century there appeared in Paris the philosopher +Descartes, accompanied by the figure of a beautiful +woman? She moved, spoke, and seemed life itself; +but Descartes declared she was an automaton, a +masterpiece of mechanism he himself had made. Yet +many refused to believe his story, declaring he had +by sorcery compelled a spirit to serve him in this +form. He called her Franchina, his daughter."</p> + +<p>"And the truth?"</p> + +<p>"I have told you all the record tells. She was +soon lost. Descartes took her with him upon a journey +by sea; when, a storm arising, the superstitious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +captain of the vessel threw the magic beauty into +the Mediterranean."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. But, are you fairy or automaton?"</p> + +<p>"Do not laugh," she exclaimed with sudden passion. +"You know I would say that I have no part +in the world of men and women. Not through me +shall the ancient dread seize a new life. A little time, +now, then the doors will close upon me as the sea +closed over Franchina. I will not take with me the +memory of a wrong done to you. I shall never come +to this house after tonight. If you would give me +a happiness, promise me you will leave, too."</p> + +<p>I had known we should come to this point. After +a moment, I spoke as quietly as I could:</p> + +<p>"Tell me your name."</p> + +<p>She had not expected that question. I think she +might have withheld the answer, given time to reflect. +But as it was, she replied docilely as a +bidden child:</p> + +<p>"Desire Michell."</p> + +<p>The name fell quaintly on both hearing and +fancy, with a rustle of early New England tradition. +Desire! I repeated it inwardly with satisfaction before +I answered her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>"Thank you. Now, I, Roger Locke, do promise +you, Desire Michell, that I will not leave this house +until these matters are plainer to my understanding, +whether you go or stay. But if you go and come +no more, then I surely shall stay until I find a way +to trace you or until the Thing kills me."</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then, to my utter dismay, +I heard her sobbing through the dark.</p> + +<p>"Why do you tempt me?" she reproached. "Is +it not hard enough, my duty? For me it is such pleasure +to be here—to leave for a while the loneliness +and chill of my narrow place! But you, so rich in all +things, free and happy—how should it matter to +you if a voice in the dark speaks or is silent? Let +me go."</p> + +<p>Wonder and exulting sense of power filled me.</p> + +<p>"I can keep you, then?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I am—so weak."</p> + +<p>"Desire Michell, I am as alone as you can be, +in my real life. I have gone apart from much that +occupies men and women; gaining and losing in different +ways. One of the gains is freedom to dispose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +of myself without grief or loss to anyone, except +the perfunctory regret of friends. Will you believe +there is no risk that I would not take for a few hours +with you? Even with your voice in the dark? Come +to me as you can, let us take what time we may, and +the chances be mine."</p> + +<p>"But that is folly! You do not know. To protect +you I must go."</p> + +<p>"I refuse the protection. Stay! If there is +sorrow in knowing you, I accept it. I understand +nothing. I only beg you not to turn me back to the +commonplace emptiness of life before I found you. +Indeed, I will not be sent away."</p> + +<p>"If I yield, you will reproach me some day."</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"It could only be like this—that we should speak +a few times before the gates close upon me."</p> + +<p>"What gates?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you."</p> + +<p>"Very well," I took what the moment would +grant me. "That is a bargain. Yet, what safety lies +in secrecy between us? If we are to help each other, +as I hope, would not plain openness be best? You +will tell me no more about yourself? Very well. Tell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +me something more about the enemy in the dark +whom I am to meet. You have hinted that It has a +special motive for fixing hate upon me beyond mere +malignance toward mankind. What is that motive?"</p> + +<p>"Ask me not," she faintly refused me.</p> + +<p>"I do ask you. My ignorance of everything concerned +is a heavy drawback in this combat. Arm +me with a little understanding. What moves It +against me?"</p> + +<p>The pause following was filled with a sense of +difficulty and recoil, her struggle against some terrible +reluctance. So painful was that effort, somehow +clearly communicated to me, that I was about +to devour my curiosity and withdraw the question +when her whisper just reached my hearing:</p> + +<p>"Jealousy!"</p> + +<p>"Jealousy? Of what? For whom?"</p> + +<p>"For—me."</p> + +<p>The monstrous implication sank slowly into my +understanding; then brought me erect, gripping the +edge of the table lest I forget restraint and move +toward her.</p> + +<p>"By what right?" I cried. "By what claim?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +Desire Michell, what has the Horror to do +with you?"</p> + +<p>The vehemence and heat of my cry struck a +shock through the hushed room distinct as the shattering +of crystal. There was no answer, no movement; +no rebuke of my movement. I was alone. +With that confession she had fled.</p> + +<p>My cry had been louder than I knew. Presently +I heard a door open. Steps sounded along the hall +from the rooms on the opposite side of the house. +Someone knocked hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"Are you all right, Mr. Locke?" Vere's voice +came through the panels.</p> + +<p>I crossed to the door and opened it. He stood +at the threshold, an electric torch in his hand.</p> + +<p>"We thought you called," he apologized. "I +thought maybe you were sick, or wanted something; +and no light showed around your door."</p> + +<p>I found the wall switch and turned on the lamps. +As on the last occasion, she had switched the lights +off there, beyond my reach unless I broke my promise +not to move about the room while she remained +my guest.</p> + +<p>"Come in," I invited him. "Much obliged to you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +and Phillida for looking me up! I had been working +late and dropped asleep in my chair, with a nightmare +as the result."</p> + +<p>It was pleasant to have his normal presence, +prosaic in bathrobe and pajamas, in my cheerfully +lighted room. His dark eyes glanced toward the +music-scrawled papers scattered about, then returned +to meet my eyes smilingly.</p> + +<p>"We heard some of that work," he admitted. +"Phil and I—well, I guess we were guilty of sitting +on the stairs to hear you play it over. I never listened +to a tune that took hold of me, kind of, like that +one. We'd certainly prize hearing all of it together, +sometime, if you didn't mind."</p> + +<p>The warmth of achievement flowed again in me. +I crossed to the piano to assemble the finished sheets, +answering him with one of those expressions of +thanks artists use to cloak modestly their sleek inward +vanity. I was really grateful for this first +criticism that soothed me back to the reality of +my own world.</p> + +<p>Across the top of the uppermost sheet of music, in +small, square script quaint as the pomander, was +written a quotation strange to me:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>"We walk upon the shadows of hills across a +level thrown, and pant like climbers."</p> + +<p>I did not know that I had read the words aloud +until Vere answered them.</p> + +<p>"So we do! I guess there is more panting over +shadows and less real mountain-climbing done by us +humans than most folks would believe. Most roads +turn off to easy ways before we reach the hills +we make such a fuss about. Who wrote that, +Mr. Locke?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I replied vaguely, intent upon +Desire Michell's meaning in leaving this to me.</p> + +<p>He nodded, and turned leisurely to go.</p> + +<p>"Kind of seems to me as if he must have felt +like you did when you wrote that piece tonight," he +observed diffidently. "As if trouble did not amount +to much, taken right. I'll get back to Phil, now. +She might be anxious."</p> + +<p>Could that be what Desire had meant me to +understand? Was there indeed some quality +of courage——?</p> + +<p>That is why my most successful composition +from the standpoint of money and popularity went +to the publisher under the title, "Shadows of Hills."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +Of course no one connected the allusion. The general +interpretation was best expressed by the cover +design of the first printing: a sketch of a mountain-shaded +lake on which floated a canoe containing two +young persons. I was well pleased to have it so.</p> + +<p>But—in what land unknown to man towered the +vast mountains in whose shadow I panted and +strove? Or was my foot indeed upon the mountain +itself?</p> + +<p>I did not know. I do not know, now.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"If the Dreamer finds himself in an unknown place, ignorant +of the country and the people, let him be aware that such place +is to be understood of the Other World."—<span class="smcap">Oneirocritica +Achmetis.</span></p></div> + + +<p>In the morning I drove down to New York. +There were affairs demanding attention. Also, I +was pressed by an eagerness to get my over-night +work into the hands of the publisher. To be exact, +I wanted to put the manuscript out of reach of the +Thing at the house. Without reason, I had awakened +with that instinct strong within me.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere of the city was tonic. Merely +driving through the friendly, crowded streets was +an exhilaration. The practical employment of the +day broomed away fantastic cobwebs. In the evening +I turned toward Connecticut with a feeling of +leaving home behind me. But I would not stay away +from the house for a night, risking that Desire +Michell might come and find me missing. She might +believe I had been seized by cowardice and deserted. +She might never return.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>I will not deny that I had lied to her. There was +no intention in me of accepting her fleeting visits +as the utmost she could give. I meant to snatch +her out of darkness and mystery, to set her in the +wholesome sunlight where Phillida flitted happily. +If I could prevent, those gates of which she vaguely +spoke never should close between us. But it was +plain that I must tread warily. Once frightened +away, how could she be found? Her home, her history, +even her face, were unknown to me. Tracing +her by a perfume and a tress of hair had been tried, +and failed. Of her connection with the Dark Thing +I refused to think too deeply. Her connection with +me must come first.</p> + +<p>It was not until I passed the cottage of Mrs. Hill, +glimmering whitely in the starlight, where the road +made an angle toward the farm, that I recalled our +talk in her "best room."</p> + +<p>"<i>The Michell family always owned it. The +Reverend Cotton Mather Michell went to foreign +parts for missionary work twenty years ago and +died there——</i>"</p> + +<p>My lady of the night was Desire Michell. +A clue?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>"<i>He never married, so the family's run out.</i>"</p> + +<p>It was damp here in the hollow where the road +dipped down. A chill ran coldly over me.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the garage which had taken the place +of our tumble-down barn, I put the car away as +quietly as possible. Ten o'clock had struck as I +passed through the last village, and our household was +asleep. Moving without unnecessary noise, I crossed +to the house. Bagheera, the cat, padded across the +porch to meet me and rubbed himself around my legs +while I stooped to put the latch-key in the lock.</p> + +<p>As the key slid in place, I heard the waterfall +over the dam abruptly change the sound of its flow, +swelling and accelerating as when a gust of wind +hurries a greater volume of water over the brink. +But there was no wind. Immediately followed that +sound from the lake which I can liken to nothing +better than the smack of huge lips unclosing, or the +suck of a thick body drawing itself from a bed of +mud. The cat thrust himself violently between my +feet and pressed against the house-door uttering a +whimpering mew of urgency. Startled, I looked in +the direction of the lake.</p> + +<p>At this distance it showed as a mere expanse of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +darkness, only the reflection of a star here and there +revealing the surface as water. What else could be +shown, I rebuked my nerves by querying of them; +and turned the key. Bagheera rushed into the hall +when the door opened wide enough to admit his body. +I followed more sedately and closed the door behind +us both.</p> + +<p>Now I was not acquainted with Bagheera's night +privileges. Did Phillida allow him in the house, or +not? After an instant's consideration, I bent and +picked him up from his repose on the hall rug. He +should spend the night shut in with me, out of mischief +yet comfortable. Purring in the curve of my +arm, he was carried upstairs without objection on his +part. Until we reached my room! On its threshold +I felt his body stiffen; his yellow eyes snapped open +alertly. Cat antipathy to a strange place, I reflected, +amused, as I switched on the lights.</p> + +<p>"All right, Bagheera," I spoke soothingly, and +put him upon the rug.</p> + +<p>He bounded erect, fur bristling, tail lashing from +side to side after the fashion of a miniature panther. +When I stooped to stroke him, he eluded my hand. +In a gliding run, body crouched, ears flattened, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +sped toward the doorway, was through it and gone.</p> + +<p>Well, I decided, he could not be pursued all +through the house. It would be easier to explain +him to Phillida next morning. I was tired; pleasantly +tired. The day had been filled with the enthusiasm +and congratulations of my associates, with +conferences and plans for launching the new music +via theatres and advertising. It ought to "go big," +they assured me. In my optimism of mood, I wondered +if I had not already driven off the Dark Thing, +since the girl had come to me the night past without +It appearing before or afterward. Perhaps, woman-timid, +she exaggerated the danger and It had retreated +after the second failure to overpower me.</p> + +<p>I fell asleep with a tranquil conviction that nothing +would disturb my rest this night.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Stillness enveloped me, absolute, desolate. Silence +contained me. Yet the thought of another scorched +against my understanding in a burning communication +of intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Man," It commanded, "I am here. Fear!"</p> + +<p>And I knew that which was my body did fear to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +the point of death, but that which was myself stood +up in revolt.</p> + +<p>"Crouch," It bade. "Crouch, pygmy, and beg. +Fear! The blood crawls in the veins, the heart +checks, the nerves shrink and wither—man, your life +wanes thin and faint. Down—shall your race +affront mine?"</p> + +<p>My heart did stagger and beat slow. Life crept +a sluggish current. But there was another force that +stiffened to resistance, and gathered itself to compact +strength within me.</p> + +<p>"No," my thought refused the dark intelligence. +"I am not yours. Command your own, not me."</p> + +<p>"Weakling, you have touched that which is mine. +Into my path you have dared step. Back—for in +my breath you die!"</p> + +<p>The air my lungs drew in was foul and poisonous. +With more and more difficulty my heart labored. +Confused memories came to me of men found dead +in their beds in haunted rooms. Would morning +find me so? Better that way than to yield to the +Thing! Better——</p> + +<p>I struggled erect; or fancied so.</p> + +<p>Now I saw myself as one who stood with folded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +arms fronting a breach in a colossal wall. Huge, +immeasurably huge that cliff reared itself beyond +the sight and ranged away on either side into unknown +distances, dully glistening like gray ice, +unbroken save in this place. The gray strand on +which I stood was a narrow strip following the foot +of the wall. Behind me lay a vast, unmoving ocean +banked over with an all-concealing mist. Not a +ripple stirred along that weird beach, or a ray changed +the fixed gray twilight. And I was afraid, for my +danger was not of the common dangers of mankind, +but that which freezes the blood of man when he +draws near the supernatural; the ancient fear.</p> + +<p>I stood there, while sweat poured painfully from +me, and fronted my enemy who pressed me hard.</p> + +<p>The Thing was at the breach, couched in the +great cleft that split the Barrier, darkness within +darkness. Unseen, I felt the glare of Its hate beat +upon me. From It emanated deathly cold, like the +nearness of an iceberg in the night, with an odor of +damp and mold.</p> + +<p>"Puny earth-dweller, lost here," Its menace +breathed, "what keeps you from destruction? For +you the circle has not been traced nor the pentagram<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +fixed, for you no law has been thrust down. Trespass +is death. Die, then."</p> + +<p>Only my will held It from me, and I felt that +will reel in sickened bewilderment. I had no strength +to answer, only the steadfast instinct to oppose.</p> + +<p>The Thing did not pass. There in the breach +It ravened for me, thrust Itself toward me, pressed +against the thin veil of separation between us. I saw +nothing, yet knew where It raised Itself, gigantic in +formlessness more dreadful than any shape. Its +whispered threats broke against me like an evil surf.</p> + +<p>"Man, the prey is mine. Would you challenge +me? The woman is mine by the pact of centuries. +Save yourself. Escape."</p> + +<p>The woman? Startled wonder filled me. Was +I then fighting for Desire Michell?</p> + +<p>Out of the air I was answered as if her voice +had spoken; certainty came to grip me as if with her +small hands. She had no help but in me. If I fell, +she fell. If I stood firm——? Exultant resolve +flared strong and high within me. My will to protect +leaped forward.</p> + +<p>The Thing shrank. It dwindled back through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +the gap in the Barrier. But as It fled, a last venomous +message drifted to me:</p> + +<p>"Again! And again! Tire but once, +pygmy——!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I was sitting up in bed in my lighted room, my +fingers clutching the chain of the lamp beside me. +Was some dark bulk just fading from beyond my +window? Or was I still dreaming?</p> + +<p>I was trembling with cold, drenched as with +water so that my relaxing hand made a wet mark +on the table beneath the lamp. This much might +have been caused by nightmare. But what sane man +had nightmares like these?</p> + +<p>When I was able, I rose, changed to dry garments +and wrapped myself in a heavy bathrobe. There +was an electric coffee service in my room kept for +occasions when I worked late into the night. I +made strong black coffee now and drank it as near +boiling as practicable. Presently the blood again +moved warmly in my veins.</p> + +<p>Then I knew that the chill in the room was not +a delusion of my chilled body. I was warm, yet +the air around me remained moist and cold, unlike a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +summer night. It seemed air strangely thickened +and soiled, as pure water may be muddied by the +passage of some unclean body. In this atmosphere +persisted a fetid smell of mold and decay, warring +with the homely scent of coffee and the fragrance of +the pomander beneath my pillow.</p> + +<p>I was more shaken, more exhausted by this encounter +with the unknown than by either of my former +experiences. A fact which drove home the +grim farewell of my enemy! <i>Tire but once, +pygmy——!</i> Desire herself had foretold that the +dark Thing would wear me down.</p> + +<p>Well, perhaps! But not without fighting for Its +victory. At least I would be no supine victim. Already +I had forced my way—where? Where was +that Barrier before which I had stood? Awe sank +coldly through me at memory of that colossal land +where I was pygmy indeed, an insolent human intruder +upon the unhuman. What other shapes of +dread stalked and watched beyond that titanic +wall? By what swollen conceit could I hope to win +against Them?</p> + +<p>I would not consider escape by flight, even if the +end had been certain destruction. But my head sank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +to my hands beneath the weight of a profound depression +and discouragement.</p> + +<p>It was the hour before dawn, traditionally the +worst for man. The hour superstition sets apart for +its own, when the life flame burns lowest. At a +distance a dog had treed some little wood creature, +and bayed monotonously.</p> + +<p>There was a weakness at the core of my strength. +I waged this combat for the sake of Desire Michell. +<i>But what was she to whom the Thing laid claim by +the pact of centuries?</i></p> + +<p>Darkness began to tinge with light. Pale gray +filtered into the dusk with grudging slowness. As +day approached I saw that a fog enfolded the house +in vapor, stealing into the room in coils and swirls +like thin smoke. The lamps looked sickly and dim. +I forced away my languor, rose and walked to the +nearest window.</p> + +<p>Something was moving up the slope from the +lake; a dim shape about which the fog clung in steamy +billows. My shaken nerves thrilled unpleasantly. +What stirred at this empty hour? What should loom +so tall?</p> + +<p>A moment later the figure was near enough to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +be distinguished as Ethan Vere, bearing several long +fishing-rods over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Vere!" I hailed him, with mingled relief and +utter disgust with myself. "Anything going on +so early?"</p> + +<p>He looked up at me—I never saw Vere startled—and +came on to stop beneath the window. Taking off +his cap, he ran his fingers through his black curls, +pushing their wetness from his forehead. I noticed +how the mists painted him with a spectral pallor.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Mr. Locke," he greeted me. +"Just as I've been thinking, there are some big snapping-turtles +about the lake and creek. I guessed +there'd be some war between them and me before that +water was safe for use! One of the fellows dragged +a duck under, drowned it and started feeding right +before my eyes, just now."</p> + +<p>"We will have to get a canoe."</p> + +<p>He nodded placid assent.</p> + +<p>"That'll look pretty on the lake. Phillida will +like it. But I guess I'll keep a homely old flat-bottomed +punt out of sight around some corner for +work. The other craft goes over too prompt for jobs +like mine, and don't hold enough. I'm going to fetch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +my rifle, now. I'd admire to blow that duck-eater's +ugly head off."</p> + +<p>"I will get into some clothes and be right with +you," I invited myself to the hunt.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to have you," he replied with his quaint +politeness. There were times when I could visualize +Vere's New England mother as if I had known her.</p> + +<p>The human interlude had been enough to dispel +the black humors of the night. When I was ready to +go out, I opened the drawer that held the copper-bronze +braid and took it into my hand. How vital +with youth its crisp resilience felt in my clasp, I +thought; young, too, were its luxuriance and shining +color. Nonsense, indeed, to fancy ghostliness here +or the passing of musty centuries over the head that +had worn this tress! A flood of reassurance rose +high in me. Whatever the Thing might be, I would +trust the girl Desire Michell. Yes, and for her I +would stand fast at that Barrier until victory declared +for the enemy or for me. Until It passed me, It +should not reach her.</p> + +<p>I went downstairs to join Vere. The brightening +mist was cool and fresh. There was neither horror +nor defeat in the promise of the morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"In vain I called on Rest to come and stay.<br /> +We were but seated at the festival<br /> +Of many covers, when One cried: 'Away!'"<br /> +<span style="margin-left:9.5em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Rose Garden of Sa'adi.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>Now I entered a time of experiences differing at +every point, yet interwoven closely, so that my days +might compare to a rope whose strands are of violently +contrasted colors. The rope would be inharmonious, +startling to the eye, but strong to bind +and hold. As I was bound and held!</p> + +<p>All day I lived in the wholesome household +atmosphere evoked by Vere and Phillida. It is impossible +to describe the sunny charm they created +about the commonplace. Our gay, simple breakfasts +where Phillida presided in crisp middy blouse +or flowered smock; where the gray cat sat on the +arm of Vere's chair, speculative yellow eye observant +of his master's carving, while the Swedish Cristina +served us her good food with the spice of an occasional +comment on farm or neighborhood events—how +perfect a beginning for the day! How stale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +beside our breeze-swept table was any board at which +I had ever sat! I do declare that I have never seen +a more winning face than the bright one of my little +cousin whom her world had pronounced "plain." +Vere and I basked in her sunbeams gratefully.</p> + +<p>Afterward, we each had our work. Of the three, +Vere was the most industrious; slow, steady and unsparing +of himself to a degree that accomplished +surprising results. Phillida flitted over the place +indoors and out, managing the house, following Vere +about, driving to village or town with me on purchasing +trips for our supplies. I did rather more of my +own work than usual, that summer, and consequently +had more of the commercial side to employ me.</p> + +<p>A healthy, normal life? Yes—until the hours +between midnight and dawn.</p> + +<p>I never knew when I laid down at night whether +I should sleep until sun and morning overlay the +countryside; whether the whispering call of Desire +Michell would summon me to an hour more exquisite +than reality, less satisfying than a dream, or whether +I should leap into consciousness of the Loathsome +Eyes fixed coldly malignant upon me while my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +enemy's inhuman hate groped toward me across the +darkness Its presence fouled.</p> + +<p>For my two guests kept their promises.</p> + +<p>If I speak briefly of the coming of the Thing +during this time, I do so because the mind shrinks +from past pain. It came again, and again. It +craftily used the torture of irregularity in Its coming. +For days there might be a respite, then It would +haunt me nights in succession until my physical endurance +was almost spent.</p> + +<p>I have stood before the breach in that Barrier, +fighting that nightmare duel, until the place of colossal +desolation, last frontier the human race might +hope to keep, became as well known to me as a landscape +on earth. Yet the effect of the Thing's +assaults upon me never lessened. On the contrary, +the horror gained in strength. A dreadful familiarity +grew between It and me. Communication flowed +more readily between us with use. I will not set +down, perhaps I dare not set down the intolerable +wickedness of Its alternate menaces and offered +bribes. Contact with Its intelligence poisoned.</p> + +<p>There were nights when It was dumb, when all +Its monstrous power concentrated and bore upon me,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +Its will to destroy locked with my will. My victory +was that I lived.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the shadow, Desire Michell and I drew closer +to one another.</p> + +<p>How can I tell of a love that grew without sight? +So much of the love of romance and history is a +matter of flower-petal complexions, heart-consuming +eyes, satin lips, and all the form and color that make +beauty. How can I make clear a love that grew +strong and passionately demanding, knew delicate +coquetries of advance and evasion, intimacy of minds +like the meeting of eyes in understanding—all in the +dark? The blind might comprehend. But the blind +have a physical communication we had not; touch +has enchantments of its own.</p> + +<p>Every night, near midnight, I switched off the +lights and waited in the chair at my writing-table, +where I was accustomed to work. If she had not +come by two o'clock, I learned to know she would +not visit me that night. I might sleep in that certainty. +A strange tryst I kept there in the dark; +listening to the flow of the waterfall from the lake, +loud in that dead hour's stillness, or hearing the soft,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +incessant sounds of insect life awake in trees and +fields. If she came—a drift of perfume, a movement +slight as a curtain stirred by the wind, then an +hour with such a companion as the ancient magician +might have drawn out of the air to his nine +mystic lamps.</p> + +<p>Strange, fantastic tales she told me, spun of +fancies luminous and frail as threads of glass. She +could not speak without betraying her deep learning +in sciences rejected and forgotten by the modern +world. Alchemy, astrology, geomancy furnished +her speech with allusions blank to my ignorance; +which she most gently and politely enlightened when +I confessed. I learned that the Green Lion of Paracelsus +was not a beast, but a recipe for making gold; +that Salamandar's Feather was better known today +as asbestos; and that the Emerald Table was by no +means an article of furniture. I give these examples +merely by way of illustration.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the shield held between us, +I soon discovered that she knew no more of modern +city life than a well-taught child who has never left +home. She listened eagerly to accounts of theatres +and restaurants. The history of Phillida and Ethan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +Vere seemed to her more moving and wonderful than +any story she could tell me. I was amazed and humbled +to find that she rated my ability to make music +as a lofty art among the occult sciences.</p> + +<p>Of the evil Thing that haunted me, we came to +say little. To press her with questions meant to +end her visit, I found by experience. When I spoke +of that strand between the Barrier and the gray mist-hidden +sea, her passion of distress closed all intercourse +with the plea that I go away at once, while +escape was possible, while life remained mine. So +for the most part I curbed my tongue and +my consuming curiosity; not from consideration, but +of necessity.</p> + +<p>One night I asked her how the dark Thing spoke +to me, by what medium of communication.</p> + +<p>"Spirits of all orders can speak to man in every +language, so long as they are face to face," she answered, +with a faint surprise at my lack of knowledge. +"'<i>When they turn to man, they come into +use of his language and no longer remember their +own, but as soon as they turn from man they resume +their own language, and forget his.</i>'</p> + +<p>"But they themselves are unaware of this fact,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +for they utter thought to thought by direct intelligence. +So if angel or demon turns his back to you, +Roger, you may not make him hear you though you +call with great force."</p> + +<p>"How do you know that, Desire?"</p> + +<p>"But by simple reading! Do not Ennemoser +and many writers record it?"</p> + +<p>"Have you spoken to such beings, Desire?"</p> + +<p>The question was rash, but it escaped me before +I could check the impulse. To my relief, she answered +without resentment:</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"No? The Thing—the enemy that comes to +me has never spoken to you?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>I was silent in amazement and incredulity. The +dark creature claimed her, she declared herself helpless +to escape from that dominion into normal life, +and yet It never had spoken to her? It spoke to me, +a stranger most ignorant, and not to the seeress who +was familiar with Its existence and the lore which +linked humanity to Its fearful kind?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>"You do not believe me," her voice came quietly +across my thoughts.</p> + +<p>"I believe you, of course," I stammered. "I +was only—astonished. You have described It, and +the Barrier, so often; from the first night——! I +supposed you had seen all I have, and more."</p> + +<p>"All you have seen? Now tell me with what +eyes you have seen the Barrier and the Far Frontier? +The eyes of the body, or that vision by which man +sees in a dream and which is to the sight as the speech +of spirits is to the hearing?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose—with the inner sight."</p> + +<p>"Then understand me when I say that I have +seen with the eyes of another, by a sight not mine +and yet my own."</p> + +<p>"You mean," I floundered in vague doubts and +jealousy of her human associations of which I knew +nothing. "You mean—hypnotism?"</p> + +<p>She laughed with half-sad raillery.</p> + +<p>"How shall I answer you, Roger? Once upon a +time, the jewel called beryl was thought unrivaled as +a mirror into which a magician might look to see +reflected events taking place at a distance, or reflections +of the future. But by and by magicians grew +wiser. They found any crystal would serve as well +as a beryl. Later still, they found a little water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +poured in a basin or held in the hollow of the hand +showed as true a fantasm. So one wrote: '<i>There is +neither crystallomancy nor hydromancy, but the +magick is in the Seer himself.</i>'"</p> + +<p>"Well, Desire?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Roger—if to see with the sight of another +is hypnotism, then every man who writes a +book or tells a good tale is a hypnotist; every historian +who makes us see the past is a necromancer."</p> + +<p>"You read of the Thing——?"</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, after a long pause. "I knew +It through sympathy with one who died as I would +not have you to die, my friend Roger, of whom I +shall think long in that place to which I go presently. +Question me no more. When the time comes for you +to throw a certain braid of hair and a pomander +into the fire——"</p> + +<p>"I will never do that!"</p> + +<p>"No? Well, you might keep the pomander, +which is pure gold engraved with ancient signs and +the name of the Shining Dawn, Dahana, in Sanskrit +characters. Also the perfume it contains is precious, +being blent with the herb vervain which is powerful +against evil spirits."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>"It is not the pomander that I should keep, nor +the pomander that holds the powerful spell."</p> + +<p>"You—value the braid so much?"</p> + +<p>"I value only one other beauty as highly."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Roger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Desire. And that beauty is she who wore +the braid."</p> + +<p>Now the darkness in the room was dense. Yet +I thought I sensed a movement toward me as airy as +the flutter of a bird's wing. The fragrance in the +atmosphere eddied as if stirred by her passing. But +when I spoke to her again, after a moment's waiting, +she had gone.</p> + +<p>I am sure no housekeeper was ever more nice in +her ideas of neatness than my little Cousin Phillida, +and no maid more exact in carrying out orders than +Cristina. Nevertheless, automobiles pass on the +quietest roads, and my windows are always wide +open. There is the fireplace, too, with possibilities of +soot. Anyhow, there was a light gray dust overlaying +the writing-table on the following morning. And +in the dust was a print as if a small hand had rested +there, a yard from my chair.</p> + +<p>A slim hand it must have been. I judged the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +palm had been daintily cupped, the fingers slender, +smooth and long in proportion to the absurd size of +the whole affair. My hand covered it without brushing +an outline.</p> + +<p>I could not put this souvenir away with the braid +and the pomander. But I could put its evidence with +their witness of Desire Michell's reality.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"For may not the divell send to their fantasie, their senses +being dulled and as it were asleep, such hills and glistering courts +whereunto he pleaseth to delude them?" +whereunto he pleaseth to delude them?" +—<span class="smcap">King James' "Demonology."</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>Now I have to record how I walked into the +oldest snare in the world.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was the sense of her near presence +brought home to me by her hand-print on the table +so close to where my hand rested; perhaps it was her +speech of presently leaving me to return no more. +Or perhaps both these joined in urging on my determination +to learn more of Desire Michell before +some unknown bar fell between us. I only know +that I passed into a mood of trapped exasperation +at my helplessness and lack of knowledge. It seemed +imperative that I should act to save us both, act +soon and surely; yet inaction was bound upon me +by my ignorance. Who was she? Where did she +live? What bond held her subject to the Thing +from the Barrier? What gates were to close between +us? Why could she not put her hand in mine, any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +night, and let me take her away from this haunted +place? Why, at least, not come to me in the light, +and let me see her face to face? I was a man groping +in a labyrinth while outside something precious to +him is being stolen.</p> + +<p>For the first time I found myself unable to work, +unable to share our household life with Phillida +and Vere, or to find relaxation in driving about the +countryside. Anger against Desire herself stirred at +the bottom of my mind; Desire, who hampered me +by the word of honor in which she had netted me +so securely.</p> + +<p>It was then that my enemy from the unknown +places began to whisper of the book.</p> + +<p>I encountered that enemy in a new mood. We +did not meet at the breach in the mighty wall, confronted +in death conflict between Its will and mine. +Instead, night after night It crept to my window as +at our first meeting. I started awake to find Its +awful presence blackening the starlight where It +crouched opposite me, Its intelligence breathing +against mine. As always, my human organism +shrank from Its unhuman neighborhood. Chill and +repugnance shook my body, while that part of me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +which was not body battled against nightmare +paralysis of horror. But now It did not menace or +strive against me. It displayed a dreadful suavity +I might liken to the coiling and uncoiling of those +great snakes who are reported to mesmerize their +prey by looping movements and figures melting from +change to change in the Hunger Dance of Kaa.</p> + +<p>There was a book that held all I longed to know, +It whispered to me. A book telling of the woman! +She did not wish me to read, for fear I should grow +overwise and make her mine. The book was here, +in my house. I might arise and find—if I would be +guided by It——!</p> + +<p>I thrust the whispers away. How could I trust +my enemy? If such a book existed, which seemed +improbable, there was a taint of disloyalty to Desire +in the thought of reading without her knowledge.</p> + +<p>The Thing was not turned away. How could +I do harm by learning what she was, unless she had +evil to conceal? Did I fear to know the truth? As +for the book's existence, I had only to accept guidance +from It——?</p> + +<p>I persisted in refusal. But the idea of the book +followed me through my days like a wizard's familiar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +dogging me. Where could such a volume be hidden, +in what secret nook in wall or floor? How came a +book to be written about the girl I supposed young, +unknown and set apart from the world? Was I +letting slip an opportunity by my fastidious notions +of delicacy?</p> + +<p>Indecision and curiosity tormented me beyond +rest. Phillida and Vere began to consider me with +puzzled eyes. Cristina developed a habit of cooking +individual dishes of especial succulence and triumphantly +setting them before me as a "surprise"; a +kindness which of course obliged me to eat whether +I was hungry or not. I suspect my little cousin +abetted her in this transparent ruse. I pleaded the +heat as an excuse for all. We were in late August +now. Cicadas sang their dry chant in the fields, +where the sun glared down upon Vere's crops and +painted him the fine bronze of an Indian. Our lake +scarcely stirred under the hot, still air.</p> + +<p>It was after a day of such heat, succeeded by a +night hardly more cool, that the lights in my room +quietly went out. I was sitting at my table, some +letters which required answers spread before me +while I brooded, pen between my fingers, upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +mystery which had become my life. For the moment +I attributed the sudden failure of light to some accident +at the powerhouse.</p> + +<p>Not for long! The hateful cold that crept like +freezing vapor into the room, the foul air of damp +and corruption pouring into the scented country +atmosphere, the frantic revolt of body and nerves—before +I turned my eyes to the window I knew the +monster from the Frontier crouched there.</p> + +<p>"Weakling!" It taunted me. "Puny from of +old, how should you prevail? By your fear, the +woman stays mine. Miserable earth-crawler, in +whose hand the weapon was laid and who shrinking +let it fall unused, the end comes."</p> + +<p>"The book?" I gasped, against my better +judgment.</p> + +<p>"The book was the weapon."</p> + +<p>"No, or you would not have offered it to me."</p> + +<p>"Coward, believe so. Hug the belief while you +may. The offer is past."</p> + +<p>Past? A madness of bafflement and frustrated +curiosity gripped and shook me.</p> + +<p>"I take the offer," I cried in passion and defiance. +"If there is such a book, show it to me!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>The Thing was gone. Light quietly filled the +lamps—or was it that I had opened my eyes? I +gripped the arms of my chair, waiting. For what? +I did not know. Only, all the horror I ever had felt +in the presence of the Thing was slight compared to +the fear that presently began to flow upon me as an +icy current. There in the pleasantly lighted room, +alone, I sank through depths of dread, down into +an abyss of despair, down——</p> + +<p>A long sigh of rising wind passed through the +house like a sucked breath of triumph. Windows +and doors drew in and out against their frames with +a rattling crash, then hung still with unnatural +abruptness. Absolute stillness succeeded. I felt a +very slight shock, as if the ground at my feet +was struck.</p> + +<p>I fled from the terror for the first time. Yes, +coward at last, deserter from that unseen Frontier's +defense, I found myself in the hall outside my room, +leaning sick and faint against the wall. Behind me +the door shut violently, yet I felt no current of air +to move it.</p> + +<p>From the other side of the house there sounded +the click of latch, then a patter of soft-shod feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +Phillida came hurrying down the hall toward me. +She was wrapped in some silky pink-flowered garment. +Her short hair stood out around her head like +a little girl's well-brushed crop. She presented as +endearingly natural a figure, I thought, as any man +could seek or imagine. The wisdom of Ethan Vere +who had garnered his love here!</p> + +<p>"Cousin?" she exclaimed. "The hall light is +so dim! You almost frightened me when I glimpsed +you standing there. Did the wind wake you, too? +I think we are going to have a thunder storm, it is so +hot and gusty. I heard poor Bagheera mewing and +scratching at the door, so I was just going down to +let him in before the rain comes."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I achieved. Then, finding my voice secure: +"I will let in the cat. Where is Vere?"</p> + +<p>"He did not wake up, so I tiptoed out. Why?"</p> + +<p>"I do not like to have you going about the house +alone at this hour."</p> + +<p>Her eyes widened and she laughed outright.</p> + +<p>"Why, Cousin Roger! What a funny idea to +have about our very own house! I have one of the +electric flashlights you bought for us all; see?"</p> + +<p>What could I tell her of my vision of her womanly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +softness and timidity brought to bay by the Thing +of horror, down in those empty lower rooms? How +did I know It stalked no prey but me? Its clutch +was upon Desire Michell. These were Its hours, +between midnight and dawn.</p> + +<p>"Tramps," I explained evasively. "Give me +the light."</p> + +<p>But she pattered down the stairs beside me, +kimono lifted well above her pink-flowered slippers, +one hand on the balustrade. The light glinted in the +white topaz that guarded her wedding ring, a richer +jewel than any diamond in the sight of one who +knew the tender thought with which she had set it +there. No! The horror was not for her, clothed in +her wholesome goodness as in armor of proof. +Surely for such as she the Barrier stood unbreached +and strong.</p> + +<p>When I opened the front door, Bagheera darted +in like a hunted cat. A drift of mist entered with +him. Looking out, I saw the night was heavy with +a low-hanging fog that scarcely rose to the tree tops; a +ground-mist that eddied in smoke-like waves of gray +where our light fell upon it. Such mists were common +here, yet I shivered and shut it out with relief.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +While I refastened the lock, Bagheera purred around +my ankles, pressing caressingly against me as if +thanking me after the manner of cats. I remembered +this was not the first time he had shown this +anxiety and gratitude for shelter.</p> + +<p>"Bagheera does love you," Phillida commented, +stooping to pat him. "Isn't it funny, though, that he +never will go into your room? He is always petting +around you downstairs. When Cristina or I are +doing up your quarters, he will follow us right up +to the door-sill, but we can't coax him inside. Perhaps +he doesn't like that perfume you always +have about."</p> + +<p>A qualm ran through me, recalling the night I +had taken the cat there by force and its frantic +escape. But I snapped the key fast and straightened +myself with sharp self-contempt. Had I fallen so +low as to heed the caprices of a pet cat? Was it not +enough that I had fled from my enemy after accepting +the knowledge It had striven so long to force +upon me?</p> + +<p>For I had that knowledge. When I had halted in +the passage outside my room, in the moment before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +Phillida had joined me, there had been squarely set +before my mental sight the place to seek the book.</p> + +<p>"Phillida, there was a bookcase in this house +when it was bought," I said. "I believe it stood in +my room before the place was altered. A small +stand; I remember putting my candle on its top the +first night I slept here. Have you seen it?"</p> + +<p>Some tone in my question seemed to touch her +expression with surprise as she lifted her eyes to +mine; or perhaps it was the hour I chose for +the inquiry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," she answered readily. "I supposed +you had noticed it long ago; I mean, where it stands. +The quaintest bit, a genuine antique! And holding +the stuffiest collection of old books, too! I believe +they may be valuable, out-of-print, early editions. +If," her voice faltered wistfully, "if Father ever +forgives me for being happy with Ethan, and +comes to visit us, he would love every musty +old volume. Do you think Mother and he ever will, +Cousin Roger?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure they will, Phil. Feuds and tragic +parents are out of date. They must adjust themselves +gradually when they realize Vere is—himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +Before you go upstairs to him, will you tell me where +to find that bookcase?"</p> + +<p>"Now? Why, of course!"</p> + +<p>She led me across the hall to her sewing room. +I cannot say that she sewed there very much, but she +had chosen that title in preference to boudoir or study +as more becoming a housewife. She had assembled +here a spinning-wheel from the attic, some samplers, +a Hepplewhite sewing-table and chairs discovered +about the house. Her canaries' cage hung +above a great punch-bowl of flowered ware in which +she kept gold-fish. A pipe of Vere's balanced beside +the bowl showed that his masculine presence +was not excluded.</p> + +<p>In a corner stood the bookcase. Phillida pulled +the chain of a lamp bright under a shade of peacock +chintz, and watched me stoop to look at the +faded bindings.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Phil," I said. "It may take some +time to find the book I want. You had better hurry +back to bed before Vere comes hunting for a +missing wife."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to stay and hunt for the book +tonight, then?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>"Unless you are afraid I shall disturb your +canaries?"</p> + +<p>She did not laugh. Drawing nearer, she stroked +my sleeve with a caressing doubt and remonstrance.</p> + +<p>"But you have not been to bed at all, and soon +it will be morning! Do you have to write your lovely +music at night, Cousin Roger? You have been +growing thin and tired, this summer. Are you quite +well? You are so good that you should be happy, +but—are you?"</p> + +<p>"Good, Phil?" I wondered, touched. "Why, +how did your lazy, tune-spinning, frivolous cousin +get that reputation in this branch of the family?"</p> + +<p>"You are so kind," she said simply. "Ethan +says so. You know, Cousin Roger, that I was over-educated +in my childhood; my brain choked with +little, little stupid knowledge that hardly matters at +all. We went to church Sundays because that was +the correct thing to do. But I was almost a heathen +when Ethan married me. He doesn't trouble about +church. He doesn't trouble about the past, or life +after death, or punishment for sin. He believes if +one tries to be kind and straight, the big Kindness +and Straightness takes care of everything. So I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +learned to feel that way, too. It is a—a calm sort +of feeling all the time, if you know what I mean. +And that is the way you are good, although perhaps +you never thought of it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Phillida," I acknowledged; and +walked with her to the foot of the stairs.</p> + +<p>When her pink-clad figure had vanished behind +her bedroom door, I went back to the sewing room +and drew up a chair before the case of books.</p> + +<p>Phillida had not unreasonably stigmatized them +as stuffy. They were a sober collection. Burton's +"Anatomy of Melancholy," an ancient copy of the +Apocrypha, and a three-volume Life of Martin +Luther loaded the first shelf. I looked at the second +shelf and found it filled with the bound sermons of +a divine of whom I had never heard.</p> + +<p>The lowest shelf held strange companions for the +sedate volumes above. Erudite works on theosophy, +magic, the interpretation of dreams and demonology +huddled together here. Not all of them were readable +by my humble store of learning. There was a +Latin copy of Artemidorus, Mesmer's "Shepherd," +Mathew Paris, some volumes in Greek, and some +I judged to be Arabian and Hebrew. At the end of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +the row stood a thin, dingy book whose title had +passed out of legibility. I took it out and opened +the covers.</p> + +<p>Fronting the first page was a faded woodcut, the +portrait of a woman. Beneath in old long-s type, +dim on the yellowed paper, was printed the legend:</p> + +<p>"<i>Desire Michell, ye foul<sup>e</sup> witch.</i>"</p> + +<p>Closing the book, I forced reason to come forward. +I was resolved that panic should not drive me +again nor my defense fall from within its walls. +Master of my enemy I might never be; master of my +own inner kingdom I must and should be. But I was +glad to be here instead of upstairs while I read; +glad of the interlude in Phillida's company, and of +the presence of the three sleepy canaries who blinked +down at the disturbing lamp.</p> + +<p>The date stamped into the back of the book in +Roman numerals was of a year in the seventeen hundreds. +What connection could its Desire Michell +have with the girl I knew? Perhaps she had adopted +the name to mystify me. Or at most, she might +be of the family of that unfortunate woman branded +witch by a bigoted generation.</p> + +<p>Reopening the book, I studied the dim, stiff por<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>trait. +The face was young, delicate of line, with long +eyes set wide apart; eyes that even in this wretched +picture kept a curious drowsy watchfulness. The +inevitable white Puritan cap was worn, but curls +clustered about the brow and two massive braids +descended over either shoulder. The perfumed +bronze-colored braid up in my drawer——?</p> + +<p>The volume was entitled "Some Manifestations +of Satan in Witchcraft in Ye Colonies," by Abimelech +Fetherstone. Disregarding the satanic manifestations +set forth in the other four chronicles, I +turned to "Ye Foul<sup>e</sup> Witch, Desire Michell."</p> + +<p>As I began to read, another breath of wind sighed +through the house, sucking windows and doors in +and out with the shock of sound, instantly ended, that +is produced by a distant explosion. I thought a +flash of lightning whipped across my eyes. But +when I glanced toward the windows I saw only +the smoke-like fog banked in drifts against the panes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Beauty is a witch—"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Much Ado About Nothing.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>I will tear the core out of many yellow pages +of diffuse writing spiced with smug moral reflections.</p> + +<p>Desire Michell had been no traditional old hag, +hideous and malevolent; no pallid, raving epileptic to +accuse herself in shrieking tales of Black Men, and +Sabbats, and harm done to neighbors' cattle or crops. +Her father was a clergyman who brought his goods +and his motherless daughter from England to the +Colonies, and settled in "ye Pequot Marsh country." +There he found a congregation, and they lived much +respected. Their culture appeared to be far beyond +that of their few, hard-working neighbors. Young +Mistress Michell was reputed learned in the use of +simples, among other arts, and to have been "of a +beauty exceeding the custom among godly women, to +so great degree that sorcery should have been suspected +of her."</p> + +<p>However, sorcery was not suspected; not even +when her fame spread among near-dwelling Indian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +tribes who gave her a name signifying <i>Water on +which the Sun is Shining</i>. Admiration was her portion, +then, with all the suitors the vicinity held. But +from fastidiousness or ambition she refused every +proposal made to her father for her. She walked +aloof and alone, until another sort of wooer came to +the gate of the minister's house.</p> + +<p>This man's full name was not given, apparently +through the writer's cautious respect for place and +influence. He was vaguely described as goodly in +appearance, of high family, but not abundantly supplied +with riches. However he chanced to come to the +obscure settlement was not stated. He did come, +saw Desire Michell, and fell as abjectly prostrate +before her as any youth who never had left +the village.</p> + +<p>He pressed his courtship hard and eagerly. At +first he was welcome at the minister's house. But +a day came when Master Michell forbade him to +cross that door and rumor whispered, scandalized, +that Sir Austin's suit had not been honorable to +the maid.</p> + +<p>Sir Austin sulked a week at the village inn. Then +he broke under the torment of not seeing Desire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +Michell. Their betrothal was made public, and he +rode away to prepare his home for their marriage in +the spring.</p> + +<p>Travel was slow in the winter, news trickled +slowly across snowbound distances. With spring +came no bridegroom; instead word arrived of his +affair with an heiress recently come to New York +from England. She was rich in gold and grants +of land from the Crown. Her husband would be +a man of weight and influence, it seemed.</p> + +<p>Sir Austin had married her.</p> + +<p>Desire Michell shut herself in her father's house. +The clergyman did not live many months after the +humiliation. Alone, the girl lived. "Student," +wrote Abimelech Fetherstone, "of black and bitter +arts. Or as some say, having, like Bombastus de +Hohenheim, a devil's bird enchained to do her will."</p> + +<p>In his distant home, Sir Austin sickened. He +burned with fever, anguish consumed him. Physicians +were called to the bedside of the rich man. +They could not diagnose his ailment or help him. He +screamed for water. When it was brought, his +throat locked and he could not swallow. He raved +of Desire Michell, beseeching her mercy. In his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +times of sanity, he begged and commanded his wife +and servants to send for the girl. In her pardon +he saw his sole hope of life.</p> + +<p>Finally, he was obeyed. Messengers were sent +to the village. They were not even admitted to the +house they sought, or to sight of Mistress Michell.</p> + +<p>"Your master came himself to woo; let him +come himself to plead."</p> + +<p>That was the answer they received to carry back +to the sick man.</p> + +<p>Sir Austin heard, and submitted with trembling +hope. Writhing in the anguish wasting him by day +and night, he made the journey by coach and litter +to Desire Michell's house. At her door-sill he implored +entrance and pity. The door did not open.</p> + +<p>It never opened for him. For three days in succession +he was borne to her threshold, calling on her +in his pain and fear. His servants and physician +clustered about staring at the house which stood +locked and blank of response. At night fire-shine +was seen from an upper room; some declared they +heard wild, melodious laughter.</p> + +<p>On the third day Sir Austin died. A stern-faced +deputation of men went to the house of the late<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +clergymen. They found the door unlatched and +open to their entrance. In the upper room they +found Mistress Michell seated before her hearth +where a dying fire fell to embers, her hair "flowing +down in grate bewty."</p> + +<p>"What have I to do with Sir Austin, or he with +me?" she calmly asked the men who gaped upon her. +"How should I have harmed him, who came not near +him, as ye know? Bury him, and leave me in peace."</p> + +<p>If she had been aged and ugly, she might have +been hung. Gossip ran rife through the countryside. +But indignation was strong against the man who had +jilted the local beauty, there existed no proof of harm +done, and the matter slept for a time.</p> + +<p>New matters came. A horror grew up around +the house. The girl was seen flitting across the fields +at dawn, a monstrous shadow following. Her voice +was heard from the room where she locked herself +alone, raised in unknown speech. Strange lights +moved in her windows in the deep night. The old +woman who had served in the house for years was +stricken with a palsy and was taken away mumbling +unintelligible things that iced the blood of superstitious +hearers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>There was a young man of the neighborhood +whose love for Mistress Michell had been long and +constant. One morning he was found dead on her +doorstep, his face fixed in drawn terror. Under his +hand four words were scrawled in the snow: "<i>Sara +daughter of Ruel——</i>"</p> + +<p>There were those who could finish that quotation. +Next Sabbath the new minister took as his text: "Ye +shall not suffer a witch to live." And he spoke of +Sara the daughter of Ruel, who was wed to ten +bridegrooms, each of whom was dead on the wedding +eve; for she was beloved by an evil spirit that +suffered none to come to her. Authority moved at +last against Desire Michell. But when the officers +came to arrest her, she was found dead in her favorite +seat before the hearth.</p> + +<p>"Fair and upright in her place, scented with a +perfume she herself distilled of her learning in such +matters; which was said to contain a rare herb of +Jerusalem called Lady's Rose, resembling spikenard, +with vervain and cedar and secret simples; in which +she steeped her hair so that wherever she abode were +sweet odours. So did she escape Justice, but shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +not escape Hell's Damnation and Heaven's casting out."</p> + +<p>I closed the book and laid it down.</p> + +<p>Reading those dim, closely printed pages had +taken time. I was astonished to find the window +spaces gray with dawn, when I glanced that way. +The night was past. Neither from Desire nor from +the Thing without a name which had sent me to this +book could I find out what I was expected to glean +from the narration.</p> + +<p>My enemy had made no conditions on directing +me to the book. It had asked no price, uttered no +menace. Why, then, had I so solemn a certainty +that a crisis in our affair had been reached. I had +come to an end; a corner had been turned. I had +opened a door that could not be closed. How did I +know this? Why?</p> + +<p>Why was the fog against the windows this morning +so like the fog that shrouded the unearthly sea +opposite the Barrier?</p> + +<p>By and by Cristina came downstairs and busied +herself in the kitchen. Bagheera, who had slept beside +my chair all night, rose and padded out to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +region of breakfast and saucers of milk. Next, the +voices of Phillida and Vere drifted from above.</p> + +<p>To have Phillida find me there in her sewing-room, +finishing an all-night vigil, involved too many +explanations. I did an unwise thing. From the +lowest shelf of the bookcase I gathered such books +as were readable by my knowledge, and carried the +armful up to my room. After a hot bath and breakfast +I would look over these companions of the New +England witch book.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Not a drop of her blood was human,<br /> +But she was made like a soft sweet woman."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Lilith.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>The fog stayed all day. The mist was so dense +that it gave the effect of a solid mass enclosing the +house. No wind stirred it, no cheering beam of sun +pierced it. Through it sounds reached the ear distorted +and magnified. All day I sat in my +room reading.</p> + +<p>There are books which should not be preserved. +I, who am a lover of books, who detest any form of +censorship, I do seriously set down my belief that +there exist chronicles which would be better destroyed. +With this few people will agree. My answer +to them is simple: they have not read the books +I mean.</p> + +<p>Not all the volumes from the old bookcase were +of that character, of course. Nearly all of them were +well known to classical students, at least by name. +Obscure, fantastic, cast aside by the world they were, +but harmless to a fairly steady head. But there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +were two that clung to the mind like pitch. I have +no intention of giving their titles.</p> + +<p>Ugly and sullen, early night closed in when I +was in a mood akin to it. Dinner with Phillida +and Vere was an ordeal hurried through. We were +out of touch. I felt remote from them; fenced apart +by a heavy sense of guilt and defilement left by those +hateful books, most incongruously blended with contempt +for my companions' childish light-heartedness. +As soon as possible, I left them.</p> + +<p>Alone in my room, in my chair behind the writing-table +again, I pushed aside the pile of books and +sank into sombre thought. What should I say to +Desire Michell if she came tonight?</p> + +<p>Who was she, who was claimed by the Unspeakable +and who did not deny Its claim? Was I confronted +with two beings from places unknown to +normal humanity? If she was the woman that she had +seemed to be throughout our intercourse, how could +the dark enemy control her? Even I, a common +man with full measure of mankind's common faults +and weaknesses, could hold Its clutch from me by +right of the law that protects each in his place.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>Was she one of those who have stepped from the +permitted places?</p> + +<p>"<i>Sara the daughter of Ruel—who was beloved +by an evil spirit who suffered none to come to her.</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>There was a young gentlewoman of excellent +beauty, daughter of a nobleman of Mar, who +loved a foule monstrous thing verie horrible to behold, +and for it refused rich marriages.... Until +the Gospel of St. John being said suddenlie the wicked +spirit flue his waies with sore noise.</i>"</p> + +<p>I put out my hand and thrust the pile of books +aside from my direct sight. But I could not so +easily thrust from my mind the thoughts these books +had implanted. I could not forget that Desire +Michell herself had alleged jealousy as the Thing's +reason for attacking me.</p> + +<p>What if we came to an explanation tonight and +ended this long delirium? Was it not time? Had +not my weeks of endurance earned me this right? +Resolution mounted in me, defiant and strong.</p> + +<p>The evening had passed to an hour when I might +look for the girl to come. I switched off the lights, +and sat down to keep our nightly tryst.</p> + +<p>In the darkness of the haunted room, the thoughts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +I would have held at bay rushed upon me as clamorous +besiegers.</p> + +<p>Desire! Desire of the world! Desire of mine +and of the unhuman Thing, did we grasp at Eve or +Lilith? At the fire on the hearth or the cold phosphorescence +of swamp and marsh?</p> + +<p>A drift of fragrance was afloat on the air. A +delicate stir of movement passed by me. I raised my +head from my hands, expectant.</p> + +<p>"I am here," her familiar voice told me.</p> + +<p>"Desire, you had to come, tonight."</p> + +<p>Some quality in my voice carried to her a message +beyond the words. But she did not break into exclamation +or question as another woman might. She +was mute, as one who stands still to find the path +before taking a step.</p> + +<p>"You are angry," she said at last. "Something +here has gone badly for you; I knew that before +I entered this room."</p> + +<p>"How can you say that?" I challenged. "If +you are like other men and women, how can you +know what happens when you are absent? How do +you know what passes between the Thing from the +Frontier and me?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>"I do not know unless you tell me, Roger. If I +feel from afar when you are in sorrow, why, so do +many people feel with another in sympathy."</p> + +<p>"You feel more than ordinary sympathy can," +I retorted.</p> + +<p>"Then, perhaps it is not an ordinary sympathy +I have for you, Roger."</p> + +<p>Her very gentleness struck wrong on my perverted +mood. Was she trying to turn me from my +purpose with her soft speech? She had never granted +me anything so near an admission of love until now.</p> + +<p>"It is not an ordinary trial that I have borne +for these meagre meetings where I do not see your +face or touch your hand," I answered. "But that +must end. Put your hand in mine, Desire, and come +with me. Let us go out of this room where shadows +make our thoughts sickly. You shall stay with my +cousin. Or if you choose, we will go straight to +New York or Boston. I am asking you to be my +wife. Let us have done with phantoms and spectres. +I love you."</p> + +<p>"No," she whispered. "You do not love me +tonight. Tonight you distrust me. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Is it distrusting you to ask you to marry me?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>"Not this way would you have asked that of me +when I last came! But I will answer you more +honestly than you do me. To go with you would be +the greatest happiness the world could give. To +think of it dazzles the heart. But it is not for me. +Have you forgotten, Roger, that my life is not mine? +That I am a prisoner who has crept out for a little +while? The gates soon close, now, upon me."</p> + +<p>"What gates?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"Sacrifice and expiation."</p> + +<p>"Expiation of what?" I exclaimed, exasperated. +"Desire, I have read the book of Desire Michell, +downstairs."</p> + +<p>I heard her gasp and shrink in the darkness. +Silence bound us both. In the hush, it seemed to +me that the house suddenly trembled as it had done +the night before, a slight shock as from some distant +explosion. In my intentness upon the woman opposite +me the tremor passed unheeded. She must answer +me now, surely! Now——</p> + +<p>She spoke with a breathless difficulty, spacing her +words apart:</p> + +<p>"How did you—find—the book?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>"It told me—the Thing from out there," I admitted, +sullenly defiant of her opinion.</p> + +<p>She cried out sharply.</p> + +<p>"You? You took Its gift? You did that fatal +madness—and you are here? Oh, you are lost, and +the guilt mine! Yet I warned you that danger +flowed from knowing me. You accepted the risk +and the sorrow—yet you have thrown down all for +a bribe of knowledge. Do you not know what it +means to take a gift from the Dark Ones of the +Borderland? To brave the Loathesome Eyes so +long—and fall this way at last! Yet—there may be +a hope—since you still live. But go. Not tomorrow, +not at dawn, but go now. By all that man can dread +for soul or body, go now."</p> + +<p>"Not without you."</p> + +<p>"Me? Oh, how can I make you understand! I +shall never come here again. Take with you my +gratitude for our hours together, my prayers for all +the years to come. There is no blame to you because +you could not trust a woman on whom falls the +shadow of the awful Watcher that stalks behind me. +I make no reproach—if only you will go. Do not +linger. I do most solemnly warn you not to stay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +alone in this room one moment after I have gone."</p> + +<p>"Desire!" I exclaimed. "Wait. Forgive me. +I trust you. I did not mean what you believe. Do +not leave me this way. Desire——"</p> + +<p>I can say honestly that my next action was without +intention. On my table lay, as usual, a small +electric torch. Every member of our household was +provided with one for use in emergencies likely to +occur in a country house, the time of candles being +past. Now, rising in agitation and repentance, my +hand pressed by chance upon the flashlight's button. +A beam of light poured across the darkness.</p> + +<p>What did I see, starting out of the black gloom? +A spirit or a woman? Were those a woman's draperies +or part of the night fog that showed mere swirl +upon swirl of pale gray twisting in the path of light? +I glimpsed a face colorless as pearl, the shine of eyes +dark and almond shaped, then a drifting mass of +gray smoke, all intermingled with glittering gold +flashes, seemed to close between us. The whole +apparition sank down out of vision, as aghast, I +lifted my hand and the torch went out.</p> + +<p>Shaken out of all ability to speak, I stood in my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +place. Did I hear a movement, or only a stirring +of the orchard trees beyond the windows?</p> + +<p>"Desire?" I ventured, my voice hoarse to +my ears.</p> + +<p>No answer. I felt myself alone.</p> + +<p>I would not at once turn on the lamps. My +haste might seem an attempt to break faith with her +a second time. I sat down again, folding my arms +upon the table and resting my forehead upon them.</p> + +<p>Well, I had seen her at last—but how? A wan +loveliness seemingly painted upon the canvas of the +dark by a brush dipped in moonlight. A white moth +caught fluttering in the ray of the torch. Seen at +the instant of her leaving me forever; insulted by my +suspicions, my love hurled coarsely at her like a +command, my promise of security for her visits +apparently broken. How dared I even hope for +her return?</p> + +<p>Now I knew why my enemy had guided me to +those books, that I might read, fill my mind with the +poison of vile thoughts, and destroy the comradeship +that bound me to Desire Michell. How should I +find her? How free us both?</p> + +<p>The clock in the hall downstairs struck a single<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +bell. With dull surprise I realized that considerable +time had passed while I sat there. Still I did not +move, weighed down by a profound discouragement.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as a wave will run up a beach in +advance of the incoming tide, impelled by some deep +stir in the ocean's secret places, an icy surge rushed +about my feet. Deathly cold from that current struck +through my whole body. My heart shuddered and +staggered in its beating from pure shock.</p> + +<p>"<i>Go! Not tomorrow, not at dawn, but now!</i>"</p> + +<p>The wave seeped back, receded away from me +down its invisible beach. Desire's warning hammered +at my mind, striving to burst some barred door +to reach the consciousness within that had loitered too +long. This was the new peril. This was what I +had fled from, unknowing the source of my panic, +the night before.</p> + +<p>This was death.</p> + +<p>A second surge struck me with the heavy shock +of a veritable wave from some bitter ocean. This +time the tide rose to my knees; boiling and hissing in +its rush. Blood and nerves seemed to freeze. I felt +my heart stop, then reel on like a broken thing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +Flecks of crimson spattered like foam against +my eyelids.</p> + +<p>The wave broke. The mass poured down the +beach, tugging at me in its retreat. With the last +strength ebbing away from me with that receding +current, I dragged the chain of the lamp beside me.</p> + +<p>The comfort of light springing up in the room! +The relief of seeing normal, pleasant surroundings! +Truly light is an elixir of courage to man.</p> + +<p>That cold had paralyzed me. I had no force +to rise. Nor did I altogether wish to rise and go. +I had lost Desire tonight. Was I to lose my self-respect +also? Was I to run a beaten man from this +peril, after standing against my enemy so long?</p> + +<p>Should I not rather stand on this my ground +where I was not the "lame feller"?</p> + +<p>Down by the lake, the snarling cry of a terrified +cat broke the night stillness. It was Bagheera's +voice. The cry was followed by sounds indicating a +small animal's frantic flight through the thickets of +goldenrod and willow that edged the banks of the +stream below the dam. The series of progressive +crashes passed back of the house and continued on, +dying away down the creek.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>As I braced my startled nerves after this outbreak +of noise, the light was withdrawn from every +lamp in the room. At the same moment, the electric +torch rolled off my table and fell to the floor. I +heard its progress across the muffling softness of the +rug, across the polished wood beyond, and final stoppage +at some point out of my reach.</p> + +<p>As vapor rises from some unseen source and +forms in vague growing mass within the curdled air, +so blackening dark the hideous bulk reared Itself in +the night and stared in upon me. As so many times, +I felt the Eyes I could not see; the pressure of a +colossal hate loomed over me, poised to crush, yet +withheld by a force greater than either of us. The +venom of Its malevolence flowed into the atmosphere +about me, fouling the breath I drew. My +lungs labored.</p> + +<p>"Pygmy," Its intelligence thrust against mine. +"Frail and presumptuous Will that has dared oppose +mine, you are conquered. This is the hour foretold +to you, the hour of your weakness and my strength. +Weakling, feel the death surf break upon you. Fall +down before me. Cower—plead!"</p> + +<p>Now indeed I felt a sickness of self-doubt, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +the wash of the invisible sea never had come to me +until tonight. And there was Desire's saying that +I had destroyed myself by accepting the Thing's gift +of knowledge of the book. But I summoned +my forces.</p> + +<p>"Never," my thought refused It. "Have we not +met front to front these many nights? And who +has drawn back, Breaker of the Law? You return, +but I live. The duel is not lost."</p> + +<p>"It is lost, Man, and to me. Have you not taken +my gift that you might spy meanly on the secret of +your beloved? Have you not opened your mind to +the evil thoughts that creep upon the citadel of +strength within and tear down its power? Of your +own deed, you are mine. My breath drinks your +breath. Your life falls down as a lamp that is +thrown from its pedestal. Your spirit rises from +its seat and looks toward those spaces where it shall +take flight tonight. Man, you die."</p> + +<p>Again the surge and shock of that frigid sea +rushed upon me. I felt the swirl and hiss of the +broken wave higher about me before it sank away +down whatever dreadful strand it owned. My life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +ebbed with it, draining low. My enemy spoke the +truth. One more such wave——</p> + +<p>My imagination sprang ahead of the event. In +fancy, I saw bright dawn filling this room of mine, +shining on the figure of a man who had been myself. +His head rested on his folded arms so that his face +was hidden. On the table beside him a vase was +overturned; a spray of heliotrope lay near and water +had trickled over scattered sheets of music, staining +the paper. By and by Vere would come to summon +that unanswering figure to the gay little breakfast-table. +Phillida would leave her place behind the +burnished copper percolator she prized so highly and +come running up the stairs. In her gentleness she +would grieve, no doubt. I was sorry for that. But +it was a contentment and pleasure for me to recall +that I had settled my financial affairs so that my little +cousin would never lack money or know any care that +I could spare her. Strange, how she had been rated +below more beautiful or more clever women until the +waif Ethan Vere had set her dearness in full sun for +us to wonder at!</p> + +<p>"Pygmy, will you think of another pygmy +now?" raged the Thing. "Yourself! Think of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +yourself! Crouch! Think of death, corruption, the +vileness of the grave. Think how you are of the +grave. Think how you are alone with me. Think +how you are abandoned to me."</p> + +<p>But with that tenderness for Phillida a warmth +had flowed through me like strength.</p> + +<p>"Not so," my defiance answered It. "For where +I am, I stand by my own will. With where I shall +stand, you have nothing to do. Back, then, for with +the death of my body your power ends. Back—or +else face me, Thing of Darkness, while we stand in +one place."</p> + +<p>At this mad challenge of mine silence closed down +like a shutting trap. Consciousness sank away from +me with a sense of swooning quietness.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I stood before the Barrier on the ghostly frontier; +erect, arms folded, fronting the Breach in that inconceivably +mighty wall. Above, away out of vision +on either hand stretched the gray glimmering cliffs.</p> + +<p>This I had seen before. But behind me lay that +which I had not seen. The mists I believed to be +eternal had lifted. Naked, a vast gray sea stretched +parallel with the Barrier; like it, without end or even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +a horizon to bound its enormous desolation. Between +these two immensities on the narrow strand at the +foot of the wall, I stood, pygmy indeed. In the +Breach, as of old, the Thing whose home was there +reared Itself against me.</p> + +<p>"Man," It spat, "would you see me? Would +you see the Eyes once seen by the witch-woman, who +fell blasted out of human ken? Creature of clay, +crumbling now in the sea of mortality, do you brave +my immemorial age?"</p> + +<p>It reared up, up, a towering formlessness. It +stooped, a lowering menace.</p> + +<p>"Man, whenever man has summoned Evil since +the youngest days of the world have I not answered? +Have I not brought my presence to the magician's +lamp? Have I not shadowed the alchemist at his +crucible? When the woman called upon me with +ancient knowledge, did I not come. I am the guardian +of the Barrier. Whoever would pass this way +must pass me. Have you the power? Die, then, +and begone."</p> + +<p>With a long heaving sound of waters in movement, +the gray sea stirred from its stillness. As if +drawn to some center out of sight, the tide began to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +recede down that strange beach. Then realization +came to me that here was the ocean which, invisible, +had surged icy death upon me a while past. The +ocean now gathered for the final wave that should +overwhelm the defeated.</p> + +<p>"Braggart!" my thought answered the taunt. +"If the witch-woman was yours, the girl Desire is +mine. This I know: as little as man has to do with +you, so little have you to do with the human and +the good. Living or dead, our path is not yours. +I did not summon you. I do dare look upon you, if +you have visible form."</p> + +<p>Now in the hush a sound that I had faintly heard +as a continuing thing seemed to draw nearer. A +sound of light, swift footsteps hurrying, hurrying; +the steps of one in pitiful eagerness and haste. But +I heeded this slightly. My gaze was upon that which +took place within the cleft in the great wall. For +there the cold darkness was writhing and turning, +visible, yet obscure; as the rapids of a glassy, twisting +river might look by night. And as one might glimpse +beneath the smooth boil and heave of such a river +the dim shape of crocodile or water-monster, so in +that moving dark there seemed to lie Something from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +which the mind shrank, appalled. Now gigantic +tentacles rolled about a central mass, groping out in +unsatisfied greed. Now an ape-like shape seemed +to stalk there, rearing up its monstrous stature until +all that Breach was choked with it. It fell down +into vagueness, where huge coils upraised and sank +their loops. But through all change steadily fixed +upon me I felt the eyes of the Unseen.</p> + +<p>I stood my ground. With what pain and draining +cost to my poor endurance there is no need to say. +Each instant I anticipated the surge of that returning +sea whose flood should smother out the human spark +upon its shore. This I had brought upon myself. +Yes, and would again to help Desire Michell! If +I had sheltered her for one hour——!</p> + +<p>The Thing halted, stooped.</p> + +<p>"Man, cast off the woman," It snarled at me. +"Fool, evil goes with her. For her you suffer. +Thrust her from your breast."</p> + +<p>I looked down. Wavering against my breast, +just above my heart glimmered a spot of light. The +little hurrying steps had ceased. I thought, if the +bright head of Desire Michell were rested there +against me, how I would strive to shield her from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +sight of the Thing yonder. In the sweep of that +will to protect, I drew my coat about the spot of +hovering brightness.</p> + +<p>I felt her press warm against me. I heard the +roar of the death-wave far out in that sea. +Before me——</p> + +<p>Oh Horror of the Frontier, what broke through +the dread Breach. What formed there, more +inhuman from Its likeness to humanity? What +Hand reached for me—for—us——</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"I have had a dream past the wit of man to say what dream +it was."—<span class="smcap">Midsummer Night's Dream.</span> +</p></div> + + +<p>"Mr. Locke! Mr. Locke!"</p> + +<p>I opened heavy eyes to meet the eyes of Ethan +Vere, who bent over me. Phillida was there, too, pale +of face. But what was That just vanishing into the +darkness beyond my window-sill? What malignant +glare seared disappointment and grim promise across +my consciousness? Had I brought with me or did +I hear now a whispered: "<i>Pygmy, again!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Cousin, Cousin, are you very ill?" Phillida was +half sobbing. "Won't you drink the brandy, please? +Oh, Ethan, how cold he is to touch!"</p> + +<p>"Hush, dear," Vere bade, in his slow steadfast +way. "Mr. Locke, can you swallow some of this?"</p> + +<p>I became aware that his arm supported me upright +in my chair while he held a glass to my lips. Mechanically +I drank some of the cordial. Vere put +down the glass and said a curious thing. He +asked me:</p> + +<p>"Shall I get you out of this room?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>Why should he ask that, since the spectre was +for me alone? Or if he had not seen It, how did he +know this room was an unsafe area? My stupefied +brain puzzled over these questions while I managed +a sign of refusal. Any effort was impossible to me. +The cold of the unearthly sea still numbed my body. +My heart labored, staggering at each beat.</p> + +<p>Vere's support and nearness were welcome to me. +His tact let me rest in the mute inaction necessary +to recovery, while my body, astonished that it still +lived, hesitatingly resumed the task of life. Somehow +he reassured and directed Phillida. Presently +she was busied with the coffee apparatus in the corner +of the room.</p> + +<p>It was too much weariness even to turn my eyes +aside from the expanse of the table before me. The +vase was upset, I noted, as I had seemed to see it. +The spray of purple heliotrope Phillida had put there +the day before lay among the wet sheets of music. +The Book of Hermas lay open at the page I had last +turned, the rosy lamplight upon the text.</p> + +<p>"<i>Behold, I saw a great Beast that he might +devour a city—whose name is Hegrin. Thou hast +escaped—because thou didst not fear for so terrible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +a Beast. If, therefore, ye shall have prepared yourselves, +yet may escape——</i>"</p> + +<p>What did they mean, the old, old words men have +rejected? What had Hermas glimpsed in his visions? +How many men are written down liars because they +traveled in strange lands indeed, and explorers, strove +to report what they had seen? Who before me had +stood at the Barrier and set foot on the Frontier +between the worlds?</p> + +<p>The fog still dense outside was whitening with +daybreak. A few hours while the sun ran its course +once more for me, then night again, bringing completion +of the menace. I recognized that this delay +could not affect the end. Perhaps it would have +been easier if all had finished for me tonight, easier +if Vere and Phillida had not found me in time +to bring me back.</p> + +<p>How had they found out my condition? Wonder +stirred under my lethargy. Had I called or cried +out? It did not seem that I could have done so. +Certainly I had not tried! I was not quite so poor +an adventurer as that.</p> + +<p>Phillida was back with a cup of steaming black +coffee, tiptoeing in her anxiety and questioning Vere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +with her eyes. He took the cup, stooping to receive +my glance of assent to the new medicine.</p> + +<p>The brandy had stimulated, but sickened me. +The coffee revived me so much that I was able to +take the second cup without Vere's help. When +I had walked up and down the room a few times, +leaning on his arm, life had taken me back, if only +for a little while.</p> + +<p>The two nurses were so good in their care of +me that our first words were of my gratitude to +them. Then my curiosity found voice.</p> + +<p>"How did you happen to come in at this hour?" +I asked. "How did you know I was—ill?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine what made Ethan wake up," +said Phillida, with a puzzled look toward her husband. +"He woke me by rushing out of the room +and letting the door slam behind him. Of course +I knew something must be wrong to make Drawls +hurry like that. Usually he does such a tremendous +lot in a day while looking positively lazy. So I came +rushing after and found him in here, trying to +waken you. I—I thought at first that you were not +living, Cousin Roger. It was horrible! You were +all white and cold——" she shivered.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>Vere poured another cup of coffee. He said +nothing on the subject, merely observing that the +stimulant would hardly hurt me and some might +be good for Phil. I asked her to bring cups for +them both.</p> + +<p>"I am not sure I really care about the coffee, but +I'll make some more," she nodded, dimpling. "I +love to drink from your wee porcelain cups with their +gold holders. You do have pretty things, you +bachelors from town."</p> + +<p>When she was across the room, I asked quietly:</p> + +<p>"What was it, Vere? What sent you to me?"</p> + +<p>He answered in as subdued a tone, looking at the +tinted shade of the lamp instead of at my face.</p> + +<p>"The young lady woke me, Mr. Locke. She +came to the bedside, whispering that you were +dying—would be dead if I didn't get to help you in +time. She was gone before Phillida roused up so +she doesn't know anything about it."</p> + +<p>My heart, so nearly stopped forever and so +lethargic still, leaped in a strong beat. Desire, then, +had come back to save me. For all my doubt and +seemingly broken faith, she had brought her slight +power to help me in my hour of danger. For my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +sake she had broken through her mysterious seclusion +to call Vere and send him to my rescue.</p> + +<p>Neither he nor I being unsophisticated, I understood +what Vere believed, and why he looked at the +lamp rather than at me. But even that matter had +to yield precedence to my first eagerness.</p> + +<p>"You saw her?" I demanded. "You call her +young. You saw her face, then?"</p> + +<p>"I could forget it if I had," he said dryly. +"As it happened, I didn't. She was wrapped in a +lot of floating thin stuff; gray, I guess? The room +was pretty dark, and I was jumping out of sleep. I +don't know why she seemed young unless it was +the easy, light way she moved. By the time I got +what she was saying and sat up, she was gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone?"</p> + +<p>"She went out the door like a puff of smoke. +I just saw a gray figure in the doorway, where the +hall lamp made it brighter than in the room. When +I came into the hall there wasn't a sign of anybody +about. Nor afterward, either!"</p> + +<p>I considered briefly.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I know what you are thinking, Vere. +It is natural, but wrong. The lady——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>"Mr. Locke," he checked me, "I'm not—thinking. +I guess you're as good a judge as I am about +what goes on in this house. After the way you've +treated us from the first, I'd be pretty dull not to know +you're as choice of Phillida as I am; and she is all +that matters."</p> + +<p>"Who is?" demanded Phillida, returning. +"Me? I haven't the least idea what you are talking +about, Drawls, but I think Cousin Roger matters a +great deal more than I do, just now. Perhaps now +he is able to tell us about this attack, and if he should +have a doctor. I have noticed for weeks how thin +and grave he has been growing to be. If only he +<i>would</i> drink buttermilk!"</p> + +<p>I looked into the candid, affectionate face she +turned to me. From her, I looked to her husband, +whose New England steadiness had been tempered +by a sailor's service in the war and broadened by the +test of his experience in a city cabaret. A new +thought cleaved through my perplexities like an +arrow shot from a far-off place.</p> + +<p>"How much do you both trust me?" I slowly +asked. "I do not mean trust my character or my +good intentions, but how much confidence have you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +in my sanity and commonsense? Would you believe +a thing because I told it to you? Or would +you say: 'This is outside usual experience. He is +deceiving us, or mad'?"</p> + +<p>They regarded one another, smiling with an +exquisite intimacy of understanding.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see yourself one little, little bit, +Cousin?" she wondered at me.</p> + +<p>"Anything you say, goes all the way with us," +Vere corroborated.</p> + +<p>"Wait," I bade. "Drink your coffee while +I think."</p> + +<p>"Please drink yours, Cousin Roger, all fresh +and hot."</p> + +<p>I emptied the cup she urged upon me, then leaned +my forehead in my hands and tried to review the +situation. They obeyed like well-bred children, +settling down on a cushioned seat together and taking +their coffee as prettily as a pair of parakeets. They +seemed almost children to me, although there was +little difference in years between Vere and myself. +But then, I stood on the brink where years stopped.</p> + +<p>With the next night, my triumphant enemy could +be put off no longer. That I could not doubt. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +cannot say that I was unafraid, yet fear weighed less +upon me than a heavy sense of solemnity and realization +of the few hours left during which I could affect +the affairs of life. What remained to be done?</p> + +<p>On one of my visits to New York, I had called +on my lawyer and made my will. There were a few +pensioners for whom provision should continue after +my death. The aged music master under whom I +developed such abilities as I had, who was crippled +now by rheumatism and otherwise dependent on a +hard-faced son-in-law; the three small daughters of +a dead friend, an actor, whose care and education at +a famous school of classic dancing I had promised +him to finance—a few such obligations had been provided +for, and the rest was for Phillida.</p> + +<p>But now, what of Desire Michell?</p> + +<p>She had seemed so apart from common existence +that I never had thought of her possible needs any +more than of the needs of a bird that darted in and +out of my windows. Until tonight, when I had seen +her and she had proved herself all woman by her +appeal to Ethan Vere. It was not a spirit or a seeress +or "ye foule witch, Desire Michell" who had fled +to him for help in rescuing me. It was simply a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +terrified girl. What was to become of this girl? +Under what circumstances did she dwell? Had she +a home, or did she need one? Could I care for this +matter while I was here?</p> + +<p>Day was so far advanced that a clamor of birds +came in to us along with a freshening air. The +strangely persistent fog had not lifted, but the lamps +already looked wan and faded in the new light. I +switched them out before speaking to the pair who +watched me.</p> + +<p>"I have a story to tell you both," I said. "The +beginning of it Phillida has already heard. +Perhaps——Have you told Vere about the woman +who visited this room, the first night I spent in the +house? Who cut her hair and left the braid in my +hand to escape from me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she nodded, wide-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Will you go to my chiffonier, there in the +alcove, and bring a package wrapped in white silk +from the top drawer?"</p> + +<p>She did as she was asked and laid the square +of folded silk before me. I put back the covering, +showing that sumptuous braid. The rich fragrance +of the gold pomander wrapped with it filled the air<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +like a vivifying elixir. Phillida gathered up the +braid with a cry of envious rapture.</p> + +<p>"Oh! The gorgeous thing! How do some +lucky girls have hair like that? If it was unbound, +my two hands could not hold it all. What a pity +to have cut it! Look, Ethan, how it crinkles +and glitters."</p> + +<p>She held it out to him, extended across her palms. +Vere refrained from touching the braid, surveying it +where it lay. Being a mere bachelor, I had no idea +of Phillida's emotions, until Vere's usual gravity +broke in a mischievous, heart-warming smile into +the brown eyes uplifted to him.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful," he agreed politely.</p> + +<p>No more. But as I saw the wistful envy pass +quite away from my little cousin's plain face and +leave her content, I advanced in respect for him.</p> + +<p>In the beginning, it was even harder to speak +than I had anticipated. When Phillida laid the braid +back in its wrapping, I left it uncovered before me +and looked at its reassuring reality rather than at my +listeners. How, I wondered, could anyone be expected +to credit the story I had to tell? How should +I find words to embody it?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>Only at first! Whether there clung about me +some atmosphere of that land between the worlds +where I so recently had stood; or the room indeed +kept, as I fancied, the melancholy chill of the unseen +tide that had washed through it, I met no scepticism +from the two who heard my tale of wild experience. +They did not interrupt me. Phillida crept close to +her husband, putting her hand in his, but she did not +exclaim or question.</p> + +<p>Silence held us all for a while after I had finished. +I had a discouraged sense of inadequacy. After all, +they had received but a meagre outline. The color +and body of the events escaped speech. How could +they feel what I had felt? How could they conceive +the charm of Desire Michell, the white magic of her +voice in the dark, the force of her personality that +could impress her image "sight unseen" beyond all +time to erase? How convey to a listener that, understanding +her so little, I yet knew her so well?</p> + +<p>"I have told you all this because I need your +help," I said presently. "Will you give it to me?"</p> + +<p>"Go away!" Phillida burst forth. She beat her +palms together in her earnestness. "Cousin Roger, +take your car and go away—far off! Go where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>—nothing—can +reach you. You must not spend another +single night here. Ethan will go with you. +I will, too, if you want us. You must not +be left alone until you are quite safe; perhaps in +New York?"</p> + +<p>"And, Desire Michell?"</p> + +<p>"She is in no danger, I suppose. She is not +my cousin, anyhow. And even she told you to +go away."</p> + +<p>"You believe my story, then? You do not think +me suffering from delusions?"</p> + +<p>"Ethan saw the girl, too. If he had not come +here in time to save you, I believe you would have +died in that terrible stupor. Besides, I have seen for +weeks that something was changing you."</p> + +<p>"What does Vere say?" I questioned, studying +the absorbed gravity of his expression. I wondered +what I myself would have said if anyone had brought +me such a story.</p> + +<p>He passed his arm around Phillida and drew her +to him with a quieting, protective movement. His +regard met mine with more significance than he chose +to voice.</p> + +<p>"I'm satisfied to take the thing as you tell it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +Mr. Locke," he answered. "Phil is right, it seems +to me, about you not staying here. I don't think the +young lady ought to stay, either."</p> + +<p>"She refuses to leave, Vere. What can I offer +her that I have not offered? How can I find her? +You have heard how I searched the countryside for +a hint of such a girl's presence. No one has ever +seen her; or else someone lies very cleverly."</p> + +<p>In the pause, Phillida hesitatingly ventured +an idea:</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she is not—real. If the monster is a +ghost thing, may not she be one, too? If we are to +believe in such things at all——? She almost seems +to intend that you shall believe her the ghost of the +witch girl in that old book."</p> + +<p>I shook my head with the helpless feeling of trying +to explain some abstruse knowledge to a child. +I had spoken of the colossal spaces, the solemn immensities +of the place where I had set my human foot. +I had tried to paint the desolate bleakness of that +Borderland where the unnamed Thing and I met, +each beyond his own law-decreed boundary, and +locked in combat bitter and strong. Phillida had +listened; and talked of ghosts the bugbears of grave-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>yard +superstition. Did Vere comprehend me better? +Did he visualize the struggle, weirdly akin to +legends of knight and dragon, as prize of which +waited Desire Michell; forlornly helpless as white +Andromeda chained to her black cliff? Could the +Maine countryman, the cabaret entertainer, seize the +truths glimpsed by Rosicrucians and mystics of lost +cults, when the highly bred college girl failed?</p> + +<p>It seemed so. At least his dark eyes met mine +with intelligence; hers held only bewilderment +and fear.</p> + +<p>"They are not ghosts," I said only.</p> + +<p>"But how can you be sure?" she persisted.</p> + +<p>Beneath the braid and the pomander lay the sheet +of paper on which Desire had written weeks before; +the first page of that composition now pouring gold +into my hands. This I passed to Phillida.</p> + +<p>"Do ghosts write?" I queried.</p> + +<p>She read the lines aloud.</p> + +<p>"'We walk upon the shadows of hills, across a +level thrown, and pant like climbers.'"</p> + +<p>"They do write, people say, with ouija boards +and mediums," she murmured.</p> + +<p>I looked at Vere with despair of sustaining this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +argument. He stood up as if my appeal had been +spoken, drawing her with him.</p> + +<p>"Now that it's a decent hour, don't you think +Cristina might give us some breakfast?" he suggested. +"I guess bacon and eggs would be sort of +restoring. If you feel up to taking my arm as far +as the porch, Mr. Locke, the fresh air might be good +medicine, too."</p> + +<p>I have speculated sometimes upon how civilized +man would get through days not spaced by his recurrent +meals into three divisions. Those meals are +hyphens between his mind and his body, as it were. +What sense of humor can view too intensely a creature +who must feed himself three times a day? Are +we not pleasantly urged out of our heroics and into +the normal by breakfast, luncheon and dinner? Deny +it as we will, when we do not heed them we are out +of touch with nature.</p> + +<p>We went downstairs.</p> + +<p>After breakfast was over, Vere and I walked +across the orchard to a seat placed near the lake. +There I sat down, while he remained standing in his +favorite attitude: one foot on a low boulder, his +arm resting on his knee as he gazed into the shallow,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +amber-tinted water. Fog still overlay the countryside, +but without bringing coolness. The damp heat +was stifling, almost tropical as the sun mounted +higher in the hidden sky.</p> + +<p>I watched my companion, waiting for him to +speak. He appeared intent upon the darting movements +of a group of tiny fish, but I knew his thoughts +were afar.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Locke, I didn't want to speak before Phillida, +because it would not do any good for her to +hear what I have to say," he finally began. "It is +properly the answer to what you asked upstairs, +about our believing you had not imagined that story. +Did anything slip out over the window-sill when you +were waking up?"</p> + +<p>Startled, for I had not spoken of this, I met +his gaze.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Did you see——"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, exactly. Something, though! Like—well, +like something pouring itself along; a big, +thick mass. Something sort of smooth and glistening; +like black, oily molasses slipping over. Only +alive, somehow; drawing coils of itself out of the +dark into the dark. I can't put it very plain."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>"What did you think?"</p> + +<p>"The air in the room was bad and close, hard +to breathe. I guessed maybe I was a little dizzy, +jumping out of bed the way I did and finding you +like dead, almost." He paused, and returned his +contemplation to the fish darting in the lake.</p> + +<p>"That is what I thought," he concluded. "What +I felt—well, it was the kind of scare I didn't use +to know you could feel outside of bad dreams; the +kind you wake up from all shaking, with your face +and hands dripping sweat. That isn't all, either!"</p> + +<p>This time the pause was so long that I thought he +did not mean to continue.</p> + +<p>"My excuse for speaking of such matters before +Phillida is that I may need a woman friend for +Desire Michell," I reverted to the implied rebuke I +acknowledged his right to give. "I wanted her help, +and yours. More than ever, since you have shared +my experience so far, I want your advice."</p> + +<p>"I'll be proud to give it, in a minute. First, it's +only fair to say I've felt enough wrong around here +to be able to understand a lot that once I might have +laughed at. Nothing compared to you! But—I've +been working about the lake sometimes after dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +or before daylight was strong, when a kind of horror +would come over me—well, I'd feel I had to get away +and into the house or go crazy. That morning when +you called from your window to ask where I'd been +so early, and I told you looking for turtles—that +was one time. I had gone out looking for turtles, +but that horror drove me in. When you hailed me, +I had it so bad that I could just about make out not +to run for the house like a scared cat, yelling all the +way. Turning back to the lake with you was a +poser. But I did; and the feeling was all gone as +quick as it came. We had a nice morning's shooting. +Once in a while I've felt it sort of driving me indoors +when I stepped off the porch or over to the barn +at night. That's a funny thing: the fear was always +outside, not in the house. I thought of that while +you were telling us how the Thing at the window +kept trying to get in at you. We haven't got a haunted +house, but a haunted place!"</p> + +<p>"Why have you not spoken of this before?" I +asked, deeply stirred.</p> + +<p>He made a gesture, too American to be called +a shrug. He said nothing, watching a large bubble +rise through the pure, brown-green water, float an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +instant on the surface, then vanish with the abrupt +completeness of a miniature explosion. I watched +also, with an always fresh interest in the pretty +phenomenon. Then I repeated my question, rather +impatiently as I considered what a relief his companionship +in experience would have afforded all +these weeks.</p> + +<p>"Why not, Vere?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Locke, I don't like to keep saying that you +never exactly got used to me as your cousin's husband," +he reluctantly replied. "But I can see it's +a kind of surprise to you right along that I don't +break down or break out in some fashion. Of course +I haven't known that you were meeting queer times, +too! If you hadn't been through any of this, what +would you have thought if I'd come to you with +stories of the place being haunted by something +nobody could see? You would have judged I was a +liar, trying to fix up an excuse for getting away from +the work here and shoving off. I don't want to go +away. I don't intend to go. I can't see any need +of it for Phil and me. But—and this is the advice +you spoke of! I think you ought to leave and leave +now. It's little better than suicide to stay."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>"And abandon Desire Michell?"</p> + +<p>He turned his dark observant eyes toward me.</p> + +<p>"If I said yes, you wouldn't do it. Phil and I +will take care of the young lady, if she will let us. +Couldn't a note be left for her, telling her to +come to us?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head.</p> + +<p>"She would not come. Now, less than +ever——" I broke off, shot with sharp self-reproach +at the memory of how I had driven her from me +last night.</p> + +<p>"You won't be any help to her if you're dead," +he bluntly retorted.</p> + +<p>At that I rose and walked a few paces to knock +out my post-breakfast pipe against an apple-tree. I +was not so sure that he was right, self-evident as his +statement appeared. Ideas moved confusedly in my +mind, convictions somehow impressed when that +golden-bronze spot of light so gently came to rest +above my heart when I last stood at the Barrier; +the light so like the bright imagined head of Desire. +To fly from my place now, herded like a cowardly +sheep by the Thing of the Frontier, would that not +be to thrust her away to save myself?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>No! Not myself, my life!</p> + +<p>I had the answer now. I walked back to Vere +and took my seat again.</p> + +<p>"Both of us, or neither," I told him. "If you +can help me make it both by any ingenuity, I shall be +mighty glad. It's a pleasant world! But we will +not talk any more of my running for New York like +a kicked pup. The question is, will you and Phillida +take care of the lady who calls herself Desire Michell, +if tomorrow morning finds her free, but alone +and friendless?"</p> + +<p>"As long as we live, Mr. Locke," he answered. +"But I guess there isn't any disgrace in your going to +New York, running or not, if you take her with you. +And that is what ought to have been done long ago."</p> + +<p>"Vere?"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"You've got me! Just pick the lady up, carry +her out of that room, and have a show-down. Put +her in your car and take her to town."</p> + +<p>"I gave her my word not——"</p> + +<p>"People can't stand bowing to each other when +the ship's afire. If she is worth dying for, she +doesn't want you to die for her."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>The simplicity of it! And, leaping the breach of +faith, the temptation!</p> + +<p>What harm could I do Desire by this plan of +Vere's? What good might I not do her? Was it +mere slavishness of mind on my part not to overrule +her timid will? She must pardon me when she +realized my desperate case. A dying man might be +excused for some roughness of haste, surely. +Whether flight could save us I did not know. I +did know absolutely that my enemy had crossed the +Barrier last night, and I was prey merely withheld +from It by the chance respite of a few daylight hours.</p> + +<p>Suppose our escape succeeded? A whole troup +of pictures flitted across the screen of my fancy. +Desire beside me in the city, my wife. Desire in +those delightful shops that make Fifth Avenue gay +as a garden of tulips, where I might buy for her +frocks and hats, shoes of conspicuous frivolity and +those long white gloves that seem to caress a woman's +arm—everything fair and fine. Restaurants I had +described for her, where she might dine in silken ease +and perhaps hear played the music she had named——</p> + +<p>I aroused myself and looked at Vere.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>"You'll do it?" he translated my expression.</p> + +<p>"I will, if she gives me the opportunity."</p> + +<p>"Do you judge she will?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so. Since she went so far as to show +herself to you in order to send help to me when I was +in danger, I believe she will come to my room tonight +if I wait there——"</p> + +<p>He looked at me silently. The consternation and +protest in his face were speech enough.</p> + +<p>"If I wait there alone," I finished somewhat hurriedly. +"If she comes in time, we will try the plan. +Have the car ready. You and Phillida will be prepared, +of course. We will waste no time in getting +away as far as possible."</p> + +<p>"And if that Thing comes before she does, +Mr. Locke?"</p> + +<p>"Is there any other way?"</p> + +<p>"I guess you haven't considered that you're inviting +me to stand by while you get yourself killed," +he said stiffly. "I'm not an educated man. I never +heard the names you mentioned this morning of +people who used to study out things like this. I +never heard of any worlds except earth and heaven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +and hell. But then I couldn't explain how an electric +car runs. I know the car does run; and I know you +nearly died last night. If you go back and stay +alone in that room, we both know what you are +going to meet."</p> + +<p>I turned away from him because I sickened at the +prospect he evoked. The memory of that death-tide +was too near and rolled too coldly across the future. +If the trial had been hard when mercifully unanticipated, +what would it be to meet my enemy now that +I knew myself conquered? Would It not deliberately +forestall Desire's coming, tonight?</p> + +<p>"Mightn't you help the lady more if you went +away now, and came back?" he urged.</p> + +<p>The deserter's argument, time without end! Was +I to fall as low as that?</p> + +<p>Phillida's voice called to Vere from the veranda, +summoning him to some need of farm or household.</p> + +<p>"In a moment, Pretty," he called assent.</p> + +<p>But he did not move. I guessed that he hoped +much from my silence and would not disturb me lest +my decision be hindered or changed.</p> + +<p>By and by I stood up.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>"Vere, in your varied experiences in peace and +war, did you ever chance to meet a coward?"</p> + +<p>"Once," he answered briefly.</p> + +<p>"And, did you like the sight?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then," I said, "let us not invite one another +to that display. Shall we go in to Phillida?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"They say—<br /> +What say they?<br /> +Let thame say!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Old Scottish Inscription.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>After luncheon, I drove over to the village with +Phillida, who had some housewifely orders to give at +the shops. On second thoughts, Vere and I had +agreed to tell her nothing about the venture we +planned for tonight. We had satisfied her by the +assurance that I meant to start for New York before +the dangerous hours after midnight. Reassured, she +regained her usual spirits with the buoyancy of her +few years and healthy nerves. I gathered her secret +belief was that no "ghost" would dare face Ethan.</p> + +<p>Which may have been quite true!</p> + +<p>On our way home, we stopped at the shop of Mrs. +Hill to add to our supply of eggs, Phillida's hens having +unaccountably failed to supply their quota. I +went in, leaving my companion in the car.</p> + +<p>No one else was in the shop. An impulse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +prompted me to put a question to the little woman +whose life had been spent in this neighborhood.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Hill, did you ever hear of anyone named +Desire Michell?" I asked.</p> + +<p>She stopped counting eggs and blinked up at me. +Her sallow, wrinkled face lightened with curiosity +and an absurd primness.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mr. Locke! I'd like to know where a +young city feller like you got that old story from?"</p> + +<p>"I have not got it. I want you to tell it to me. +She was a witch?"</p> + +<p>"She was a hussy," said Mrs. Hill severely. "I +was a little girl when she ran away from her father's +respectable house, fifty-odd years ago. The disgrace +killed him, being a clergyman. An' the gossip +that came back, later, an' pictures of her in +such dresses! Dear! Dear! The wicked certainly +have opportunities."</p> + +<p>"Fifty years ago!" I echoed, dazed by this intrusion +of a third Desire Michell.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Nearly seventy she'd be if she was alive +today; which she ain't. Why, she changed her name +to one fancier that you might have heard talk of? +She was——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>The name she gave me I shall not set down. It +is enough to say it was that of a super-woman whose +beauty, genius and absolute lack of conscience set +Europe ablaze for a while. A torch of womanhood, +quenched at the highest-burning hour of her career +by a sudden and violent death.</p> + +<p>"There was an older house once, on your place," +she added pensively. "Did you know that? It stood +in the hollow where your lake is now. Two—three +hundred years old, folks say it was. One night it +burned down in a big thunderstorm. The Michells +then living had your house built over by the orchard, +then, an' had a dam built across so as to cover up the +old site with water. All the Michells lived there till +the last one went missionary abroad an' died in foreign +parts. I mean the hussy's brother. He took +up his father's work, feelin' a strong call. He was +only a young boy when his sister went off, but he felt +it dreadful. He was a hard man on the sinner. +Preached hell and damnation all his days, he did. +Lean over the pulpit, he would, his eyes flamin' fire +an' his tongue shrivellin' folks in their pews, I can +tell you!"</p> + +<p>"He left children?" I asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>"No, sir! Rev'rund never married. He felt +women a snare. Land, not much snarin' with what +farm women get to wear around here! I've kind +of thought of one of those blue foulard silks with +white spots into it since before I married Hill, but +never came any nearer than pricin' it an' bringin' +home a sample. He was death on sweet odors an' +soft raiment. Only sweet odors I ever get are the +ten-cent bottles Hill makes the pedlar throw in when +we trade. I do fancy <i>Jockey Club</i> for special times, +an' I've got a reasonable hope of salvation, too. I +notice your cousin, Mrs. Vere, has scent on her handkerchief +week days as well as when she's goin' somewhere, +so I guess you don't hold with the Rev'rund +Michell in New York?"</p> + +<p>I laughed with her as I took up the bag of eggs.</p> + +<p>"Did the runaway sister leave any children?" +I queried.</p> + +<p>"Not a Michell alive anywhere," she asserted +positively. "Dead, all dead! The Rev'rund was +buried at his mission in some outlandish place. An' +if those heathen women dress like I've seen in the +movin' picture palace in the village, I don't know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +how he makes out to rest with them flauntin' past +his grave!"</p> + +<p>I went thoughtfully out to the car. Indeed, I +drove home in such abstraction that Phillida reproved +me.</p> + +<p>"'The cat has stolen your tongue,'" she teased. +"Or did Mrs. Hill vamp you and make roast meat of +your heart with her eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Phil, do you put scent on your handkerchief +week days as well as Sundays?" I shook off thought +to inquire.</p> + +<p>"No; I keep sachet in my handkerchief box. +Why?"</p> + +<p>"Next time you are in town, will you buy a blue +silk foulard dress with white spots in it and the +largest bottle of Jockey Club Extract on sale, and +give them to Mrs. Hill for a Christmas present? I'll +give you a blank check."</p> + +<p>"Cousin Roger? Why?"</p> + +<p>So I told her why. But I did not tell her the +story of the second Desire Michell; nor of the original +house that stood in the hollow now filled by +our lake.</p> + +<p>Why had a peculiar horror crept through me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +when Mrs. Hill told me what ruins that water +covered? Why had I remembered the inexplicable, +repugnant sound that on several occasions had preceded +the coming of the Monster; a sound like the +smack of huge lips, or some body withdrawn from +thick slime? Was entrance into human air open to +the alien Thing only through the ruins of the house +where It had first been called by the sorceress of +long ago?</p> + +<p>We were walking across from the garage, after +putting away the car, when a recollection flashed +upon me. The Metropolitan Museum, in New York, +held a portrait by a famous French artist of that +incendiary beauty whose name it now appeared +cloaked the identity of Desire Michell, daughter and +sister of New England clergymen. I had seen the +portrait. And piled in an intricate magnificence of +curls, puffs and coils about the haughty little head of +the lady, was her gold-bronze hair; the color of the +braid upstairs in my chiffonier drawer.</p> + +<p>I went up to my room and opened the work of +Master Abimelech Fetherstone. Yes, there was likeness +between the poor, coarse woodcut and the +French portrait. The long, dark eyes with their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +expression of blended drowsiness and watchfulness +were too individual to have escaped either record. +Moreover, both pictures resembled that face of ivory +and dusk I had glimpsed in the ray of the electric +torch, all clouded and surrounded by swirls of gray +vapor shot with gold.</p> + +<p>Who and what was the girl Desire Michell whom +I had come to love through a more profound darkness +than that of the sight?</p> + +<p>It seemed wisest to keep busy for the rest of the +afternoon. I sorted my music. There was the +score of a musical comedy so nearly completed that +it could be sent to those who waited for it. Vere +would attend to that, if tonight made it necessary. +I reflected with disappointment that the first rehearsals +would begin in a couple of weeks, and I had +looked forward to this production with especial interest. +There was the symphony, still unfinished, that I +had hoped might be more enduring than popular +music. If I was to be less enduring than either, we +must go glimmering on our ways. If I snatched +Desire out of her path into mine, she and I would +see all those things together.</p> + +<p>I finished at last, and set my room in order. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +was a fire laid ready for lighting in my hearth, a +mere artistic flourish in such weather. I kindled it, +and put in the flames three of the volumes from the +ancient bookcase. The others were oddities in occult +science. Those three were vile and poisonous. No +doubt other copies exist, but at least I refused to be +guilty of leaving these to wreak their mischief in +Phillida's household. They burned quietly enough, +and meekly fell to ashes under my poker.</p> + +<p>Our round dinner-table was cheerful as usual, +with yellow-shaded candles flanking a bowl of yellow +and scarlet nasturtiums. But I found its mistress +suffering from a nervous headache.</p> + +<p>"It is only the fog," she answered our sympathy. +"It came on with the evening, somehow. +Never mind me. Cristina has made a cream-of-lettuce +bisque, and she will never forgive us if we do +not eat every bit. Yes, Ethan; of course I'll take +mine. I only wish every bush and tree would not +drip, drip like a horrid kind of clock ticking; and +the foghorns over at the lighthouses <i>moo</i> regularly +every half minute. And I never heard the waterfall +over the dam so loud!"</p> + +<p>"We've had a wet summer," Vere observed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +soothingly tranquil as ever. "The lake and creek +are full. There is more water going over to make +a noise."</p> + +<p>"Please do not be so frightfully sensible, Drawls. +You know I mean a different loudness. It sort of +rises up and swims all over one, then dies away."</p> + +<p>"Even a fountain will seem to do that if a +wind shifts the spray," I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Cousin Roger. But there is no wind +tonight."</p> + +<p>A discomfort stirred me at the simple reminder. +I fancied Vere was similarly affected. If something +moved under the water——?</p> + +<p>We changed the conversation to a pergola planned +for building next spring, that was to be overrun by +grapevines and honeysuckle.</p> + +<p>"The grapes shall hang through like an Italian +picture," Phillida anticipated, headache forgotten in +her enthusiasm. She shook her hair about her pink +cheeks, leaning over to outline a pergola with four +spoons. "Here in the middle we must have a birdbath. +Or no! The birds might peck the grapes. +We could have one of those big silver-colored looking-balls +on a pedestal to reflect wee views of the garden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +and lake and sky, with people moving no bigger than +dolls. Imagine a reflection of Ethan like a Lilliputian +<i>so</i> high!"</p> + +<p>So I was able to leave her eagerly hunting catalogues +of garden ornaments in her sewing-room, +when the time came for me to keep my rendezvous +with Death or the lady. In spite of my warning gesture, +Vere followed me into the hall. His dark face +was distressed and anxious.</p> + +<p>"Let me go with you," he urged.</p> + +<p>"No, thanks. Stay with Phil, and keep her too +busy to suspect where I am."</p> + +<p>"If I'm doing wrong to let you go," he began.</p> + +<p>"You cannot stop me. It is still too early for +danger, I think. If you like, you can stroll out on +the lawn from time to time and look up at my windows. +As long as the lamps are lighted in the room, +I am all right. Nothing is happening."</p> + +<p>"Your lamps were all three lighted when I found +you last night," he said.</p> + +<p>The darkness had been only for my eyes, then? +Certainly I had seemed to see light withdrawn from +the lamps. I mastered a tremor of the nerves, and +covered it by stroking Bagheera, who sat on a hall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +chair making an after-dinner toilet with tongue +and paw.</p> + +<p>"Well, take care of Phil," I repeated, evading +argument.</p> + +<p>He detained me.</p> + +<p>"The young lady might not come if there were +two people, Mr. Locke. I can see that! But I'll +go instead. I guess I'd be safer than you, with the—the——You +know what I mean! It would be the +first time for me. And if I sat waiting in the dark, +the lady couldn't tell you were not there. Of course +I'd bring her right to you."</p> + +<p>No one could appreciate the courage of that offer +so well as we who had both felt the intolerable horror +of the nearness of the Thing whose nature was beyond +our nature to endure.</p> + +<p>"She would come to no one except me," I refused. +"But, thank you. And Vere, if what you +have said about my feeling toward Phillida's husband +was true once, it is true no longer."</p> + +<p>His clasp was still warm on my hand when I +went into my room and switched on the lights. Soft +and colorful, the haunted room sprang into view. +The writing-table and piano gleamed bare without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +their usual burdens of scattered papers and music, +removed that afternoon. For lack of familiar occupation, +when I sat down in my favorite place, I +took up the gold pomander and fell to studying the +intricate designs worked in the metal.</p> + +<p>"<i>Containing a rare herb of Jerusalem called +Lady's Rose, resembling spikenard, with vervain, +and cedar, and secret simples——</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>Vervain, which is powerful against evil +spirits——</i>"</p> + +<p>The strange fragrance, heady as the bouquet +of rich wine, never cloying, exquisite, might well +have seemed magical to the dry Puritans, I mused. +It should stay by me tonight, like a promise of +her coming.</p> + +<p>After I had sat there a while, I turned out +the lights.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"An excellent way to get a fayrie—and when you have her, +bind her!"—<span class="smcap">Ancient Alchemist's Recipe.</span></p></div> + + +<p>In the darkness Time crept along like a crippled +thing, slow-moving, hideous. Outside fell the +monotonous drip, drip from trees and bushes, likened +by Phillida to a horrid clock. The fog was a sounding-board +for furtive noises that grew up like fungi +in the moist atmosphere. The thought of Phillida +and Vere down in the pleasant living room tempted +me almost beyond resistance. I wanted to spring +up, to rush out of the room; to fling myself into my +car and drive full speed until strength failed and +gasoline gave out.</p> + +<p>Was that the lake which stirred in the windless +night? The lake, under which lay the fire-blackened +ruins of the house where the first Desire Michell +flung open an awful door that her vengeance might +stride through!</p> + +<p>Was it too late for my Desire to come, and time +for the coming of that Other?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>The step of Vere sounded on the gravel path +where he walked beneath the window. He was +making a trip of inspection, and would find no light +shining from the room. I was about to rise and +call down a word of reassurance to him, when a +current of spiced air passed by me. I sat arrested +in hope and expectancy.</p> + +<p>"Here, after my warning, after last night?" +her soft voice panted across the dark. "Will you +die, then? Cruel to me, and wicked to come here +again! Oh, must I wish you were a coward!"</p> + +<p>Every vestige of her calmness gone, she was sobbing +as she spoke. I could imagine she was wringing +the little hands that once had left a betraying print +upon my table's surface.</p> + +<p>"I was cruel to you last night, Desire; yet afterward +you saved my life by sending Ethan Vere to +wake me. Would you have had me leave without +meeting you again, neither thanking you nor asking +your forgiveness?"</p> + +<p>I thought she came nearer.</p> + +<p>"For so little, you would brave the Dread One +in Its time of triumph? O steadfast soldier, who +faces the Breach even in the hour of death, in all +that you have done you have remembered me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +Why speak of anger or forgiveness? Have I not +injured you?"</p> + +<p>"Never. I love you."</p> + +<p>"Is not that an injury? Even though I hid +my ill-omened face from you, reared as I was to sad +knowledge of the wrath upon me, the wrong has +been done. Weak as water in the test, I kept the +letter of my promise and broke the intent. Yet go; +keep life at least."</p> + +<p>"Desire, I do not understand you," I answered. +"No matter for that, now! I am content to share +whatever you bring. Not roughly or in challenge +as I asked you last night, but earnestly and with +humility I ask you to come away with me now. If +trouble comes to my wife and me, I do not doubt +we can bear it. Let us not be frightened from the +attempt. Come."</p> + +<p>"I, to take happiness like that?" she marveled +in desolate amazement. "No. At least I will go +to my own place, if tardily. Roger, be kind to me. +Give me a last gift. Let me know that somewhere +you are living. Out of my sight, out of my knowledge, +but living in the same world with me. Each +moment you stay here is a risk."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>In that warning she had reason. I rose. It was +time to act, but action must be certain. If my groping +movements missed her in the dark there might +be no second chance.</p> + +<p>"Desire, if all is as you say and we are not to +meet again as we have done, you shall let me touch +you before I go," I said firmly.</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Why, would you have me live all the +years to come in doubt whether you were a woman or +a dream? Perhaps you might seem at last a phantom +of my own sick brain to which faithfulness +would be folly? Here across the table I stretch +my arm. Lay your palm in my palm. I may +die tonight."</p> + +<p>Whether she wished it also, or whether my resolve +drew obedience, I do not know. But a vague +figure moved through the dark toward me. A hand +settled in mine with the brushing touch of an alighting +bird. I closed my hand hotly upon that one. I +sprang a step aside from the table between us, found +her, and drew her to me.</p> + +<p>What did I hold in my arms? Softness, fragrance, +draperies beneath which beat life and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +warmth. As I stooped to reassure her, her breath +curled against my cheek. So with that guide I turned +my head, and set my lips on the lips I had never seen.</p> + +<p>Did Something uprear Itself out there in the +black fog? A cold air rushed across the summer heat +of the fog; air foul as if issued from the opened +door of a vault. As once before, a tremor quivered +through the house. The hanging chains of the +lamps swung with a faint tinkling sound.</p> + +<p>I snatched Desire Michell off her feet and sprang +for the door. Somehow I found and opened it at +the first essay. We were out into the hall. With +one hand I dragged the door shut behind us, then +carried her on to the head of the stairs. There I +set her down, but stood before her as a bar against +any attempt at escape.</p> + +<p>A lamp shed a subdued light above us. I looked +at my captive. Never again after that kiss could +she deny her womanhood or pose as a phantom. +So far my victory was complete. The lady might +be angry, but it must be woman's anger. I knew +she had not suspected my intention until I lifted +her in my arms. She had struggled then, after her +defenses had fallen.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>She was quiet now, as though the light had +quelled her resistance. She stood drooped and +trembling; not the old-time witch, not the dazzling +adventuress, only a small fragile girl wound and +wrapped in some gray stuff that even covered the +brightness of her hair. Her face was held down +and showed no more color than a water-lily.</p> + +<p>"I thought," she whispered, just audibly. "I +thought you—would say, good-bye!"</p> + +<p>"I know," I stammered. "But I could not. +That way was impossible for us."</p> + +<p>She did not contradict me. She was so very +small, I saw, that her head would reach no higher +than where the bright spot had rested above my heart +when I had last stood at the Barrier. One hand +gripped the veils beneath her chin, and seemed the +clenched fist of a child.</p> + +<p>The crash of my door had startled the household. +I had heard Phillida cry out, and Vere's running +steps upon the gravel path. Now he came springing +up the stairs. At the head of the flight he stopped, +staring at us.</p> + +<p>"Desire," I spoke as naturally as I could manage,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +"this is Mr. Vere. Vere, my fiancée, Miss Michell. +Shall we go down to Phillida?"</p> + +<p>And Desire Michell did not deny my claim.</p> + +<p>I am not very sure of how we found ourselves +downstairs. Nor do I remember in what words +we made the two girls known to one another. Presently +we were all in the living room, and Phillida had +possession of Desire Michell while Vere and I looked +on stupidly at the proceedings.</p> + +<p>Phil had placed her in a chair beside a tall floor-lamp +and gently drew off the draperies that hooded +her. With little murmurs of compassion, she unbound +and shook free her guest's hair.</p> + +<p>"My dear, you are all damp! This awful fog! +You must have been out a long time? You shall +drink some tea before we start. Drawls, will you +light the alcohol lamp on the tea-table? The kettle +is filled."</p> + +<p>Now I could understand how Desire had +appeared amid a drift of fireshot smoke in the beam +of my electric torch, the night before. Her hair +was a garment of flame-bright silk flowing around +her, curling and eddying in rich abundance. Over +this she had worn the gray veils to smother all that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +color and sheen into neutral sameness with night and +shadows. No wonder her face had seemed wraith-like +when her startled shrinking away from the light +had set all that drapery billowing about her.</p> + +<p>She was the voice that had been my intimate +comrade through weeks of strange adventure. She +was the woman of the faded, yellow book, and the +painted beauty at the Metropolitan. She was all +the Desires of whom I had ever dreamed; and she +was none of them, for she was herself. Her long +dark eyes, suddenly lifted to me, were individual by +that ancestral blending of drowsiness with watchfulness; +yet were akin to the eyes of youth in all +times by their innocence. Her mouth, too, was the +soft mouth of a young girl kept apart from sordid +life. But her forehead, the noble breadth between +the black tracery of her eyebrows, expressed the student +whose weird, lofty knowledge had so often +abashed my ignorance.</p> + +<p>Only my ignorance? Now as she looked at me +across the room, all self-confidence trickled away +from me. What distinguished me from a thousand +men she might meet on any city street? What had +I ever said worth note in the hours we had spent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +together? Now she saw me in the light, plainly +commonplace; and remembering myself lame, I stood +amazed at the audacity with which I had laid +claim to her.</p> + +<p>She was rising from the chair, gently putting +aside Phillida's detaining hands. She had not spoken +one word since her faltered speech to me, upstairs. +Neither Vere nor Phillida had heard her voice. She +had given her hand to each of them and submitted +to Phil's care with a docility I failed to recognize in +my companion of the dark. Her decisive movement +now was more like the Desire Michell I knew. Only, +what was she about to do? Repudiate my violence +and me—perhaps go back to her hiding-place?</p> + +<p>She came straight to where I stood, not daring +even to advance toward her. We might have been +alone in the room. I rather think we were, to +her preoccupation.</p> + +<p>"You must go away," she said. "If there is any +hope, it is in that. Nothing else matters, now; nothing! +If you wish, take me with you. It would be +wiser to leave me. But nothing really matters except +that you should not stay here. I will obey you in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +everything if you will only go. Take your car and +drive—drive fast—anywhere!"</p> + +<p>It is impossible to convey the desperate urgency +and fervor of her low voice. Phillida uttered an +exclamation of fear. Vere wheeled about and left +the room. The front door closed behind him. The +gravel crunched under his tread on the path to the +garage, and the rate at which the light he carried +moved through the fog showed that he was running. +He obviously accepted the warning exactly as it was +given. After the briefest indecision, Phillida hurried +out into the hall.</p> + +<p>For my part, I did nothing worth recording. I +had made discovery of two places where I was not +the "lame feller." And if the first place was the +dreary Frontier, the second country was that rich +Land of Promise in Desire Michell's eyes.</p> + +<p>What we said in our brief moment of solitude +is not part of this account.</p> + +<p>Phillida was back promptly, her arms full of +garments. With little murmurs of explanation by +way of accompaniment, she proceeded to invest +Desire in a motor coat and a dark-blue velvet hat +rather like an artist's tam-o'shanter. I noticed then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +that the girl wore a plain frock of gray stuff, long +of sleeve and skirt, fastened at the base of her throat +with severe intent to cover from sight all loveliness +of tint and contour. Nothing farther from the +fashion of the day or the figure of my cousin could +be imagined.</p> + +<p>"You must wear the coat because it is always +cool motoring at night," Phillida was murmuring. +"And of course you will want it at a hotel; until +you can do some shopping. I will just tie back your +gorgeous, scrumptious hair with this ribbon, now. I +know I haven't enough hairpins to put it up without +wasting an awful lot of time, but we will buy them in +the morning. We are going to take the very best care +of you every minute, so you must not worry."</p> + +<p>"You are so kind to me," Desire began tremulously. +"No one was ever so kind! It does not +matter about me, or what people think of me, if he +will only go from here quickly."</p> + +<p>"Right away," Phillida soothed. "My husband +has gone for the car. I hear him coming now!"</p> + +<p>In fact, Vere was coming up the veranda steps. +His hand was on the knob of the outer door, fum<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>bling +with it in a manner not usual to him, then the +knob yielded and he was inside.</p> + +<p>"But how slow you are, Drawls," his wife called, +with an accent of wonder.</p> + +<p>Vere crossed the threshold of the room, his gaze +seeking mine. He was pale, and drops of fog moisture +pearled his dark face like sweat.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, Mr. Locke," he addressed me, +ignoring the others. "Perhaps you felt that +shake-up, a quarter-hour ago? Like a kind of earthquake, +or the kick from a big explosion a long ways +off? It didn't seem very strong to me. It was too +strong for that old tree by the garage, though! Must +have been decayed clear through inside. Willows +are like that, tricky when they get old."</p> + +<p>"Ethan, what <i>are</i> you talking about?" cried +Phillida, aghast.</p> + +<p>He continued to look at me.</p> + +<p>"I guess it must have fallen just about when you +slammed your door upstairs. Seems I do remember +a sort of second crash following the noise you made. +I was too keen on finding out what was happening +up there to pay much heed."</p> + +<p>"Well, Vere?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>"Tree smashed down through the roof of the +garage," he reluctantly gave his report. "Everything +under the hood of the automobile is wrecked. +There is no motor left, and no radiator. Just junk, +mixed up with broken wood and leaves and pieces of +the stucco and tiles of the garage."</p> + +<p>So there was to be no going tonight from the +house beside the lake. A frustrated group, we stood +amid our preparations; the two girls wearing cloaks +and hats for the drive that would never be taken. +Had we ever really expected to go? Already the +project was fading into the realm of fantastic ideas, +futile as the pretended journeys of children who +are kept in their nursery. Desire lifted her hands +and took off the blue velvet cap with a resignation +more expressive than words. Only my practical +little cousin charged valiantly at all obstacles.</p> + +<p>"We aren't ever going to give up?" she cried +protest. "Cousin Roger? Ethan? <i>You</i> cannot +mean to give up. Why—'phone to the nearest +garage to send us another car. If we pay them +enough they will drive anywhere. Or if they cannot +take us to New York, they will take us to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +railroad station where we can get a train for some +place. Can't we, Drawls?"</p> + +<p>"We could," Vere admitted. "I'd admire to +try it, anyhow. But the telephone wire came across +the place right past the garage, you know——"</p> + +<p>"The tree tore the wire down, too?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it snapped right in two, Phil."</p> + +<p>"We—we might walk," she essayed.</p> + +<p>But even her brave voice trailed into silence as +she glanced toward the black, dripping night beyond +the windows.</p> + +<p>"Or if we found a horse and wagon," she murmured +a final suggestion.</p> + +<p>Vere shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Come!" I assumed charge with a cheerfulness +not quite sincere. "None of us are ready for such +desperate efforts to leave our cozy quarters here. +Especially as I fancy Vere's 'earthquake' was the +tremor of an approaching thunderstorm. I felt it, +myself. Let us light all the lamps and draw the +curtains to shut out the fog which has got on everyone's +nerves by its long continuance. We are overwrought +beyond reason. Suppose we sit here<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +together, strong in numbers, for the few hours until +daylight? I think that should be safeguard enough. +Tomorrow we will do all we had planned for tonight. +Come in, Vere, and close the door."</p> + +<p>He obeyed me at once. Desire Michell passively +suffered me to unfasten and take off the coat she +wore, too heavy for such a night. She had uttered +no word since Vere announced the destruction of the +car. She did not speak now, when I put her in the +low chair beneath the lamp. I had a greed of light +for her, as a protection and because darkness had +held her so long.</p> + +<p>"It seems as if we should do something!" +Phillida yielded unwillingly.</p> + +<p>Vere's eyes met mine as he turned from drawing +the last curtain. We were both thinking of +the force that had driven the frail old willow tree +through tile and cement of the new building to flatten +the metal of motor and car into uselessness. The +mere weight of the tree would not have carried it +through the roof. To "do something" by way of +physical escape from that——</p> + +<p>The ribbon had glided from Desire's hair, almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +as if the vital, resilient mass resentfully freed itself +from restraint by the bit of satin. Now she put up +her hands with a slow movement and drew two broad +strands of the glittering tresses across her shoulders, +veiling her face.</p> + +<p>"Wait," she answered Phillida, most unexpectedly. +"I must be sure—quite sure! I must think. +If you will—wait."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Oh, little booke—how darst thou put thyself in press for +drede?"—<span class="smcap">Chaucer.</span></p></div> + + +<p>We sat quietly waiting. I had drawn a chair near +Desire. Phillida and Vere were together, chairs +touching, her right hand curled into his left. Bagheera +the cat had slipped into the room before the +door was closed, and lay pressed against his mistress's +stout little boot. Our small garrison was assembled, +surely for as strange a defense as ever sober moderns +undertook. For my part, it was wonder enough to +study that captive who was at once so strange yet so +intimately well known to me.</p> + +<p>The Tiffany clock on the mantel shelf chimed +midnight. Soon after, we began to experience the +first break in the heavy monotony of heat and fog +that had overlaid the place for three days. The +temperature began to fall. The fog did not lift. +The flowered cretonne curtains hung straight from +their rods unstirred by any movement of air. But +the atmosphere in the room steadily grew colder. I +saw Phillida shiver in the chill dampness and pull<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +closer the collar of her thin blouse. When Desire +finally spoke, we three started as if her low tones had +been the clang of a hammer.</p> + +<p>"I have tried to judge what is best," she said, +not raising her face from its shadowing veil of hair. +"I am not very wise. But it seems better that there +should be no ignorance between us. If I had been +either wise or good, I should never have come down +from the convent to draw another into danger and +horror without purpose or hope of any good ending."</p> + +<p>"The convent?" I echoed, memory turning to +the bleak building far up the hillside. "You came +from there?"</p> + +<p>"There is a path through the woods. I am very +strong and vigorous. But I had to wait until all +there were asleep before I could come. Sometimes I +could not come at all. For this house, I had my +father's old key. It was only for this little time +while I am being taught. Soon I will put on a nun's +dress and cut my hair, and—and never—never leave +there any more."</p> + +<p>Stupefied, I thought of the black loneliness of the +wooded hillside behind us. No wonder the fog was +wet upon her hair! Her slight feet had traversed that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +path night after night, had brought her to the door +her key fitted, had come through the dark house to +the door of the room upstairs. When she left me, she +had toiled that desolate way back. For what? Humility +bent me, and bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"But why?" Phillida gasped. "Why? Cousin +Roger hunted everywhere to find you. He would +have gone anywhere you told him to see you. Didn't +you know that?"</p> + +<p>"I never meant him to see me."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I am Desire Michell, fourth of that name; all +women who brought misfortune upon those who +cared for them," she answered, her voice lower still. +"How shall I make you understand? I was brought +up to know the wrath and doom upon me, yet I myself +can scarcely understand. My father knew all, yet he +fell in weakness."</p> + +<p>"Your father?" I questioned, recalling Mrs. +Hill's positive genealogy of the Michells in which +there was no place for this daughter of the line.</p> + +<p>"He was the last of his family. When he was +very young the conviction came to him that his duty +was never to marry, so our race might cease to exist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +He lived here and preached against evil. He studied +the ancient learning that he might be fitted to wrestle +with sin. But in the end horror of what was here +gained upon him so that he closed the house and +went abroad to work as a missionary. There was a +girl; the daughter of the clergyman who was leaving +the mission. My father—fell in love. He forgot all +his convictions and married her. He knew it was a +sin, but it was stronger than he was. She only lived +one year. When I was born, she died. He prayed +that I would die, too. But—I——"</p> + +<p>Her voice died into silence. I ventured to lean +nearer and take her hand into mine.</p> + +<p>"Desire," I said, "why should you be a sufferer +for the actions of a woman who died over two centuries +ago? What is the long dead Desire Michell +to you?"</p> + +<p>A strange and solemn hush followed my question. +The words seemed to take a significance and importance +beyond their simple meaning. The hand I +held trembled in my clasp. She answered at last, +just audibly:</p> + +<p>"You know. You said that you had read +her book."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>"But the book tells so little, Desire. Just such +a chronicle of superstition as may be found in a +hundred old records."</p> + +<p>She shook her head slightly.</p> + +<p>"Not that! Bring me the book."</p> + +<p>The book was upstairs in the room from which I +had carried her half an hour before in something +very like a panic flight. Before I could release her +hand and rise, before I comprehended his intention, +Vere was out of the living room and upon the stairs. +It was too late to overtake him. The man who had +been a professional skater covered the stairs in a few +easy, swinging strides. We heard his light tread on +the floor overhead, heard him stop beside the table +where the book lay. Then, he was returning. My door +closed. His step sounded on the stairs again; in a +moment he was back among us, and quietly offering +the volume to our guest. His dark eyes met mine +reassuringly, deprecating the thoughts I am sure my +face expressed.</p> + +<p>"Lights burning and all serene up there," he +announced.</p> + +<p>Desire touched the book with a curious repugnance.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>"I was looking for this, the first night I came +here," she murmured. "That is why I came to +America after my father died. I had promised him +to destroy this record. When I heard that the house +was sold to a gentleman from New York, I came +down from the convent on the hill to find the bookcase +holding the old history. I did not know anyone +was here, that night, until you touched my hair."</p> + +<p>I remembered the bookcase near the bed, where I +stood my candle and matches. Unaware, I had prevented +her finding the thing she sought, and so forced +her to return. Afterward, the house had been full +of workmen making alterations and improvements, +until later still Phillida had transferred the bookcase +and its contents to her sewing room. If I had not +taken the whim to sleep in the old house on the night +of my purchase, or if I had chosen another room, the +existence of Desire Michell might never have been +known to me.</p> + +<p>Would the creature from the Barrier have appeared +to me, if I had not known her?</p> + +<p>She was drawing something from behind the +portrait of the first Desire Michell; a thin, small +book that had lain concealed between the cover of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +larger volume and the page bearing the woodcut, +where a sort of pocket was formed that had escaped +our notice. Laid upon the table, the little book +rolled away from the girl's fingers and lay curled +upon itself in the lamplight. The limp morocco cover +was spotted with mildew and half-revealed pages of +close, fine writing blotched in places with rusty stains. +It gave out an odor of mould and age in an atmosphere +made sweet by Desire's presence.</p> + +<p>Phillida, who had been silent even when Vere left +her to go upstairs, shrank away from the book on the +table. She darted a glance over her shoulder at +the curtained windows behind her.</p> + +<p>"Drawls, I cannot help what everybody thinks of +me," she said plaintively. "I am cold. The fire is +ready laid in the grate. Will you put a match to +it, please?"</p> + +<p>No one smiled at the request. Her husband +uttered some soothing phrase of compliance. We all +looked on while the flame caught and began to creep +up among the apple-logs. Bagheera rose and changed +his position to one before the hearth. When Vere +stood erect, Desire leaned toward him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>"Will you read, aloud, sir?" she asked of him, +and made a gesture toward the morocco book.</p> + +<p>She surprised us all by that choice. I was unreasoning +enough to feel slighted, although the task +was one for which I felt a strong dislike. I fancied +Vere liked the idea no better, from his expression. +However, he offered no demur, but sat down at the +table and began to flatten the warped pages that +perversely sprang back and clung about his fingers. +Desire slowly turned her lovely eyes to me, eyes that +looked by gift of nature as if their long corners had +been brushed with kohl. She said nothing, yet somehow +conveyed her meaning and intent. I understood +that she did not wish to hear me read those pages; +that it was painful to her that they should be read +at all.</p> + +<p>Vere was ready. He glanced around our circle, +then began with the simple directness that gave him a +dignity peculiarly his own.</p> + +<p>"'Mistress Desire Michell, her booke, Beginning +at the nineteenth year of her Age,'" he read, in +his leisurely voice.</p> + +<p>The living Desire Michell and I were regarding +one another. I smiled at the quaint wording, but she +shuddered, and put her hands across her eyes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>Yet there was nothing in those first pages except +a girl's chronicle of village life. This book evidently +carried on a diary kept from early childhood; a diary +written out of loneliness. Apparently the bare colonial +life pressed heavily upon the writer; who, having +no companions of the intellect, turned to this record +of her own mind as a prisoner might talk to his reflection +in a mirror rather than go mad from sheer +silence. Discontent and restlessness beat through the +lines like fluttering wings. She wrote of her own +beauty with a cool appraisal oddly removed from +vanity, almost with resentment of a possession she +could not use.</p> + +<p>"Like a man who finds treasure in a desert isle, +I am rich in coin that I may not spend," she wrote. +"I stand before my mirror and take a tress of my +hair in either hand; I spread wide my arms full +reach, yet I cannot touch the end of those tresses. +Nor can my two hands clasp the bulk of them. There +have been other women who had such hair, who were +of body straight and white, and had the eyes—but I +cannot read that they stayed poor and obscure."</p> + +<p>There followed some quotations from the classics +of which I was able to give but vague translations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +when Vere passed the book to me, both because my +knowledge was scanty and because of their daring +unconventionality. There were allusions, too, to +ladies of later history who had found fairness a +broad staircase for ambition to mount. Of the +writer's learning, there could be no question; a learning +amazing in one so young and so situated. The +source of this became apparent. Her father was +consumed with the passion of scholarship, and the +girl's hungry mind fed in the pastures where he +led the way.</p> + +<p>Here crept into view an anomaly of character. +The austere Puritan divine, whose life was open and +blank, bare and cold as a winter field, cherished a +secret dissipation of the mind. He labored upon a +book on the errors of magic. So laboring, he became +snared by the thing he denounced. He believed +in the hidden lore while he condemned it. +Deeper and deeper into forbidden knowledge his +eagerness for research led him. Unsanctioned by +any church were the books Dr. Michell starved his +body to buy from Jews or other furtive dealers in +unusual wares. The titles in his library comprehended +the names of more charlatans than bishops.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +He could define the distinctions between necromancy, +sorcery, and magic. The marvelous calculations of +the Pythagoreans engaged him, and the lost mysteries +of the Cabiri.</p> + +<p>From such studies he would arise on the Sabbath +to preach sermons that held his dull flock agape. +Bitter draughts of salvation he poured for their spiritual +drinking. He scarcely saw how any man might +escape hell-fire, all being so vile. Against witchcraft +and tampering with Satan's agents he was eloquent. +He rode sixty miles in midwinter to see a Quaker +whipped and a woman hung who had been convicted +as a witch.</p> + +<p>Of all this, his daughter wrote with an elfin +mockery. Her brilliant eye of youth saw through +the inconsistency of the beliefs he strove to reconcile. +She learned his lore, read his books, and discarded +his doctrine.</p> + +<p>"I study with him, but I think alone," she set +down her independence.</p> + +<p>Without his knowledge, she proceeded to actual +experiment with rude crucible and alembic in her +own chamber. She essayed some age-old recipes +of blended herbs and ingredients within her reach,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +handled at certain hours of the night and phases of the +moon. All were innocent enough, it seemed. She +cured a beloved old dog of rheumatism and partial +blindness. She discovered an exquisite perfume +which she named Rose of Jerusalem.</p> + +<p>But the experiments were not fortunate, she +made obscure complaint. The dog, cured, lived only +a few weeks. The perfume, in which she revelled +with a fierce, long-denied appetite, steeping her rich +hair in it and her severely dull garments, awoke many +whispers in a community where sweet odors were +unknown and disapproved. She alluded, with a +mingling of freezing scorn and triumph, to the young +men who followed after her—"seeking a wife who +would be at their hearth as fatal a guest as that fair +woman sent by an enemy to Alexander the Great, +whose honey breath was deadly poison to who so +kissed there."</p> + +<p>Into this situation rode the fine gentleman from +the colonial world of fashion who was to fix the fate +of Desire Michell and his own.</p> + +<p>From this point on, the diary was a record of +the same story as the "History of Ye foule Witch, +Desire Michell."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>The love affair that followed Sir Austin's visit +to the clergyman's house leaped hot and instant as +flame from oil and fire brought together. The girl +was parched with thirst for life, yet despised all +around her. The man was dazzled by a beauty and +mentality foreign as a bird of paradise found nested +in Connecticut snow. A mad, wild passion linked +them that was more than half a duel. For Sir Austin +was already betrothed. Honor might not have +chained him for long, but his need of his betrothed's +fortune proved more enduring. He was a man bred +to wealth, who did not possess it. He offered Desire +Michell his left hand.</p> + +<p>He was turned out of her father's house with a +red weal struck across his face like a brand.</p> + +<p>Of course he returned. The arrow was firmly +fixed. He asked her to marry him, and was refused +with savage contempt. He would not take the refusal. +Her heart and ambition were hidden traitors +to his cause. In the end she surrendered and the +marriage day was set.</p> + +<p>Sir Austin rode away to set his house in order, +while Desire turned from alchemy to make her wedding +garments.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>The entries during this interval were sweetly gentle +and feminine. Her Rose of Jerusalem fragrance +was all her own, and was kept so, but she made less-rare +essences and sold them through a pedlar in +order to buy fine linen and brocade for a trousseau +not designed to be worn in a Puritan village. She +was happy and at rest in expectation.</p> + +<p>On her wedding day the destroying news fell. +Sir Austin hid a weak spirit within a strong and +handsome body. Away from Desire's glamour, back +in New York, he had not broken his engagement to +the heiress. Instead, he had married her on the day +arranged before he met the clergyman's daughter.</p> + +<p>There was never again a connected record in the +diary. Pages were torn out in places, entries were +broken off, half-made. But the story Vere's slow, +steady voice conveyed to us was the one we knew; +the one my Desire had told to me the first night I +slept in this house. The half-mad girl turned to +her father's deadly books. Sir Austin died as his +waxen image dissolved before the fire, where the +girl sat watching with merciless hate. He died, +raving and frothing, on her door-sill. She never +saw him after the day he rode away to prepare for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +their marriage. She set open her window that she +might hear his progress to that hard death, but never +deigned to turn her glance upon him.</p> + +<p>The clergyman was dead, now; of shame, or +perhaps of terror at the child he had reared. The +girl was alone.</p> + +<p>The diary grew wilder, with gaps of weeks where +there were no entries. More frequently, pages were +missing and paragraphs obliterated by the reddish +blotches like rust or blood. There were accounts of +weird, half-told experiments ranging through the +three degrees of magic set forth by Talmud and +Cabala. She wrote of legions of kingdoms between +earth and heaven, and the twelve unearthly worlds of +Plato. She alluded to a Barrier between men and +other orders of beings, beyond which dwelt Those +whom the magicians of old glimpsed after long toil +and incantation.</p> + +<p>"Those of whom Vertabied, the Armenian, says: +'<i>Their orders differ from one another in situation and +degree of glory, just as there are different ranks +among men, though they are all of one nature.</i>' They +cannot cross nor overthrow this Wall, nor can +man alone; but if they and man join together—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>—One +there beyond whispers to me of power, splendor, +victory——"</p> + +<p>Days later, there was entered a passage of mad +triumph and terror. The Barrier was broken +through. Out of the breach issued the One whom +she had invited to her silver lamps; colossal, formless, +whose approach froze blood and spirit. Eyes of unspeakable +meaning glared across the dark, whispers +unbearable to humanity beat upon her intelligence and +named her comrade.</p> + +<p>Now as Vere read this, I felt again that quiver +of the house or air he had likened to an earth shock +and held responsible for the fall of the willow tree +that had destroyed our hope of escape by automobile. +I looked at my companions and saw no evidence of +anyone having noticed what I had seemed to feel. +Vere indeed was pale; while Phillida, who sat beside +him, was highly flushed with excitement and wonder +as she listened. Desire had not stirred in her chair, +except to bend her head so her face was shaded by +the loosened richness of her hair. Seeing them so +undisturbed, I kept silence. A storm might be +approaching, but I made no pretense to myself of +believing that shock either thunder or earthquake.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>The tone of the diary altered rapidly. At first, +the unknown from beyond the wall appalled the +woman only by its unhuman strangeness, the repugnance +of flesh and blood for its loathly neighborhood. +Fear emanated from its presence, seen yet +unseen, a blackness moving in the black of night when +it visited her. Yet she had courage to endure those +awful colloquies. She listened. She strove by the +spell and incantation to subdue This to her service, +as the demon Orthone served the Lord of Corasse, +as Paracelsus was served by his Familiar, or Gyges +by the spirit of his ring.</p> + +<p>Alas for the sorceress, misguided by legend and +fantasy! She had evoked no phantom, but a fact +actual as nature always is even if nature is not +humanly understood. The Thing was real.</p> + +<p>The awe of the magician became the stricken +panic of the woman. She had unloosed what she +could not bind. She had called a servant, and gained +a master. Gone forever were the dreams of power +and splendor and triumph. Now she learned that +only pure magic can discharge the spirits it has summoned, +nor could a murderess attain that lofty art.</p> + +<p>We were given a glimpse of a frantic girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +crouched in the useless pentagram traced on the floor +for her protection, covering her beauty with the +cloak of her hair against the eyes that burned upon +her between the overturned silver lamps.</p> + +<p>A deepening horror gathered about the house of +Mistress Desire Michell. The old dame who had +been the girl's nurse and caretaker fled the place and +fell into mumbling dotage in a night. No child +would come near the garden, though fruit and nuts +rotted away where they dropped from overripeness. +No neighbor crossed the doorstep where Sir Austin +had died. She lived in utter solitude by day. By +night she waged hideous battle against her Visitor; +using woman's cunning, essaying every expedient and +art her books suggested to her desperate need.</p> + +<p>With each conflict, her strength and resource +waned, while That which she held at bay knew no +weariness. Time was not, for it, nor change +of purpose.</p> + +<p>"I faint, I fail!" she wrote. "The Sea of +Dread breaks about my feet. It is midnight. The +pentagram fades from the floor—the nine lamps +die—the breath of the One at the casement is +upon me——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>Vere stopped.</p> + +<p>"A handful of pages have been torn out here," +he stated. "The next entry that I can read is in the +middle of a stained page, and must be considerably +later on."</p> + +<p>Phillida made an odd little noise like a whimper, +clutching at his sleeve. The third shock for which +I had been waiting shuddered through the house, +this time distinctly enough for all to feel. A gust of +wind went through the wet trees outside like a gasp.</p> + +<p>"Ethan, what was that?" she stammered. +"Oh, I'm afraid! Cousin Roger——?"</p> + +<p>I had no voice to answer her. In my ears was +the rush and surge of that sea whose waters had +gripped me in the past night. I felt the icy death-tide +hiss around me in its first returning wave, rise to +my knee's height, then sink away down its unearthly +beach. What I had dimly known all day, underlying +Vere's sturdy cheerfulness and our plans and efforts, +was the truth. Through those intervening hours of +daylight I had remained my enemy's prisoner, bound +on that shore we both knew well, until It pleased or +had power to return and finish with me. No doubt +It was governed by laws, as we are.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>As before, the cold struck a paralysis across my +senses. Vere's reassurance sounded faint and distant.</p> + +<p>"The thunder is getting closer," he said. "That +was a storm wind, all right! Would you rather go +upstairs and lie down, and not hear any more of this +stuff tonight?"</p> + +<p>"No! Oh, no! I could not bear to be alone," +she refused. "Just, just go on, dear. Of course it is +the coming storm that makes the room so cold."</p> + +<p>He put his left arm around her as she nestled +against him. His right hand held the diary flattened +on the table under the light.</p> + +<p>"The next entry is just one line in the middle +of a page where everything else is blotted out," +Vere repeated. "It reads: 'The child is a week +old today.'"</p> + +<p>The wave crashed foaming in tumult up the +strand, flowing higher, drenching me in cold sharp as +fire. The tide rose faster tonight. The silence that +held the others dumb before the significance of that +last sentence covered my silence from notice. Desire's +face was quite hidden; lamplight and firelight wavered +and gleamed across her bent head. I wanted to +arise and go to her, to take her hands and tell her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +to have patience and courage. But when this wave +ebbed, my strength drained away with the receding +water. Moreover, the darkness curdled and moved +beyond the window opposite me. The curtains hung +between were no bar to my vision, as the light and +presence of my companions were no bar to the Thing +that kept rendezvous with me. Since last night, we +were nearer to one another.</p> + +<p>A breath of chill foulness crept across the pungent +odor of the burning apple-log in the fireplace. +A whisper spoke to my intelligence.</p> + +<p>"Man conquered by me, fall down before me. +Beg my forbearance. Beg life of me—and take +the gift!"</p> + +<p>"No," my thought answered Its.</p> + +<p>"You die, Man."</p> + +<p>"All men die."</p> + +<p>"Not as they die who are mine."</p> + +<p>"I am not yours. You kill me, as a wild beast +might. But I am not yours; not dying nor dead am +I yours."</p> + +<p>"Would you not live, pygmy?"</p> + +<p>"Not as your pensioner."</p> + +<p>The logs on the hearth crackled and sank down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +with a soft rustle, burned through to a core of glowing +red. Phillida spoke with a hushed urgency, +drawing still closer to her husband, so that her forehead +rested against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Ethan. Finish and let us be done."</p> + +<p>Vere bent his head above the book on the table to +obey her. Across the dark I suddenly saw the Eyes +glare in upon him.</p> + +<p>"On the next page, the writing begins again," +he said. "It says:</p> + +<p>"'I am offered the kingdoms of earth. But I +crave that kingdom of myself which I cast away. +The child is sent to England. The circle is drawn. +The names are traced and the lamps filled. Tonight +I make the last essay. There remains untried one +mighty spell. This Mystery——'"</p> + +<p>A clap of thunder right over the house +overwhelmed the reader's voice. Phillida screamed as a +violent wind volleyed through the place with a crashing +of doors and shutters, upstairs and down. The +diary was ripped from beneath Vere's hand and +hurled straight to the center of that nest of fire +formed by the settling of the logs. A long tongue of +flame leaped high in the chimney as the spread leaves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +of the book caught and flared, fanned by wind and +draft. Vere sprang up, but Phillida's clinging arms +delayed him. When he reached the fire-tongs there +was nothing to rescue except a charring mass half-way +toward ashes.</p> + +<p>He turned toward me, perhaps at last surprised +by my immobility.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, Mr. Locke," he apologized.</p> + +<p>Desire had started up with the others when the +sudden uproar of the storm burst upon them. Now +she cried out, breaking Vere's excuse of the loss. +Her small face blanched, she ran a few steps +toward me.</p> + +<p>"It has come! He will die—he is dying. +Look, look!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Behold! Where are their abodes?<br /> +Their places are not, even as though they had not been."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Tomb of King Entef.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>Desire Michell was beside me, and I could not +rise or answer her. She bent over me, so that the +Rose of Jerusalem fragrance inundated me and drove +back the sickening air that was the breath of +our enemy.</p> + +<p>"Let me go," she sobbed, her head beside my +head. "If you can hear me, listen and leave me as +It wills. You know now that I belong to It by +heritage? You know why we can never be together +as you planned? Try to feel horror of me. Put +me away from you. No evil can come to me unless +I seek evil. But It will not suffer you to take me. +Live, dear Roger, and let me go."</p> + +<p>"Yield to me, Man, what you may not keep," the +whisper of the Thing followed after her voice. +"Would you take the witch-child to your hearth? +Cast her off; and taste my pardon."</p> + +<p>"Can you hear, Roger? Roger, let me go."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>With an effort terrible to make as death to meet, +I broke from the paralysis that chained me. As +from the drag of a whirlpool, I tore myself from the +tide-clutch, from the will of the Thing, from the +numb weakness upon me. For a moment I thrust +back the hand at my throat. I stood up and drew +Desire up with me in my arms, both of us reeling +with my unsteadiness.</p> + +<p>"I do not give you up," I said, my speech hoarse +and difficult. "I claim you, now, and after. And +my claim is good, because I pay."</p> + +<p>Desire exclaimed something. What, I do not +know. Her voice was lost in the triumphant conviction +that I was right. She was free, and the freedom +was my gift to her. I was not vanquished, but victor. +The life I paid was not a penalty, but a price.</p> + +<p>Her face was uplifted to mine as she clung to +me; then my weight glided through her arms and I +fell back in my chair.</p> + +<p>I was alone amid blackness and desolation that +poured past me like the wind above the world.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For the last time, I opened my eyes on the gray +shore at the foot of the Barrier. I, pygmy indeed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +stood again before the colossal wall whose palisades +reared up beyond vision and stretched away beyond +vision on either side.</p> + +<p>I was alone here. No whisper of taunt or menace, +no presence of horror troubled me. Opposite me, the +Breach that split the cliff showed as a shadowed +cañon, empty except of dread. Far out behind me +the sea that was like no sea of earth gathered itself +beneath its eternal mists as a tidal wave draws and +gathers. With folded arms I stood there, waiting +for the returning surge of mighty waters to overwhelm +me in their flood. I waited in awe and solemn +expectancy, beyond fear or hope.</p> + +<p>But now I became aware of a new doubleness of +experience. Here on the Frontier, I was between the +worlds, yet I also saw the room in the house left +behind. I saw myself as an unconscious body reclined +in a chair beside the hearth. Desire Michell +knelt on the floor beside me, her hands grasping my +arms, her gaze fixed on my face, her hair spilling its +shining lengths across my knees. Phillida was huddled +in a chair, crying hysterically. Vere apparently +had been trying to force some stimulant upon the +man who was myself, yet was not myself, for while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +I watched he reluctantly rose from bending above the +figure and set a glass upon the table. I echoed his +sigh. Life was good.</p> + +<p>The sea behind me began to rush in from immeasurable +distances. The roar of the waters' thunderous +approach blended with the heat and flash of storm all +about the house into which I looked.</p> + +<p>"He dies," Desire spoke, her voice level and +calm. "Has it not been so with all who loved the +daughters of my race these two centuries past? Yet +never did one of those die as he dies—not for passion, +but for protection of the woman—not as a madman +or one ignorant, but facing that which was not meant +for man to face, his eyes beating back the intolerable +Eyes. Oh, glory and grief of mine to have seen this!"</p> + +<p>Phillida cowered lower in her chair, burying her +face in the cushions. But Vere abruptly stood erect, +his fine dark face lifted and set. Just so some +ancestors of his might have risen in a bleak New +England meeting-house when moved powerfully to +wrestle with evil in prayer. But it is doubtful if any +Maine deacon ever addressed his Deity as Vere +appealed to his.</p> + +<p>"Almighty, we're in places we don't understand,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +he spoke simply as to a friend within the room, his +earnest, drawling speech entirely natural. "But +You know them as You do us. If things have got to +go this way, why, we'll make out the best we can. +But if they don't, and we're just blundering into +trouble, please save Roger Locke and this poor girl. +Because we know You can. Amen."</p> + +<p>Now at this strange and beautiful prayer—or so +it seemed to me—a ray of blinding light cleaved up +from where Vere stood, like a shot arrow speeding +straight through house and night into inconceivable +space. Then the room vanished from my sight as the +great wave burst out of the mist upon me.</p> + +<p>I went down in a smother of ghastly snarling +floods cold as space is cold. Something fled past me +up the strand, shrieking inhuman passion; the Eyes +of my enemy glared briefly across my vision.</p> + +<p>One last view I glimpsed of that dread Barrier, +amid the tumult and welter of my passing. The +breach was closed! Unbroken, majestic, the enormous +Wall stood up inviolate.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Fancy, like the finger of a clock,<br /> +Runs the great circuit, and is still at home."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Cowper.</span><br /> +</p></div> + +<p>The uproar of rushing waters was still in my +ears. But I was in my chair before the hearth in the +living room of the farmhouse, and the noise was the +din of a tempest outside.</p> + +<p>Opposite me, Phillida and Desire were clinging +together, watching me with such looks of gladness +and anxiety that I felt myself abashed before them. +Bagheera, the cat, sat on the table beside the lamp, +yellow eyes blinking at each flash and rattle of lightning +and thunder, while he sleeked his recently wetted +fur. Wondering where that wet had come from, I +discovered presently that the fire was out, and the +hearth drenched with soot-stained water. I looked +toward the windows, from which the curtains had +been drawn aside. Rain poured glistening down the +panes, but the clean storm was empty of horror.</p> + +<p>"Drink some of this, Mr. Locke," urged Vere,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +whose arm was about me. "Sit quiet, and I guess +you'll be all right in a few moments."</p> + +<p>I took the advice. Strength was flowing into me, +as inexplicably as it had flowed away from me a while +past. How can I describe the certainty of life that +possessed me? The assurance was established, singularly +enough, for all of us. None of my companions +asked, and I myself never doubted whether the +danger might return. The experience was complete, +and closed. Moreover, already the Thing that had +been our enemy, the horror that had been Its atmosphere, +the mystery that haunted Desire—all were +fading into the past. The phantoms were exorcised, +and the house purified of fear.</p> + +<p>But there was something different from ordinary +storm in this tempest. The tumult of rain and wind +linked another, deeper roar with theirs. The house +quivered with a steady trembling like a bridge over +which a train is passing. Pulling myself together +I turned to Vere.</p> + +<p>"What is happening outdoors?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The cloudburst was too much for the dam," +he answered regretfully. "It went off with a noise +like a big gun, a while back. I expect the lake is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +flooding the whole place and messing up everything +from our cellar to the chickenhouse. Daylight is due +pretty soon, now, and the storm is dying down. +We'll be able to add up the damage, after a bit."</p> + +<p>"The water came down the chimney and drowned +Bagheera," Phillida bravely tried to summon nonchalance. +"Isn't it lucky you and Desire could not +get started in the car, after all? Fancy being out +in that!"</p> + +<p>Desire Michell steadied her soft lips and gave +her quota to the shelter of commonplace speech we +raised between ourselves and emotions too recently felt.</p> + +<p>"It was like the tropical storms in Papua, where +I lived until this year," she said. "Once, one blew +down the mission house."</p> + +<p>Vere's weather prediction proved quite right. In +an hour the storm had exhausted itself, or passed +away to other places. Sunrise came with a veritable +glory of crimson and gold, blazing through air +washed limpidly pure by the rain. The east held a +troop of small clouds red as flamingoes flying against +a shining sky; last traces of our tempest.</p> + +<p>We stood on the porch together to survey an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +unfamiliar scene in the rosy light. Water overlay +lawns and paths, so the house stood in a wide, shallow +lake whose ripples lapped around the white cement +steps and the pillars of the porte-cochère. Phillida's +Pekin ducks floated and fed on this new waterway as +contentedly as upon their accustomed pastures. Small +objects sailed on the flood here and there; Bagheera's +milk-pan from the rear veranda bobbed amidst a +fleet of apples shaken down in the orchard, +while some wooden garden tools nudged a silk +canoe-cushion.</p> + +<p>In contrast to all this aquatic prospect, where the +real lake had been there now lay some acres of ugly, +oozing marsh; its expanse dotted with the bodies of +dead water-creatures and such of Vere's young trout +as had not been swept away by the outpouring flood. +The dam was a mere pile of débris through which +trickled a stream bearing no resemblance to the +sparkling waterfall of yesterday. Already the sun's +rays were drawing a rank, unwholesome vapor from +the long-submerged surface.</p> + +<p>We contemplated the ruin for a while, without +words.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>"Poor Drawls!" Phillida sighed at length. "All +your work just rubbed out!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Vere," I exclaimed impulsively. +"We will put it all back in the same shape as it was."</p> + +<p>But even as I spoke, I felt an odd shock of uneasiness +and recoil from my own proposition. I did not +want the lake to be there again; or to hear the unaccountable +sounds to which it gave birth and the +varying fall of the cataract over the dam. Did the +others share my repugnance? I seemed to divine that +they did. Even the impetuous Phil did not break out +in welcome of my offer. Desire, who had smoothed +her sober gray dress in some feminine fashion and +stood like Marguerite or Melisande with a great +braid over either shoulder, moved as if to speak, then +changed her intention. A faint distress troubled +her expression.</p> + +<p>As usual, Vere himself quietly lifted us out +of unrest.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure that couldn't be bettered, Mr. +Locke," he demurred. "That is if you liked, of +course! That marsh could be cleaned up and +drained into pretty rich land, I guess. And down +there beyond the barn, on the other side where the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +creek naturally widens out into a kind of basin, I +should think might be the spot for a smaller, +cleaner lake."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it seem to you, Ethan," I said, "that +we have progressed rather past the <i>Mr. Locke</i> stage?"</p> + +<p>A little later, when Desire and I were alone on +the porch, we walked to the end nearest the vanished +lake. Or rather, I led her to a swinging couch there, +and sat down beside her.</p> + +<p>"Point out the path down the hill by which you +used to come," I asked of her.</p> + +<p>She shook her head. There are no words to +paint how she looked in the clear morning, except that +she seemed its sister.</p> + +<p>"It is only the end of a path that matters," she +said. "Look instead at the marsh. Do you see +nothing there stranger than a path through the woods +even when trodden by a wilful woman?"</p> + +<p>Following her lifted finger, I saw a series of long +mounds out there in the muddy floor not far from +the dam. Not high, two or three feet at most, the +mounds formed an irregular square of considerable +area.</p> + +<p>"The old house!" I exclaimed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>"It was set on fire by the second Desire Michell +one night deep in winter. Her father built this house +of yours and put in the dam that covered the ruins +with water. I think he hoped to wash away the +horror upon the place."</p> + +<p>"I know so little of your history."</p> + +<p>"You can imagine it." She turned her head +from me. "The first child came back from England +when it was a man grown, and claimed the house and +name of the first Desire. He settled and married +here. For two generations only sons were born to the +Michells. I do not know if the Dark One came to +them. I believe it did, but they were hard, austere +men who beat off evil. Then, a daughter was born. +She looked like the first Desire and she was—not +good. She was a scandal to the family. She listened +to It——! The tradition is that she set fire to the +house after a terrible quarrel with her people, but +herself perished by some miscalculation. There +were no more girls born for another while after that. +Not until my father's time. He had a sister who +resembled the two Desires of the past. My grandfather +brought her up in harshness and austerity, +holding always before her the wickedness to which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +she was born. Yet it was no use. She fled from his +house with a man no one knew, and died in Paris +after a life of great splendor and heartlessness. +Everyone who loved the Desires suffered. That is +why I—covered myself from—you."</p> + +<p>I took her hand, so small a thing to hold and +feel flutter in mine.</p> + +<p>"But what of me, Desire? The darkness covered +no beauty in me, but a defect. You never saw me +until last night and now in the morning. Now that +you know, can you bear with a man who—limps? +You, so perfect?"</p> + +<p>She turned toward me. Her kohl-dark eyes, +vivid as a summer noon, opened to my anxious +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"But I have seen you often," she said, the heat +of confession bright on cheek and lip. "I never +meant you to know, but now——! After the first +time you spoke to me so kindly and gayly—I was so +very sorrowfully alone—and the convent was so dull! +My father's field-glasses were in my trunk."</p> + +<p>"Desire?"</p> + +<p>"I fear I have no vocation for a nun. I—there +is a huge rock half-way down the hill with a clear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +view of this place. I have spent hours there, watching +these lawns and verandas, and the things you all +did. It all seemed so amusing and, and happy. You +see, where I lived there were almost no white people +except my father and a priest at the Catholic mission. +So I learned to know Phillida and Mr. Vere and——"</p> + +<p>"Then, all this time, Desire——"</p> + +<p>"The glasses brought you very close," she whispered. +"I knew you by night and by day."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +"Life hath its term, the assembly is dispersed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And we have not described Thee from the first."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">—</span><span class="smcap">Gulistan.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + +<p>I have come to the end of this narrative and with +the end, I come to what people of practical mind +may call its explanation. Of the four of us who were +joined in living through the events of that summer, +my wife and I and Ethan Vere agree in one belief, +while Phillida holds the opinion of her father, the +Professor. I think Bagheera, the cat, might be added +to our side also, if his testimony was available.</p> + +<p>The press reports of the cloudburst and flood +brought the Professor up to Connecticut to verify +with his own eyes his daughter's safety. Aunt Caroline +did not come with him, but I may here set down +that she did come later. They found their son-in-law +by no means what their forebodings menaced, +so reconciled themselves at last to the marriage; to +Phillida's abiding joy.</p> + +<p>But first the little Professor arrived alone, three +days after the storm. Characteristically, he had sent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +no warning of his coming, so no one met him at the +railway station. He arrived in one of those curious +products of a country livery stable known as a rig, +driven by a local reprobate whom no prohibition +could sober.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the incredulous rapture with +which Phillida welcomed him, nor the pride with +which she presented Vere.</p> + +<p>The damages to the place were already being repaired, +although weeks of work would be needed to +restore a condition of order and make the changes +we planned. The automobile had been disentangled +from the wreckage of garage and willow tree and +towed away to receive expert attention. We were +awaiting the arrival of the new car I had ordered +for the honeymoon tour Desire and I were soon to +take. Phillida had declared two weeks shopping a +necessary preliminary to the wedding of a bride who +was to live in New York "and meet everybody." +Nor would I have shortened the pretty orgy into +which the two girls entered, transforming my sorceress +into a lady of the hour; happiness seeming to +me rather to be savored than gulped.</p> + +<p>Needless to say, there was no more talk of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +convent whose iron gates were to have closed between +the last Desire Michell and the world. She had been +directed there by the priest whose island mission was +near her father's. In her solitude and ignorance of +life, the sisterhood seemed to offer a refuge in which +to keep her promise to her father. But she had to +learn the principles of the Church she was about to +adopt, and during that period of delay I had come to +the old house.</p> + +<p>On the second day of his visit, we told all the +story to the Professor. We could not have told +Aunt Caroline, but we told him.</p> + +<p>"It is perfectly simple," he pronounced at the +end. "Interesting, even unique in points, but simple +of explanation."</p> + +<p>"And what may be the explanation?" I inquired +with scepticism.</p> + +<p>"Marsh gas," he replied triumphantly. "Have +none of you young people ever considered the singular +emanations from swamps and marshes where rotting +vegetation underlies shallow water? Phillida, I +am astonished that you did not enlighten your companions +on this point. You, at least, have been carefully +educated, not in the light froth of modern music<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +and art, but in the rudiments of science. I do not +intend to wound your feelings, Roger!"</p> + +<p>"I am not wounded, sir," I retorted. "Just +incredulous!"</p> + +<p>"Ah?" said the Professor, with the bland superiority +of his tribe. "Well, well! Yet even you know +something of the evils attending people who live in +low, swampy areas; malaria, ague, fevers. In the +tropics, these take the form of virulent maladies that +sweep a man from earth in a few hours. Your lake +<i>was</i> haunted, so was the house that once stood in its +basin, as some vague instinct strove to warn the +generations of Michells as well as you. Haunted by +emanations of some powerful form of marsh gas +given forth more plentifully at night, which lowered +the heart action and impeded the breathing of one +drawing the poison into his lungs through hours of +sleep, producing—nightmare. Science has by no means +analyzed all the possibilities of such phenomena."</p> + +<p>"Nightmare!" I cried. "Do you mean to account +by nightmare for the wide and repeated experiences +that twice brought me to the verge of death? And +Desire? What of her knowledge of that same nightmare? +What of the legend of her family so exactly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +coinciding with all I felt? And why did not Phillida +and Ethan suffer the nightmare with me?"</p> + +<p>He held up a lean hand.</p> + +<p>"Gently, gently, Roger! Consider that of all the +household you alone slept in the side of the house +toward the lake. I know that you always have your +windows open day and night—a habit that used to +cause great annoyance to your Aunt Caroline when +you were a boy. Thus you were exposed to the full +effect of the water gases. That you did not feel +the effects every night I attribute to differences in +the wind, that from some directions would blow the +fumes away from the house, thus relieving you. I +gather from your account that the phenomena were +most pronounced in close, foggy weather, when the +poisonous air was atmospherically held down to the +earth. You have spoken of miasmic mists that hung +below the level of the tree-tops. When Mr. Vere +experienced a similar unease and depression, he was +on the shore of the lake at dawn after precisely such +a close, foggy night as I have described as most +dangerous. The symptoms confirm this theory. +You say you awakened on each occasion with a sense +of suffocation. Your heart labored, your limbs were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +cold and mind unnaturally depressed, owing to slow +circulation of the blood. You were a man asphyxiated. +After each attack you were more sensitive to +the next, as a malaria patient grows worse if he +remains in the swamp districts. It is remarkable +that you did not guess the truth from the smell of +decaying vegetation and stagnant damp which you +admit accompanied the seizures! However, you did +not; and in your condition the last three days of +continuous fog brought on two attacks that nearly +proved fatal. Now as to the character of your hallucinations, +and their agreement with the young lady's +ideas. That is a trifle more involved discussion, yet +simple, simple!"</p> + +<p>He put the tips of his fingers together and surveyed +us with the benign condescension of one instructing +a class of small children.</p> + +<p>"The first night that you passed in your newly +purchased house, Roger, you accidentally encountered +Miss Michell; or she did you!" He smiled +humorously. "While your feelings were excited by +the unusual episode, the strange surroundings and +the dark, she related to you a wild legend of witchcraft +and monsters. Later, when you suffered your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +first attack of marsh-gas poisoning, your consequent +hallucination took form from the story you had just +heard. Later conversations with your mysterious +lady fixed the idea into an obsession. Recurrent +dreams are a common phenomenon even in healthy +persons. In this case, no doubt the exact repetition +of the physical sensations of miasmic poisoning +tended to reproduce in your mind the same sequence +of ideas or semi-delirious imaginings. These were +of course varied or distorted somewhat on each occasion, +influenced by what you had been hearing or +reading in advance of them. This mental condition +became more and more confirmed as you steeped +yourself more deeply in legendary lore and also—pardon +me—in the morbid fancies of the young +lady; whose ghostly visits in the dark and whose +increasing interest for you put a further bias upon +your thoughts."</p> + +<p>"What were the noises I heard from the lake, +and the shocks we all felt?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>He nodded amiably toward Vere.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vere has mentioned the large bubbles which +formed and burst on the surface of the lake. That +is a common manifestation of ordinary marsh gas.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +Possibly the singular and unknown emanation that +took place at night came to the surface in the form of +a bubble or bubbles huge enough to produce in bursting +the smacking sound of which you speak. But I +am inclined to another theory, after a walk I took +about your place this morning. When you put up +your cement dam instead of the old log affair that held +back only a part of the stream, you made a greater +depth and bulk of water in the swamp basin than +it has contained these many years, if ever. As a +result, I believe the sloping mud basin began to slip +toward the dam. Oh, very gradually! Probably not +stirring for weeks at a time. Just a yielding here, a +parting there, until the cloudburst precipitated the +disaster. You had, my dear Roger, a miniature +landslide, which would account for sounds of shifting +mud and water in your lake, and for the shocks +or trembling of your house when the earth movements +occurred."</p> + +<p>The rest of us regarded one another. I think +Vere might have spoken, if he had not been unwilling +to mar Phillida's contentment by any appearance of +dispute with her father.</p> + +<p>"It is very cleverly worked out, sir," I conceded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +"But how do you explain that Desire knew what I +experienced with the Thing from the Barrier, if my +experiences were merely delirious dreams?"</p> + +<p>"I have not yet understood that she did know," +said the Professor dryly. "She put the suggestions +into your head; innocently, of course. When you +afterward compared notes and found they agreed, +you cried 'miraculous'! How is that, Miss Michell? +Did you actually know what Roger experienced in +these excursions before he told you of them?"</p> + +<p>Desire gazed at him with her meditative eyes, +so darkly lovely, yet never quite to lose their individual +difference from any other lovely eyes I have ever +seen. The eyes, I thought then and still think, of one +who has seen more, or at least seen into farther +spaces, than most of treadmill-trotting humanity. +She wore one of the new frocks for which Phillida +and she had already made a flying trip to town; a +most sophisticated frock from Fifth Avenue, with +frivolous French shoes to correspond. Her hair of a +Lorelei was demurely coiled and wound about her +little head. Yet some indescribable atmosphere closed +her delicately around, an impalpable wall between her +and the commonplace. Even the desiccated, material<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +Professor was aware of this influence and took off +his spectacles uneasily, wiped them and put them on +again to contemplate her.</p> + +<p>"I am not sure," she answered him with careful +candor. "I believe that I could always tell when the +Dark One had been with him. I could feel that, +here," she touched her breast. "I knew what its +visits were like, because I was brought up to know +by my father and was told the history of the three +Desire Michells. My father had studied deeply and +taught me—I shall not tell anyone all he taught me! +I do not want to think of those things. Some of +them I have told to Roger. Some of them are quite +harmless and pleasant, like the secret formula for +making the Rose of Jerusalem perfume; which has +virtues not common, as Roger can say who has felt it +revive him from faintness. But there are places into +which we should not thrust ourselves. It is like—like +suicide. One's mind must be perverted before +certain things can be done. And that is the true +sin—to debase one's soul. All men discover and +learn of science and the universe by honest duty and +effort is good, is lofty and leads up. Nothing is +forbidden to us. But if we turn aside to the low<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +door which only opens to crime and evil purpose, we +step outside. I am unskilful; I do not express +myself well."</p> + +<p>"Very well, young lady," the Professor condescended. +"Unfortunately, your theories are wild +mysticism. The veritable fiend that has plagued the +house of Michell is the mischievous habit of rearing +each generation from childhood to a belief in doom +and witchcraft. A child will believe anything it is +told. Why not, when all things are still equally +wonderful to it? Let me point out that your theory +also contradicts itself, since Roger certainly did not +enter upon any path of crime, yet he met your unearthly +monster."</p> + +<p>"Because he chose to link his fate with mine, who +am linked by heredity with the Dweller at the Frontier," +she said earnestly. "He was in the position of +one who enters the lair of a wild beast to bring out +a victim who is trapped there. It may cost that +rescuer his life. Roger nearly paid his life. But he +mastered It and took me away from It, because he +was not afraid and not seeking his own good. I +never imagined anyone so brave and strong and unsel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>fish +as Roger. I suppose it is because he thinks +of others instead of himself, which gives the strongest +kind of strength."</p> + +<p>"The Thing nearly had me, though," I hastily +intervened to spare my own modesty. "And It did +have me worse than afraid!"</p> + +<p>"I seem to be arguing against an impenetrable +obstinacy," snapped the Professor. "Do you, Roger, +who were educated under my own eye, in my house, +have the effrontery to tell me that you believe Miss +Michell is descended from the union of an evil spirit +and a human being; as the Eastern legends claim +for Saladin the Great?"</p> + +<p>"Your own theory, sir, being——?" I evaded.</p> + +<p>"There is no theory about the matter," he declared. +"Excuse me, Miss Michell! The child was +undoubtedly Sir Austin's son. Which accounts for +the madness of the first Desire Michell."</p> + +<p>We were all silent for a while. Whatever +thoughts each held remained unvoiced.</p> + +<p>"Come, Phillida, you take my sane point of view, +I hope?" the Professor finally challenged his +daughter, with a glance of scorn and compassion at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +the rest of our group. "You observe that I have +explained every point raised, Miss Michell's testimony +being of the vaguest?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Papa," Phillida agreed hesitatingly. "I +do believe you have solved the whole problem. Only, +if Cousin Roger was suffering from marsh-gas poisoning +last night when he seemed to be dying, I +do not quite see why Ethan's prayer should have +cured him."</p> + +<p>The Professor was momentarily posed. He +looked disconcerted, took off his glasses and put them +on again, and at length muttered something about +storm-wind dissipating the miasma in the air and +events being mere coincidence.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The house was never again visited by the Dark +Presence. Phantom or fancy, the horror was gone +as if it never had brooded about the place. Desire +Locke is a fatal companion only to my heart.</p> + +<p>But whether all this is so because the lake is +drained and the Shetland pony of a young Vere +browses over the green pasture that was once a +miasmic swamp; or whether it is so for more subtle,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +wilder reasons, no one can say. I, recalling that +colossal Barrier I visioned as closed and a certain +cleaving arrow of light, must at least call the coincidence +amazing.</p> + +<p>As I have said, my wife and I, Ethan Vere and +Bagheera the cat have an understanding between us.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THING FROM THE LAKE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 23738-h.txt or 23738-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/7/3/23738">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/3/23738</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + + +<pre> +*** 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 +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license)</a>. + + +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.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +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. 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://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +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://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf + +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://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/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. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">http://www.gutenberg.org</a> + +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. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a> + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> |