The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Magician, by W. Somerset Maugham (2024)

Contents

A FRAGMENT OF AUTOBIOGRAPHY

In 1897, after spending five years at St Thomas’s Hospital I passed theexaminations which enabled me to practise medicine. While still a medicalstudent I had published a novel called Liza of Lambeth which caused amild sensation, and on the strength of that I rashly decided to abandondoctoring and earn my living as a writer; so, as soon as I was “qualified”, Iset out for Spain and spent the best part of a year in Seville. I amused myselfhugely and wrote a bad novel. Then I returned to London and, with a friend ofmy own age, took and furnished a small flat near Victoria Station. A maid ofall work cooked for us and kept the flat neat and tidy. My friend was at theBar, and so I had the day (and the flat) to myself and my work. During the nextsix years I wrote several novels and a number of plays. Only one of thesenovels had any success, but even that failed to make the stir that my first onehad made. I could get no manager to take my plays. At last, in desperation, Isent one, which I called A Man of Honour, to the Stage Society, whichgave two performances, one on Sunday night, another on Monday afternoon, ofplays which, unsuitable for the commercial theatre, were considered ofsufficient merit to please an intellectual audience. As every one knows, it wasthe Stage Society that produced the early plays of Bernard Shaw. The committeeaccepted A Man of Honour, and W.L. Courtney, who was a member of it,thought well enough of my crude play to publish it in The FortnightlyReview, of which he was then editor. It was a feather in my cap.

Though these efforts of mine brought me very little money, they attracted not alittle attention, and I made friends. I was looked upon as a promising youngwriter and, I think I may say it without vanity, was accepted as a member ofthe intelligentsia, an honourable condition which, some years later, when Ibecame a popular writer of light comedies, I lost; and have never sinceregained. I was invited to literary parties and to parties given by women ofrank and fashion who thought it behoved them to patronise the arts. Anunattached and fairly presentable young man is always in demand. I lunched outand dined out. Since I could not afford to take cabs, when I dined out, intails and a white tie, as was then the custom, I went and came back by bus. Iwas asked to spend week-ends in the country. They were something of a trial onaccount of the tips you had to give to the butler and to the footman whobrought you your morning tea. He unpacked your gladstone bag, and you wereuneasily aware that your well-worn pyjamas and modest toilet articles had madean unfavourable impression upon him. For all that, I found life pleasant and Ienjoyed myself. There seemed no reason why I should not go on indefinitely inthe same way, bringing out a novel once a year (which seldom earned more thanthe small advance the publisher had given me but which was on the wholerespectably reviewed), going to more and more parties, making more and morefriends. It was all very nice, but I couldn’t see that it was leading meanywhere. I was thirty. I was in a rut. I felt I must get out of it. It did nottake me long to make up my mind. I told the friend with whom I shared the flatthat I wanted to be rid of it and go abroad. He could not keep it by himself,but we luckily found a middle-aged gentleman who wished to install his mistressin it, and was prepared to take it off our hands. We sold the furniture forwhat it could fetch, and within a month I was on my way to Paris. I took a roomin a cheap hotel on the Left Bank.

A few months before this, I had been fortunate enough to make friends with ayoung painter who had a studio in the Rue Campagne Première. His name wasGerald Kelly. He had had an upbringing unusual for a painter, for he had beento Eton and to Cambridge. He was highly talented, abundantly loquacious, andimmensely enthusiastic. It was he who first made me acquainted with theImpressionists, whose pictures had recently been accepted by the Luxembourg. Tomy shame, I must admit that I could not make head or tail of them. Without muchsearching, I found an apartment on the fifth floor of a house near the Lion deBelfort. It had two rooms and a kitchen, and cost seven hundred francs a year,which was then twenty-eight pounds. I bought, second-hand, such furniture andhousehold utensils as were essential, and the concierge told me of awoman who would come in for half a day and make my café au lait in themorning and my luncheon at noon. I settled down and set to work on stillanother novel. Soon after my arrival, Gerald Kelly took me to a restaurantcalled Le Chat Blanc in the Rue d’Odessa, near the Gare Montparnasse, where anumber of artists were in the habit of dining; and from then on I dined thereevery night. I have described the place elsewhere, and in some detail in thenovel to which these pages are meant to serve as a preface, so that I need nothere say more about it. As a rule, the same people came in every night, but nowand then others came, perhaps only once, perhaps two or three times. We wereapt to look upon them as interlopers, and I don’t think we made themparticularly welcome. It was thus that I first met Arnold Bennett and CliveBell. One of these casual visitors was Aleister Crowley. He was spending thewinter in Paris. I took an immediate dislike to him, but he interested andamused me. He was a great talker and he talked uncommonly well. In early youth,I was told, he was extremely handsome, but when I knew him he had put onweight, and his hair was thinning. He had fine eyes and a way, whether naturalor acquired I do not know, of so focusing them that, when he looked at you, heseemed to look behind you. He was a fake, but not entirely a fake. At Cambridgehe had won his chess blue and was esteemed the best whist player of his time.He was a liar and unbecomingly boastful, but the odd thing was that he hadactually done some of the things he boasted of. As a mountaineer, he had madean ascent of K2 in the Hindu Kush, the second highest mountain in India, and hemade it without the elaborate equipment, the cylinders of oxygen and so forth,which render the endeavours of the mountaineers of the present day more likelyto succeed. He did not reach the top, but got nearer to it than anyone had donebefore.

Crowley was a voluminous writer of verse, which he published sumptuously at hisown expense. He had a gift for rhyming, and his verse is not entirely withoutmerit. He had been greatly influenced by Swinburne and Robert Browning. He wasgrossly, but not unintelligently, imitative. As you flip through the pages youmay well read a stanza which, if you came across it in a volume of Swinburne’s,you would accept without question as the work of the master. “It’s ratherhard, isn’t it, Sir, to make sense of it?” If you were shown this line andasked what poet had written it, I think you would be inclined to say, RobertBrowning. You would be wrong. It was written by Aleister Crowley.

At the time I knew him he was dabbling in Satanism, magic and the occult. Therewas just then something of a vogue in Paris for that sort of thing, occasioned,I surmise, by the interest that was still taken in a book of Huysmans’s, LàBas. Crowley told fantastic stories of his experiences, but it was hard tosay whether he was telling the truth or merely pulling your leg. During thatwinter I saw him several times, but never after I left Paris to return toLondon. Once, long afterwards, I received a telegram from him which ran asfollows: “Please send twenty-five pounds at once. Mother of God and I starving.Aleister Crowley.” I did not do so, and he lived on for many disgraceful years.

I was glad to get back to London. My old friend had by then rooms in Pall Mall,and I was able to take a bedroom in the same building and use his sitting-roomto work in. The Magician was published in 1908, so I suppose it waswritten during the first six months of 1907. I do not remember how I came tothink that Aleister Crowley might serve as the model for the character whom Icalled Oliver Haddo; nor, indeed, how I came to think of writing thatparticular novel at all. When, a little while ago, my publisher expressed awish to reissue it, I felt that, before consenting to this, I really shouldread it again. Nearly fifty years had passed since I had done so, and I hadcompletely forgotten it. Some authors enjoy reading their old works; somecannot bear to. Of these I am. When I have corrected the proofs of a book, Ihave finished with it for good and all. I am impatient when people insist ontalking to me about it; I am glad if they like it, but do not much care if theydon’t. I am no more interested in it than in a worn-out suit of clothes that Ihave given away. It was thus with disinclination that I began to read TheMagician. It held my interest, as two of my early novels, which for thesame reason I have been obliged to read, did not. One, indeed, I simply couldnot get through. Another had to my mind some good dramatic scenes, but thehumour filled me with mortification, and I should have been ashamed to see itrepublished. As I read The Magician, I wondered how on earth I couldhave come by all the material concerning the black arts which I wrote of. Imust have spent days and days reading in the library of the British Museum. Thestyle is lush and turgid, not at all the sort of style I approve of now, butperhaps not unsuited to the subject; and there are a great many more adverbsand adjectives than I should use today. I fancy I must have been impressed bythe écriture artiste which the French writers of the time had not yetentirely abandoned, and unwisely sought to imitate them.

Though Aleister Crowley served, as I have said, as the model for Oliver Haddo,it is by no means a portrait of him. I made my character more striking inappearance, more sinister and more ruthless than Crowley ever was. I gave himmagical powers that Crowley, though he claimed them, certainly never possessed.Crowley, however, recognized himself in the creature of my invention, for suchit was, and wrote a full-page review of the novel in Vanity Fair, whichhe signed “Oliver Haddo”. I did not read it, and wish now that I had. I daresayit was a pretty piece of vituperation, but probably, like his poems,intolerably verbose.

I do not remember what success, if any, my novel had when it was published, andI did not bother about it much, for by then a great change had come into mylife. The manager of the Court Theatre, one Otho Stuart, had brought out a playwhich failed to please, and he could not immediately get the cast he wanted forthe next play he had in mind to produce. He had read one of mine, and formed avery poor opinion of it; but he was in a quandary, and it occurred to him thatit might just serve to keep his theatre open for a few weeks, by the end ofwhich the actors he wanted for the play he had been obliged to postpone wouldbe at liberty. He put mine on. It was an immediate success. The result of thiswas that in a very little while other managers accepted the plays they hadconsistently refused, and I had four running in London at the same time. I, whofor ten years had earned an average of one hundred pounds a year, found myselfearning several hundred pounds a week. I made up my mind to abandon the writingof novels for the rest of my life. I did not know that this was something outof my control and that when the urge to write a novel seized me, I should beable to do nothing but submit. Five years later, the urge came and, refusing towrite any more plays for the time, I started upon the longest of all my novels.I called it Of Human Bondage.

Chapter I

Arthur Burdon and Dr Porhoët walked in silence. They had lunched at arestaurant in the Boulevard Saint Michel, and were sauntering now in thegardens of the Luxembourg. Dr Porhoët walked with stooping shoulders, his handsbehind him. He beheld the scene with the eyes of the many painters who havesought by means of the most charming garden in Paris to express their sense ofbeauty. The grass was scattered with the fallen leaves, but their wan decaylittle served to give a touch of nature to the artifice of all besides. Thetrees were neatly surrounded by bushes, and the bushes by trim beds of flowers.But the trees grew without abandonment, as though conscious of the decorativescheme they helped to form. It was autumn, and some were leafless already. Manyof the flowers were withered. The formal garden reminded one of a light woman,no longer young, who sought, with faded finery, with powder and paint, to makea brave show of despair. It had those false, difficult smiles of uneasy gaiety,and the pitiful graces which attempt a fascination that the hurrying years haverendered vain.

Dr Porhoët drew more closely round his fragile body the heavy cloak which evenin summer he could not persuade himself to discard. The best part of his lifehad been spent in Egypt, in the practice of medicine, and the frigid summers ofEurope scarcely warmed his blood. His memory flashed for an instant upon thosemulti-coloured streets of Alexandria; and then, like a homing bird, it flew tothe green woods and the storm-beaten coasts of his native Brittany. His browneyes were veiled with sudden melancholy.

“Let us wait here for a moment,” he said.

They took two straw-bottomed chairs and sat near the octagonal water whichcompletes with its fountain of Cupids the enchanting artificiality of theLuxembourg. The sun shone more kindly now, and the trees which framed the scenewere golden and lovely. A balustrade of stone gracefully enclosed the space,and the flowers, freshly bedded, were very gay. In one corner they could seethe squat, quaint towers of Saint Sulpice, and on the other side the unevenroofs of the Boulevard Saint Michel.

The palace was grey and solid. Nurses, some in the white caps of their nativeprovince, others with the satin streamers of the nounou, marchedsedately two by two, wheeling perambulators and talking. Brightly dressedchildren trundled hoops or whipped a stubborn top. As he watched them, DrPorhoët’s lips broke into a smile, and it was so tender that his thin face,sallow from long exposure to subtropical suns, was transfigured. He no longerstruck you merely as an insignificant little man with hollow cheeks and a thingrey beard; for the weariness of expression which was habitual to him vanishedbefore the charming sympathy of his smile. His sunken eyes glittered with akindly but ironic good-humour. Now passed a guard in the romantic cloak of abrigand in comic opera and a peaked cap like that of an alguacil. Agroup of telegraph boys in blue stood round a painter, who was making asketch—notwithstanding half-frozen fingers. Here and there, in baggy corduroys,tight jackets, and wide-brimmed hats, strolled students who might have steppedfrom the page of Murger’s immortal romance. But the students now are uneasywith the fear of ridicule, and more often they walk in bowler hats and the neatcoats of the boulevardier.

Dr Porhoët spoke English fluently, with scarcely a trace of foreign accent, butwith an elaboration which suggested that he had learned the language as muchfrom study of the English classics as from conversation.

“And how is Miss Dauncey?” he asked, turning to his friend.

Arthur Burdon smiled.

“Oh, I expect she’s all right. I’ve not seen her today, but I’m going to tea atthe studio this afternoon, and we want you to dine with us at the Chien Noir.”

“I shall be much pleased. But do you not wish to be by yourselves?”

“She met me at the station yesterday, and we dined together. We talked steadilyfrom half past six till midnight.”

“Or, rather, she talked and you listened with the delighted attention of ahappy lover.”

Arthur Burdon had just arrived in Paris. He was a surgeon on the staff of StLuke’s, and had come ostensibly to study the methods of the French operators;but his real object was certainly to see Margaret Dauncey. He was furnishedwith introductions from London surgeons of repute, and had already spent amorning at the Hôtel Dieu, where the operator, warned that his visitor was abold and skilful surgeon, whose reputation in England was already considerable,had sought to dazzle him by feats that savoured almost of legerdemain. Thoughthe hint of charlatanry in the Frenchman’s methods had not escaped ArthurBurdon’s shrewd eyes, the audacious sureness of his hand had excited hisenthusiasm. During luncheon he talked of nothing else, and Dr Porhoët, drawingupon his memory, recounted the more extraordinary operations that he hadwitnessed in Egypt.

He had known Arthur Burdon ever since he was born, and indeed had missed beingpresent at his birth only because the Khedive Ismaïl had summoned himunexpectedly to Cairo. But the Levantine merchant who was Arthur’s father hadbeen his most intimate friend, and it was with singular pleasure that DrPorhoët saw the young man, on his advice, enter his own profession and achievea distinction which himself had never won.

Though too much interested in the characters of the persons whom chance threwin his path to have much ambition on his own behalf, it pleased him to see itin others. He observed with satisfaction the pride which Arthur took in hiscalling and the determination, backed by his confidence and talent, to become amaster of his art. Dr Porhoët knew that a diversity of interests, though itadds charm to a man’s personality, tends to weaken him. To excel one’s fellowsit is needful to be circumscribed. He did not regret, therefore, that Arthur inmany ways was narrow. Letters and the arts meant little to him. Nor would hetrouble himself with the graceful trivialities which make a man a good talker.In mixed company he was content to listen silently to others, and onlysomething very definite to say could tempt him to join in the generalconversation. He worked very hard, operating, dissecting, or lecturing at hishospital, and took pains to read every word, not only in English, but in Frenchand German, which was published concerning his profession. Whenever he couldsnatch a free day he spent it on the golf-links of Sunningdale, for he was aneager and a fine player.

But at the operating-table Arthur was different. He was no longer the awkwardman of social intercourse, who was sufficiently conscious of his limitationsnot to talk of what he did not understand, and sincere enough not to expressadmiration for what he did not like. Then, on the other hand, a singularexhilaration filled him; he was conscious of his power, and he rejoiced in it.No unforeseen accident was able to confuse him. He seemed to have a positiveinstinct for operating, and his hand and his brain worked in a manner thatappeared almost automatic. He never hesitated, and he had no fear of failure.His success had been no less than his courage, and it was plain that soon hisreputation with the public would equal that which he had already won with theprofession.

Dr Porhoët had been making listless patterns with his stick upon the gravel,and now, with that charming smile of his, turned to Arthur.

“I never cease to be astonished at the unexpectedness of human nature,” heremarked. “It is really very surprising that a man like you should fall sodeeply in love with a girl like Margaret Dauncey.”

Arthur made no reply, and Dr Porhoët, fearing that his words might offend,hastened to explain.

“You know as well as I do that I think her a very charming young person. Shehas beauty and grace and sympathy. But your characters are more different thanchalk and cheese. Notwithstanding your birth in the East and your boyhood spentamid the very scenes of the Thousand and One Nights, you are the mostmatter-of-fact creature I have ever come across.”

“I see no harm in your saying insular,” smiled Arthur. “I confess that I haveno imagination and no sense of humour. I am a plain, practical man, but I cansee to the end of my nose with extreme clearness. Fortunately it is rather along one.”

“One of my cherished ideas is that it is impossible to love withoutimagination.”

Again Arthur Burdon made no reply, but a curious look came into his eyes as hegazed in front of him. It was the look which might fill the passionate eyes ofa mystic when he saw in ecstasy the Divine Lady of his constant prayers.

“But Miss Dauncey has none of that narrowness of outlook which, if you forgivemy saying so, is perhaps the secret of your strength. She has a delightfulenthusiasm for every form of art. Beauty really means as much to her as breadand butter to the more soberly-minded. And she takes a passionate interest inthe variety of life.”

“It is right that Margaret should care for beauty, since there is beauty inevery inch of her,” answered Arthur.

He was too reticent to proceed to any analysis of his feelings; but he knewthat he had cared for her first on account of the physical perfection whichcontrasted so astonishingly with the countless deformities in the study ofwhich his life was spent. But one phrase escaped him almost against his will.

“The first time I saw her I felt as though a new world had opened to my ken.”

The divine music of Keats’s lines rang through Arthur’s remark, and to theFrenchman’s mind gave his passion a romantic note that foreboded futuretragedy. He sought to dispel the cloud which his fancy had cast upon the mostsatisfactory of love affairs.

“You are very lucky, my friend. Miss Margaret admires you as much as you adoreher. She is never tired of listening to my prosy stories of your childhood inAlexandria, and I’m quite sure that she will make you the most admirable ofwives.”

“You can’t be more sure than I am,” laughed Arthur.

He looked upon himself as a happy man. He loved Margaret with all his heart,and he was confident in her great affection for him. It was impossible thatanything should arise to disturb the pleasant life which they had plannedtogether. His love cast a glamour upon his work, and his work, by contrast,made love the more entrancing.

“We’re going to fix the date of our marriage now,” he said. “I’m buyingfurniture already.”

“I think only English people could have behaved so oddly as you, in postponingyour marriage without reason for two mortal years.”

“You see, Margaret was ten when I first saw her, and only seventeen when Iasked her to marry me. She thought she had reason to be grateful to me andwould have married me there and then. But I knew she hankered after these twoyears in Paris, and I didn’t feel it was fair to bind her to me till she hadseen at least something of the world. And she seemed hardly ready for marriage,she was growing still.”

“Did I not say that you were a matter-of-fact young man?” smiled Dr Porhoët.

“And it’s not as if there had been any doubt about our knowing our minds. Weboth cared, and we had a long time before us. We could afford to wait.”

At that moment a man strolled past them, a big stout fellow, showily dressed ina check suit; and he gravely took off his hat to Dr Porhoët. The doctor smiledand returned the salute.

“Who is your fat friend?” asked Arthur.

“That is a compatriot of yours. His name is Oliver Haddo.”

“Art-student?” inquired Arthur, with the scornful tone he used when referringto those whose walk in life was not so practical as his own.

“Not exactly. I met him a little while ago by chance. When I was gettingtogether the material for my little book on the old alchemists I read a greatdeal at the library of the Arsenal, which, you may have heard, is singularlyrich in all works dealing with the occult sciences.”

Burden’s face assumed an expression of amused disdain. He could not understandwhy Dr Porhoët occupied his leisure with studies so profitless. He had read hisbook, recently published, on the more famous of the alchemists; and, thoughforced to admire the profound knowledge upon which it was based, he could notforgive the waste of time which his friend might have expended more usefully ontopics of pressing moment.

“Not many people study in that library,” pursued the doctor, “and I soon knewby sight those who were frequently there. I saw this gentleman every day. Hewas immersed in strange old books when I arrived early in the morning, and hewas reading them still when I left, exhausted. Sometimes it happened that hehad the volumes I asked for, and I discovered that he was studying the samesubjects as myself. His appearance was extraordinary, but scarcely sympathetic;so, though I fancied that he gave me opportunities to address him, I did notavail myself of them. One day, however, curiously enough, I was looking up somepoint upon which it seemed impossible to find authorities. The librarian couldnot help me, and I had given up the search, when this person brought me thevery book I needed. I surmised that the librarian had told him of mydifficulty. I was very grateful to the stranger. We left together thatafternoon, and our kindred studies gave us a common topic of conversation. Ifound that his reading was extraordinarily wide, and he was able to give meinformation about works which I had never even heard of. He had the advantageover me that he could apparently read, Hebrew as well as Arabic, and he hadstudied the Kabbalah in the original.”

“And much good it did him, I have no doubt,” said Arthur. “And what is he byprofession?”

Dr Porhoët gave a deprecating smile.

“My dear fellow, I hardly like to tell you. I tremble in every limb at thethought of your unmitigated scorn.”

“Well?”

“You know, Paris is full of queer people. It is the chosen home of every kindof eccentricity. It sounds incredible in this year of grace, but my friendOliver Haddo claims to be a magician. I think he is quite serious.”

“Silly ass!” answered Arthur with emphasis.

Chapter II

Margaret Dauncey shared a flat near the Boulevard du Montparnasse with SusieBoyd; and it was to meet her that Arthur had arranged to come to tea thatafternoon. The young women waited for him in the studio. The kettle was boilingon the stove; cups and petits fours stood in readiness on a model stand.Susie looked forward to the meeting with interest. She had heard a good deal ofthe young man, and knew that the connexion between him and Margaret was notlacking in romance. For years Susie had led the monotonous life of a mistressin a school for young ladies, and had resigned herself to its dreariness forthe rest of her life, when a legacy from a distant relation gave her sufficientincome to live modestly upon her means. When Margaret, who had been her pupil,came, soon after this, to announce her intention of spending a couple of yearsin Paris to study art, Susie willingly agreed to accompany her. Since then shehad worked industriously at Colarossi’s Academy, by no means under the delusionthat she had talent, but merely to amuse herself. She refused to surrender thepleasing notion that her environment was slightly wicked. After the toil ofmany years it relieved her to be earnest in nothing; and she found infinitesatisfaction in watching the lives of those around her.

She had a great affection for Margaret, and though her own stock of enthusiasmswas run low, she could enjoy thoroughly Margaret’s young enchantment in allthat was exquisite. She was a plain woman; but there was no envy in her, andshe took the keenest pleasure in Margaret’s comeliness. It was almost withmaternal pride that she watched each year add a new grace to that exceedingbeauty. But her common sense was sound, and she took care by good-naturedbanter to temper the praises which extravagant admirers at the drawing-classlavished upon the handsome girl both for her looks and for her talent. She wasproud to think that she would hand over to Arthur Burdon a woman whosecharacter she had helped to form, and whose loveliness she had cultivated witha delicate care.

Susie knew, partly from fragments of letters which Margaret read to her, partlyfrom her conversation, how passionately he adored his bride; and it pleased herto see that Margaret loved him in return with a grateful devotion. The story ofthis visit to Paris touched her imagination. Margaret was the daughter of acountry barrister, with whom Arthur had been in the habit of staying; and whenhe died, many years after his wife, Arthur found himself the girl’s guardianand executor. He sent her to school; saw that she had everything she couldpossibly want; and when, at seventeen, she told him of her wish to go to Parisand learn drawing, he at once consented. But though he never sought to assumeauthority over her, he suggested that she should not live alone, and it was onthis account that she went to Susie. The preparations for the journey werescarcely made when Margaret discovered by chance that her father had diedpenniless and she had lived ever since at Arthur’s entire expense. When shewent to see him with tears in her eyes, and told him what she knew, Arthur wasso embarrassed that it was quite absurd.

“But why did you do it?” she asked him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it fair to put you under any obligation to me, and I wanted youto feel quite free.”

She cried. She couldn’t help it.

“Don’t be so silly,” he laughed. “You owe me nothing at all. I’ve done verylittle for you, and what I have done has given me a great deal of pleasure.”

“I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” he cried. “It makes it so much harder for me to say whatI want to.”

She looked at him quickly and reddened. Her deep blue eyes were veiled withtears.

“Don’t you know that I’d do anything in the world for you?” she cried.

“I don’t want you to be grateful to me, because I was hoping—I might ask you tomarry me some day.”

Margaret laughed charmingly as she held out her hands.

“You must know that I’ve been wanting you to do that ever since I was ten.”

She was quite willing to give up her idea of Paris and be married withoutdelay, but Arthur pressed her not to change her plans. At first Margaret vowedit was impossible to go, for she knew now that she had no money, and she couldnot let her lover pay.

“But what does it matter?” he said. “It’ll give me such pleasure to go on withthe small allowance I’ve been making you. After all, I’m pretty well-to-do. Myfather left me a moderate income, and I’m making a good deal already byoperating.”

“Yes, but it’s different now. I didn’t know before. I thought I was spending myown money.”

“If I died tomorrow, every penny I have would be yours. We shall be married intwo years, and we’ve known one another much too long to change our minds. Ithink that our lives are quite irrevocably united.”

Margaret wished very much to spend this time in Paris, and Arthur had made uphis mind that in fairness to her they could not marry till she was nineteen.She consulted Susie Boyd, whose common sense prevented her from paying muchheed to romantic notions of false delicacy.

“My dear, you’d take his money without scruple if you’d signed your names in achurch vestry, and as there’s not the least doubt that you’ll marry, I don’tsee why you shouldn’t now. Besides, you’ve got nothing whatever to live on, andyou’re equally unfitted to be a governess or a typewriter. So it’s Hobson’schoice, and you’d better put your exquisite sentiments in your pocket.”

Miss Boyd, by one accident after another, had never seen Arthur, but she hadheard so much that she looked upon him already as an old friend. She admiredhim for his talent and strength of character as much as for his lovingtenderness to Margaret. She had seen portraits of him, but Margaret said he didnot photograph well. She had asked if he was good-looking.

“No, I don’t think he is,” answered Margaret, “but he’s very paintable.”

“That is an answer which has the advantage of sounding well and meaningnothing,” smiled Susie.

She believed privately that Margaret’s passion for the arts was a not unamiablepose which would disappear when she was happily married. To have half a dozenchildren was in her mind much more important than to paint pictures. Margaret’sgift was by no means despicable, but Susie was not convinced that callousmasters would have been so enthusiastic if Margaret had been as plain and oldas herself.

Miss Boyd was thirty. Her busy life had not caused the years to pass easily,and she looked older. But she was one of those plain women whose plainness doesnot matter. A gallant Frenchman had to her face called her a bellelaide, and, far from denying the justness of his observation, she had beenalmost flattered. Her mouth was large, and she had little round bright eyes.Her skin was colourless and much disfigured by freckles. Her nose was long andthin. But her face was so kindly, her vivacity so attractive, that no one afterten minutes thought of her ugliness. You noticed then that her hair, thoughsprinkled with white, was pretty, and that her figure was exceedingly neat. Shehad good hands, very white and admirably formed, which she waved continually inthe fervour of her gesticulation. Now that her means were adequate she tookgreat pains with her dress, and her clothes, though they cost much more thanshe could afford, were always beautiful. Her taste was so great, her tact sosure, that she was able to make the most of herself. She was determined that ifpeople called her ugly they should be forced in the same breath to confess thatshe was perfectly gowned. Susie’s talent for dress was remarkable, and it wasdue to her influence that Margaret was arrayed always in the latest mode. Thegirl’s taste inclined to be artistic, and her sense of colour was apt to runaway with her discretion. Except for the display of Susie’s firmness, she wouldscarcely have resisted her desire to wear nondescript garments of violent hue.But the older woman expressed herself with decision.

“My dear, you won’t draw any the worse for wearing a well-made corset, and tosurround your body with bands of grey flannel will certainly not increase yourtalent.”

“But the fashion is so hideous,” smiled Margaret.

“Fiddlesticks! The fashion is always beautiful. Last year it was beautiful towear a hat like a pork-pie tipped over your nose; and next year, for all Iknow, it will be beautiful to wear a bonnet like a sitz-bath at the back ofyour head. Art has nothing to do with a smart frock, and whether a high-heeledpointed shoe commends itself or not to the painters in the quarter, it’s theonly thing in which a woman’s foot looks really nice.”

Susie Boyd vowed that she would not live with Margaret at all unless she lether see to the buying of her things.

“And when you’re married, for heaven’s sake ask me to stay with you four timesa year, so that I can see after your clothes. You’ll never keep your husband’saffection if you trust to your own judgment.”

Miss Boyd’s reward had come the night before, when Margaret, coming home fromdinner with Arthur, had repeated an observation of his.

“How beautifully you’re dressed!” he had said. “I was rather afraid you’d bewearing art-serges.”

“Of course you didn’t tell him that I insisted on buying every stitch you’d goton,” cried Susie.

“Yes, I did,” answered Margaret simply. “I told him I had no taste at all, butthat you were responsible for everything.”

“That was the least you could do,” answered Miss Boyd.

But her heart went out to Margaret, for the trivial incident showed once morehow frank the girl was. She knew quite well that few of her friends, thoughmany took advantage of her matchless taste, would have made such an admissionto the lover who congratulated them on the success of their costume.

There was a knock at the door, and Arthur came in.

“This is the fairy prince,” said Margaret, bringing him to her friend.

“I’m glad to see you in order to thank you for all you’ve done for Margaret,”he smiled, taking the proffered hand.

Susie remarked that he looked upon her with friendliness, but with a certainvacancy, as though too much engrossed in his beloved really to notice anyoneelse; and she wondered how to make conversation with a man who was somanifestly absorbed. While Margaret busied herself with the preparations fortea, his eyes followed her movements with a doglike, touching devotion. Theytravelled from her smiling mouth to her deft hands. It seemed that he had neverseen anything so ravishing as the way in which she bent over the kettle.Margaret felt that he was looking at her, and turned round. Their eyes met, andthey stood for an appreciable time gazing at one another silently.

“Don’t be a pair of perfect idiots,” cried Susie gaily. “I’m dying for my tea.”

The lovers laughed and reddened. It struck Arthur that he should say somethingpolite.

“I hope you’ll show me your sketches afterwards, Miss Boyd. Margaret saysthey’re awfully good.”

“You really needn’t think it in the least necessary to show any interest inme,” she replied bluntly.

“She draws the most delightful caricatures,” said Margaret. “I’ll bring you ahorror of yourself, which she’ll do the moment you leave us.”

“Don’t be so spiteful, Margaret.”

Miss Boyd could not help thinking all the same that Arthur Burdon wouldcaricature very well. Margaret was right when she said that he was nothandsome, but his clean-shaven face was full of interest to so passionate anobserver of her kind. The lovers were silent, and Susie had the conversation toherself. She chattered without pause and had the satisfaction presently ofcapturing their attention. Arthur seemed to become aware of her presence, andlaughed heartily at her burlesque account of their fellow-students atColarossi’s. Meanwhile Susie examined him. He was very tall and very thin. Hisframe had a Yorkshireman’s solidity, and his bones were massive. He missedbeing ungainly only through the serenity of his self-reliance. He had highcheek-bones and a long, lean face. His nose and mouth were large, and his skinwas sallow. But there were two characteristics which fascinated her, animposing strength of purpose and a singular capacity for suffering. This was aman who knew his mind and was determined to achieve his desire; it refreshedher vastly after the extreme weakness of the young painters with whom of lateshe had mostly consorted. But those quick dark eyes were able to express ananguish that was hardly tolerable, and the mobile mouth had a nervous intensitywhich suggested that he might easily suffer the very agonies of woe.

Tea was ready, and Arthur stood up to receive his cup.

“Sit down,” said Margaret. “I’ll bring you everything you want, and I knowexactly how much sugar to put in. It pleases me to wait on you.”

With the grace that marked all her movements she walked cross the studio, thefilled cup in one hand and the plate of cakes in the other. To Susie it seemedthat he was overwhelmed with gratitude by Margaret’s condescension. His eyeswere soft with indescribable tenderness as he took the sweetmeats she gave him.Margaret smiled with happy pride. For all her good-nature, Susie could notprevent the pang that wrung her heart; for she too was capable of love. Therewas in her a wealth of passionate affection that none had sought to find. Nonehad ever whispered in her ears the charming nonsense that she read in books.She recognised that she had no beauty to help her, but once she had at leastthe charm of vivacious youth. That was gone now, and the freedom to go into theworld had come too late; yet her instinct told her that she was made to be adecent man’s wife and the mother of children. She stopped in the middle of herbright chatter, fearing to trust her voice, but Margaret and Arthur were toomuch occupied to notice that she had ceased to speak. They sat side by side andenjoyed the happiness of one another’s company.

“What a fool I am!” thought Susie.

She had learnt long ago that common sense, intelligence, good-nature, andstrength of character were unimportant in comparison with a pretty face. Sheshrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know if you young things realise that it’s growing late. If you wantus to dine at the Chien Noir, you must leave us now, so that we can makeourselves tidy.”

“Very well,” said Arthur, getting up. “I’ll go back to my hotel and have awash. We’ll meet at half-past seven.”

When Margaret had closed the door on him, she turned to her friend.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked, smiling.

“You can’t expect me to form a definite opinion of a man whom I’ve seen for soshort a time.”

“Nonsense!” said Margaret.

Susie hesitated for a moment.

“I think he has an extraordinarily good face,” she said at last gravely. “I’venever seen a man whose honesty of purpose was so transparent.”

Susie Boyd was so lazy that she could never be induced to occupy herself withhousehold matters and, while Margaret put the tea things away, she began todraw the caricature which every new face suggested to her. She made a littlesketch of Arthur, abnormally lanky, with a colossal nose, with the wings andthe bow and arrow of the God of Love, but it was not half done before shethought it silly. She tore it up with impatience. When Margaret came back, sheturned round and looked at her steadily.

“Well?” said the girl, smiling under the scrutiny.

She stood in the middle of the lofty studio. Half-finished canvases leaned withtheir faces against the wall; pieces of stuff were hung here and there, andphotographs of well-known pictures. She had fallen unconsciously into awonderful pose, and her beauty gave her, notwithstanding her youth, a raredignity. Susie smiled mockingly.

“You look like a Greek goddess in a Paris frock,” she said.

“What have you to say to me?” asked Margaret, divining from the searching lookthat something was in her friend’s mind.

Susie stood up and went to her.

“You know, before I’d seen him I hoped with all my heart that he’d make youhappy. Notwithstanding all you’d told me of him, I was afraid. I knew he wasmuch older than you. He was the first man you’d ever known. I could scarcelybear to entrust you to him in case you were miserable.”

“I don’t think you need have any fear.”

“But now I hope with all my heart that you’ll make him happy. It’s not you I’mfrightened for now, but him.”

Margaret did not answer; she could not understand what Susie meant.

“I’ve never seen anyone with such a capacity for wretchedness as that man has.I don’t think you can conceive how desperately he might suffer. Be verycareful, Margaret, and be very good to him, for you have the power to make himmore unhappy than any human being should be.”

“Oh, but I want him to be happy,” cried Margaret vehemently. “You know that Iowe everything to him. I’d do all I could to make him happy, even if I had tosacrifice myself. But I can’t sacrifice myself, because I love him so much thatall I do is pure delight.”

Her eyes filled with tears and her voice broke. Susie, with a little laugh thatwas half hysterical, kissed her.

“My dear, for heaven’s sake don’t cry! You know I can’t bear people who weep,and if he sees your eyes red, he’ll never forgive me.”

Chapter III

The Chien Noir, where Susie Boyd and Margaret generally dined, was themost charming restaurant in the quarter. Downstairs was a public room, whereall and sundry devoured their food, for the little place had a reputation forgood cooking combined with cheapness; and the patron, a retiredhorse-dealer who had taken to victualling in order to build up a business forhis son, was a cheery soul whose loud-voiced friendliness attracted custom. Buton the first floor was a narrow room, with three tables arranged in ahorse-shoe, which was reserved for a small party of English or Americanpainters and a few Frenchmen with their wives. At least, they were so nearlywives, and their manner had such a matrimonial respectability, that Susie, whenfirst she and Margaret were introduced into this society, judged it would bevulgar to turn up her nose. She held that it was prudish to insist upon theconventions of Notting Hill in the Boulevard de Montparnasse. The young womenwho had thrown in their lives with these painters were modest in demeanour andquiet in dress. They were model housewives, who had preserved theirself-respect notwithstanding a difficult position, and did not look upon theirrelation with less seriousness because they had not muttered a few words beforeMonsieur le Maire.

The room was full when Arthur Burdon entered, but Margaret had kept him anempty seat between herself and Miss Boyd. Everyone was speaking at once, inFrench, at the top of his voice, and a furious argument was proceeding on themerit of the later Impressionists. Arthur sat down, and was hurriedlyintroduced to a lanky youth, who sat on the other side of Margaret. He was verytall, very thin, very fair. He wore a very high collar and very long hair, andheld himself like an exhausted lily.

“He always reminds me of an Aubrey Beardsley that’s been dreadfully smudged,”said Susie in an undertone. “He’s a nice, kind creature, but his name isJagson. He has virtue and industry. I haven’t seen any of his work, but he hasabsolutely no talent.”

“How do you know, if you’ve not seen his pictures?” asked Arthur.

“Oh, it’s one of our conventions here that nobody has talent,” laughed Susie.“We suffer one another personally, but we have no illusions about the value ofour neighbour’s work.”

“Tell me who everyone is.”

“Well, look at that little bald man in the corner. That is Warren.”

Arthur looked at the man she pointed out. He was a small person, with a pate asshining as a billiard-ball, and a pointed beard. He had protruding, brillianteyes.

“Hasn’t he had too much to drink?” asked Arthur frigidly.

“Much,” answered Susie promptly, “but he’s always in that condition, and thefurther he gets from sobriety the more charming he is. He’s the only man inthis room of whom you’ll never hear a word of evil. The strange thing is thathe’s very nearly a great painter. He has the most fascinating sense of colourin the world, and the more intoxicated he is, the more delicate and beautifulis his painting. Sometimes, after more than the usual number ofapéritifs, he will sit down in a café to do a sketch, with his hand soshaky that he can hardly hold a brush; he has to wait for a favourable moment,and then he makes a jab at the panel. And the immoral thing is that each ofthese little jabs is lovely. He’s the most delightful interpreter of Paris Iknow, and when you’ve seen his sketches—he’s done hundreds, of unimaginablegrace and feeling and distinction—you can never see Paris in the same wayagain.”

The little maid who looked busily after the varied wants of the customers stoodin front of them to receive Arthur’s order. She was a hard-visaged creature ofmature age, but she looked neat in her black dress and white cap; and she had amotherly way of attending to these people, with a capacious smile of her largemouth which was full of charm.

“I don’t mind what I eat,” said Arthur. “Let Margaret order my dinner for me.”

“It would have been just as good if I had ordered it,” laughed Susie.

They began a lively discussion with Marie as to the merits of the variousdishes, and it was only interrupted by Warren’s hilarious expostulations.

“Marie, I precipitate myself at your feet, and beg you to bring me a pouleau riz.”

“Oh, but give me one moment, monsieur,” said the maid.

“Do not pay any attention to that gentleman. His morals are detestable, and heonly seeks to lead you from the narrow path of virtue.”

Arthur protested that on the contrary the passion of hunger occupied at thatmoment his heart to the exclusion of all others.

“Marie, you no longer love me,” cried Warren. “There was a time when you didnot look so coldly upon me when I ordered a bottle of white wine.”

The rest of the party took up his complaint, and all besought her not to showtoo hard a heart to the bald and rubicund painter.

“Mais si, je vous aime, Monsieur Warren,” she cried, laughing, “Jevous aime tous, tous.”

She ran downstairs, amid the shouts of men and women, to give her orders.

“The other day the Chien Noir was the scene of a tragedy,” said Susie. “Mariebroke off relations with her lover, who is a waiter at Lavenue’s, and wouldhave no reconciliation. He waited till he had a free evening, and then came tothe room downstairs and ordered dinner. Of course, she was obliged to wait onhim, and as she brought him each dish he expostulated with her, and theymingled their tears.”

“She wept in floods,” interrupted a youth with neatly brushed hair and fatnose. “She wept all over our food, and we ate it salt with tears. We besoughther not to yield; except for our encouragement she would have gone back to him;and he beats her.”

Marie appeared again, with no signs now that so short a while ago romance hadplayed a game with her, and brought the dishes that had been ordered. Susieseized once more upon Arthur Burdon’s attention.

“Now please look at the man who is sitting next to Mr Warren.”

Arthur saw a tall, dark fellow with strongly-marked features, untidy hair, anda ragged black moustache.

“That is Mr O’Brien, who is an example of the fact that strength of will and anearnest purpose cannot make a painter. He’s a failure, and he knows it, and thebitterness has warped his soul. If you listen to him, you’ll hear every painterof eminence come under his lash. He can forgive nobody who’s successful, and henever acknowledges merit in anyone till he’s safely dead and buried.”

“He must be a cheerful companion,” answered Arthur. “And who is the stout oldlady by his side, with the flaunting hat?”

“That is the mother of Madame Rouge, the little palefaced woman sitting next toher. She is the mistress of Rouge, who does all the illustrations for LaSemaine. At first it rather tickled me that the old lady should call himmon gendre, my son-in-law, and take the irregular union of her daughterwith such a noble unconcern for propriety; but now it seems quite natural.”

The mother of Madame Rouge had the remains of beauty, and she sat bolt upright,picking the leg of a chicken with a dignified gesture. Arthur looked awayquickly, for, catching his eye, she gave him an amorous glance. Rouge had morethe appearance of a prosperous tradesman than of an artist; but he carried onwith O’Brien, whose French was perfect, an argument on the merits of Cézanne.To one he was a great master and to the other an impudent charlatan. Each hotlyrepeated his opinion, as though the mere fact of saying the same thing severaltimes made it more convincing.

“Next to me is Madame Meyer,” proceeded Susie. “She was a governess in Poland,but she was much too pretty to remain one, and now she lives with the landscapepainter who is by her side.”

Arthur’s eyes followed her words and rested on a cleanshaven man with a largequantity of grey, curling hair. He had a handsome face of a deliberatelyaesthetic type and was very elegantly dressed. His manner and his conversationhad the flamboyance of the romantic thirties. He talked in flowing periods withan air of finality, and what he said was no less just than obvious. The gaylittle lady who shared his fortunes listened to his wisdom with an admirationthat plainly flattered him.

Miss Boyd had described everyone to Arthur except young Raggles, who paintedstill life with a certain amount of skill, and Clayson, the American sculptor.Raggles stood for rank and fashion at the Chien Noir. He was very smartlydressed in a horsey way, and he walked with bowlegs, as though he spent most ofhis time in the saddle. He alone used scented pomade upon his neat smooth hair.His chief distinction was a greatcoat he wore, with a scarlet lining; andWarren, whose memory for names was defective, could only recall him by thatpeculiarity. But it was understood that he knew duchesses in fashionablestreets, and occasionally dined with them in solemn splendour.

Clayson had a vinous nose and a tedious habit of saying brilliant things. Withhis twinkling eyes, red cheeks, and fair, pointed beard, he looked exactly likea Franz Hals; but he was dressed like the caricature of a Frenchman in a comicpaper. He spoke English with a Parisian accent.

Miss Boyd was beginning to tear him gaily limb from limb, when the door wasflung open, and a large person entered. He threw off his cloak with a dramaticgesture.

“Marie, disembarrass me of this coat of frieze. Hang my sombrero upon aconvenient peg.”

He spoke execrable French, but there was a grandiloquence about his vocabularywhich set everyone laughing.

“Here is somebody I don’t know,” said Susie.

“But I do, at least, by sight,” answered Burdon. He leaned over to Dr Porhoëtwho was sitting opposite, quietly eating his dinner and enjoying the nonsensewhich everyone talked. “Is not that your magician?”

“Oliver Haddo,” said Dr Porhoët, with a little nod of amusement.

The new arrival stood at the end of the room with all eyes upon him. He threwhimself into an attitude of command and remained for a moment perfectly still.

“You look as if you were posing, Haddo,” said Warren huskily.

“He couldn’t help doing that if he tried,” laughed Clayson.

Oliver Haddo slowly turned his glance to the painter.

“I grieve to see, O most excellent Warren, that the ripe juice of theaperitif has glazed your sparkling eye.”

“Do you mean to say I’m drunk, sir?”

“In one gross, but expressive, word, drunk.”

The painter grotesquely flung himself back in his chair as though he had beenstruck a blow, and Haddo looked steadily at Clayson.

“How often have I explained to you, O Clayson, that your deplorable lack ofeducation precludes you from the brilliancy to which you aspire?”

For an instant Oliver Haddo resumed his effective pose; and Susie, smiling,looked at him. He was a man of great size, two or three inches more than sixfeet high; but the most noticeable thing about him was a vast obesity. Hispaunch was of imposing dimensions. His face was large and fleshy. He had thrownhimself into the arrogant attitude of Velasquez’s portrait of Del Borro in theMuseum of Berlin; and his countenance bore of set purpose the same contemptuoussmile. He advanced and shook hands with Dr Porhoët.

“Hail, brother wizard! I greet in you, if not a master, at least a student notunworthy my esteem.”

Susie was convulsed with laughter at his pompousness, and he turned to her withthe utmost gravity.

“Madam, your laughter is more soft in mine ears than the singing of Bulbul in aPersian garden.”

Dr Porhoët interposed with introductions. The magician bowed solemnly as he wasin turn made known to Susie Boyd, and Margaret, and Arthur Burdon. He held outhis hand to the grim Irish painter.

“Well, my O’Brien, have you been mixing as usual the waters of bitterness withthe thin claret of Bordeaux?”

“Why don’t you sit down and eat your dinner?” returned the other, gruffly.

“Ah, my dear fellow, I wish I could drive the fact into this head of yours thatrudeness is not synonymous with wit. I shall not have lived in vain if I teachyou in time to realize that the rapier of irony is more effective an instrumentthan the bludgeon of insolence.”

O’Brien reddened with anger, but could not at once find a retort, and Haddopassed on to that faded, harmless youth who sat next to Margaret.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is this the Jagson whose name in its inanity is soappropriate to the bearer? I am eager to know if you still devote upon theungrateful arts talents which were more profitably employed upon haberdashery.”

The unlucky creature, thus brutally attacked, blushed feebly without answering,and Haddo went on to the Frenchman, Meyer as more worthy of his mocking.

“I’m afraid my entrance interrupted you in a discourse. Was it the celebratedharangue on the greatness of Michelangelo, or was it the searching analysis ofthe art of Wagner?”

“We were just going,” said Meyer, getting up with a frown.

“I am desolated to lose the pearls of wisdom that habitually fall from yourcultivated lips,” returned Haddo, as he politely withdrew Madame Meyer’s chair.

He sat down with a smile.

“I saw the place was crowded, and with Napoleonic instinct decided that I couldonly make room by insulting somebody. It is cause for congratulation that mygibes, which Raggles, a foolish youth, mistakes for wit, have caused thedisappearance of a person who lives in open sin; thereby vacating two seats,and allowing me to eat a humble meal with ample room for my elbows.”

Marie brought him the bill of fare, and he looked at it gravely.

“I will have a vanilla ice, O well-beloved, and a wing of a tender chicken, afried sole, and some excellent pea-soup.”

“Bien, un potage, une sole, one chicken, and an ice.”

“But why should you serve them in that order rather than in the order I gaveyou?”

Marie and the two Frenchwomen who were still in the room broke intoexclamations at this extravagance, but Oliver Haddo waved his fat hand.

“I shall start with the ice, O Marie, to cool the passion with which your eyesinflame me, and then without hesitation I will devour the wing of a chicken inorder to sustain myself against your smile. I shall then proceed to a freshsole, and with the pea-soup I will finish a not unsustaining meal.”

Having succeeded in capturing the attention of everyone in the room, OliverHaddo proceeded to eat these dishes in the order he had named. Margaret andBurdon watched him with scornful eyes, but Susie, who was not revolted by thevanity which sought to attract notice, looked at him curiously. He was clearlynot old, though his corpulence added to his apparent age. His features weregood, his ears small, and his nose delicately shaped. He had big teeth, butthey were white and even. His mouth was large, with heavy moist lips. He hadthe neck of a bullock. His dark, curling hair had retreated from the foreheadand temples in such a way as to give his clean-shaven face a disconcertingnudity. The baldness of his crown was vaguely like a tonsure. He had the lookof a very wicked, sensual priest. Margaret, stealing a glance at him as he ate,on a sudden violently shuddered; he affected her with an uncontrollabledislike. He lifted his eyes slowly, and she looked away, blushing as though shehad been taken in some indiscretion. These eyes were the most curious thingabout him. They were not large, but an exceedingly pale blue, and they lookedat you in a way that was singularly embarrassing. At first Susie could notdiscover in what precisely their peculiarity lay, but in a moment she foundout: the eyes of most persons converge when they look at you, but OliverHaddo’s, naturally or by a habit he had acquired for effect, remained parallel.It gave the impression that he looked straight through you and saw the wallbeyond. It was uncanny. But another strange thing about him was theimpossibility of telling whether he was serious. There was a mockery in thatqueer glance, a sardonic smile upon the mouth, which made you hesitate how totake his outrageous utterances. It was irritating to be uncertain whether,while you were laughing at him, he was not really enjoying an elaborate joke atyour expense.

His presence cast an unusual chill upon the party. The French members got upand left. Warren reeled out with O’Brien, whose uncouth sarcasms were no matchfor Haddo’s bitter gibes. Raggles put on his coat with the scarlet lining andwent out with the tall Jagson, who smarted still under Haddo’s insolence. TheAmerican sculptor paid his bill silently. When he was at the door, Haddostopped him.

“You have modelled lions at the Jardin des Plantes, my dear Clayson. Have youever hunted them on their native plains?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Clayson did not know why Haddo asked the question, but he bristled withincipient wrath.

“Then you have not seen the jackal, gnawing at a dead antelope, scamper away interror when the King of Beasts stalked down to make his meal.”

Clayson slammed the door behind him. Haddo was left with Margaret, and ArthurBurdon, Dr Porhoët, and Susie. He smiled quietly.

“By the way, are you a lion-hunter?” asked Susie flippantly.

He turned on her his straight uncanny glance.

“I have no equal with big game. I have shot more lions than any man alive. Ithink Jules Gérard, whom the French of the nineteenth century called LeTueur de Lions, may have been fit to compare with me, but I can call tomind no other.”

This statement, made with the greatest calm, caused a moment of silence.Margaret stared at him with amazement.

“You suffer from no false modesty,” said Arthur Burdon.

“False modesty is a sign of ill-breeding, from which my birth amply protectsme.”

Dr Porhoët looked up with a smile of irony.

“I wish Mr Haddo would take this opportunity to disclose to us the mystery ofhis birth and family. I have a suspicion that, like the immortal Cagliostro, hewas born of unknown but noble parents, and educated secretly in Easternpalaces.”

“In my origin I am more to be compared with Denis Zachaire or with RaymondLully. My ancestor, George Haddo, came to Scotland in the suite of Anne ofDenmark, and when James I, her consort, ascended the English throne, he wasgranted the estates in Staffordshire which I still possess. My family hasformed alliances with the most noble blood of England, and the Merestons, theParnabys, the Hollingtons, have been proud to give their daughters to myhouse.”

“Those are facts which can be verified in works of reference,” said Arthurdryly.

“They can,” said Oliver.

“And the Eastern palaces in which your youth was spent, and the black slaveswho waited on you, and the bearded sheikhs who imparted to you secretknowledge?” cried Dr Porhoët.

“I was educated at Eton, and I left Oxford in 1896.”

“Would you mind telling me at what college you were?” said Arthur.

“I was at the House.”

“Then you must have been there with Frank Hurrell.”

“Now assistant physician at St Luke’s Hospital. He was one of my most intimatefriends.”

“I’ll write and ask him about you.”

“I’m dying to know what you did with all the lions you slaughtered,” said SusieBoyd.

The man’s effrontery did not exasperate her as it obviously exasperatedMargaret and Arthur. He amused her, and she was anxious to make him talk.

“They decorate the floors of Skene, which is the name of my place inStaffordshire.” He paused for a moment to light a cigar. “I am the only manalive who has killed three lions with three successive shots.”

“I should have thought you could have demolished them by the effects of youroratory,” said Arthur.

Oliver leaned back and placed his two large hands on the table.

“Burkhardt, a German with whom I was shooting, was down with fever and couldnot stir from his bed. I was awakened one night by the uneasiness of my oxen,and I heard the roaring of lions close at hand. I took my carbine and came outof my tent. There was only the meagre light of the moon. I walked alone, for Iknew natives could be of no use to me. Presently I came upon the carcass of anantelope, half-consumed, and I made up my mind to wait for the return of thelions. I hid myself among the boulders twenty paces from the prey. All about mewas the immensity of Africa and the silence. I waited, motionless, hour afterhour, till the dawn was nearly at hand. At last three lions appeared over arock. I had noticed, the day before, spoor of a lion and two females.”

“May I ask how you could distinguish the sex?” asked Arthur, incredulously.

“The prints of a lion’s fore feet are disproportionately larger than those ofthe hind feet. The fore feet and hind feet of the lioness are nearly the samesize.”

“Pray go on,” said Susie.

“They came into full view, and in the dim light, as they stood chest on, theyappeared as huge as the strange beasts of the Arabian tales. I aimed at thelioness which stood nearest to me and fired. Without a sound, like a bullockfelled at one blow, she dropped. The lion gave vent to a sonorous roar. HastilyI slipped another cartridge in my rifle. Then I became conscious that he hadseen me. He lowered his head, and his crest was erect. His lifted tail wastwitching, his lips were drawn back from the red gums, and I saw his greatwhite fangs. Living fire flashed from his eyes, and he growled incessantly.Then he advanced a few steps, his head held low; and his eyes were fixed onmine with a look of rage. Suddenly he jerked up his tail, and when a lion doesthis he charges. I got a quick sight on his chest and fired. He reared up onhis hind legs, roaring loudly and clawing at the air, and fell back dead. Onelioness remained, and through the smoke I saw her spring to her feet and rushtowards me. Escape was impossible, for behind me were high boulders that Icould not climb. She came on with hoarse, coughing grunts, and with desperatecourage I fired my remaining barrel. I missed her clean. I took one stepbackwards in the hope of getting a cartridge into my rifle, and fell, scarcelytwo lengths in front of the furious beast. She missed me. I owed my safety tothat fall. And then suddenly I found that she had collapsed. I had hit herafter all. My bullet went clean through her heart, but the spring had carriedher forwards. When I scrambled to my feet I found that she was dying. I walkedback to my camp and ate a capital breakfast.”

Oliver Haddo’s story was received with astonished silence. No one could assertthat it was untrue, but he told it with a grandiloquence that carried noconviction. Arthur would have wagered a considerable sum that there was no wordof truth in it. He had never met a person of this kind before, and could notunderstand what pleasure there might be in the elaborate invention ofimprobable adventures.

“You are evidently very brave,” he said.

“To follow a wounded lion into thick cover is probably the most dangerousproceeding in the world,” said Haddo calmly. “It calls for the utmost coolnessand for iron nerve.”

The answer had an odd effect on Arthur. He gave Haddo a rapid glance, and wasseized suddenly with uncontrollable laughter. He leaned back in his chair androared. His hilarity affected the others, and they broke into peal upon peal oflaughter. Oliver watched them gravely. He seemed neither disconcerted norsurprised. When Arthur recovered himself, he found Haddo’s singular eyes fixedon him.

“Your laughter reminds me of the crackling of thorns under a pot,” he said.

Haddo looked round at the others. Though his gaze preserved its fixity, hislips broke into a queer, sardonic smile.

“It must be plain even to the feeblest intelligence that a man can only commandthe elementary spirits if he is without fear. A capricious mind can never rulethe sylphs, nor a fickle disposition the undines.”

Arthur stared at him with amazement. He did not know what on earth the man wastalking about. Haddo paid no heed.

“But if the adept is active, pliant, and strong, the whole world will be at hiscommand. He will pass through the storm and no rain shall fall upon his head.The wind will not displace a single fold of his garment. He will go throughfire and not be burned.”

Dr Porhoët ventured upon an explanation of these cryptic utterances.

“These ladies are unacquainted with the mysterious beings of whom you speak,cher ami. They should know that during the Middle Ages imaginationpeopled the four elements with intelligences, normally unseen, some of whichwere friendly to man and others hostile. They were thought to be powerful andconscious of their power, though at the same time they were profoundly awarethat they possessed no soul. Their life depended upon the continuance of somenatural object, and hence for them there could be no immortality. They mustreturn eventually to the abyss of unending night, and the darkness of deathafflicted them always. But it was thought that in the same manner as man by hisunion with God had won a spark of divinity, so might the sylphs, gnomes,undines, and salamanders by an alliance with man partake of his immortality.And many of their women, whose beauty was more than human, gained a human soulby loving one of the race of men. But the reverse occurred also, and often alove-sick youth lost his immortality because he left the haunts of his kind todwell with the fair, soulless denizens of the running streams or of the forestairs.”

“I didn’t know that you spoke figuratively,” said Arthur to Oliver Haddo.

The other shrugged his shoulders.

“What else is the world than a figure? Life itself is but a symbol. You must bea wise man if you can tell us what is reality.”

“When you begin to talk of magic and mysticism I confess that I am out of mydepth.”

“Yet magic is no more than the art of employing consciously invisible means toproduce visible effects. Will, love, and imagination are magic powers thateveryone possesses; and whoever knows how to develop them to their fullestextent is a magician. Magic has but one dogma, namely, that the seen is themeasure of the unseen.”

“Will you tell us what the powers are that the adept possesses?”

“They are enumerated in a Hebrew manuscript of the sixteenth century, which isin my possession. The privileges of him who holds in his right hand the Keys ofSolomon and in his left the Branch of the Blossoming Almond are twenty-one. Hebeholds God face to face without dying, and converses intimately with the SevenGenii who command the celestial army. He is superior to every affliction and toevery fear. He reigns with all heaven and is served by all hell. He holds thesecret of the resurrection of the dead, and the key of immortality.”

“If you possess even these you have evidently the most varied attainments,”said Arthur ironically.

“Everyone can make game of the unknown,” retorted Haddo, with a shrug of hismassive shoulders.

Arthur did not answer. He looked at Haddo curiously. He asked himself whetherhe believed seriously these preposterous things, or whether he was amusinghimself in an elephantine way at their expense. His mariner was earnest, butthere was an odd expression about the mouth, a hard twinkle of the eyes, whichseemed to belie it. Susie was vastly entertained. It diverted her enormously tohear occult matters discussed with apparent gravity in this prosaic tavern. DrPorhoët broke the silence.

“Arago, after whom has been named a neighbouring boulevard, declared that doubtwas a proof of modesty, which has rarely interfered with the progress ofscience. But one cannot say the same of incredulity, and he that uses the wordimpossible outside of pure mathematics is lacking in prudence. It should beremembered that Lactantius proclaimed belief in the existence of antipodesinane, and Saint Augustine of Hippo added that in any case there could be noquestion of inhabited lands.”

“That sounds as if you were not quite sceptical, dear doctor,” said Miss Boyd.

“In my youth I believed nothing, for science had taught me to distrust even theevidence of my five senses,” he replied, with a shrug of the shoulders. “But Ihave seen many things in the East which are inexplicable by the known processesof science. Mr Haddo has given you one definition of magic, and I will give youanother. It may be described merely as the intelligent utilization of forceswhich are unknown, contemned, or misunderstood of the vulgar. The young man whosettles in the East sneers at the ideas of magic which surround him, but I knownot what there is in the atmosphere that saps his unbelief. When he hassojourned for some years among Orientals, he comes insensibly to share theopinion of many sensible men that perhaps there is something in it after all.”

Arthur Burdon made a gesture of impatience.

“I cannot imagine that, however much I lived in Eastern countries, I couldbelieve anything that had the whole weight of science against it. If there werea word of truth in anything Haddo says, we should be unable to form anyreasonable theory of the universe.”

“For a scientific man you argue with singular fatuity,” said Haddo icily, andhis manner had an offensiveness which was intensely irritating. “You should beaware that science, dealing only with the general, leaves out of considerationthe individual cases that contradict the enormous majority. Occasionally theheart is on the right side of the body, but you would not on that account everput your stethoscope in any other than the usual spot. It is possible thatunder certain conditions the law of gravity does not apply, yet you willconduct your life under the conviction that it does so invariably. Now, thereare some of us who choose to deal only with these exceptions to the common run.The dull man who plays at Monte Carlo puts his money on the colours, andgenerally black or red turns up; but now and then zero appears, and he loses.But we, who have backed zero all the time, win many times our stake. Here andthere you will find men whose imagination raises them above the humdrum ofmankind. They are willing to lose their all if only they have chance of a greatprize. Is it nothing not only to know the future, as did the prophets of old,but by making it to force the very gates of the unknown?”

Suddenly the bantering gravity with which he spoke fell away from him. Asingular light came into his eyes, and his voice was hoarse. Now at last theysaw that he was serious.

“What should you know of that lust for great secrets which consumes me to thebottom of my soul!”

“Anyhow, I’m perfectly delighted to meet a magician,” cried Susie gaily.

“Ah, call me not that,” he said, with a flourish of his fat hands, regainingimmediately his portentous flippancy. “I would be known rather as the Brotherof the Shadow.”

“I should have thought you could be only a very distant relation of anything sounsubstantial,” said Arthur, with a laugh.

Oliver’s face turned red with furious anger. His strange blue eyes grew coldwith hatred, and he thrust out his scarlet lips till he had the ruthlessexpression of a Nero. The gibe at his obesity had caught him on the raw. Susiefeared that he would make so insulting a reply that a quarrel must ensure.

“Well, really, if we want to go to the fair we must start,” she said quickly.“And Marie is dying to be rid of us.”

They got up, and clattered down the stairs into the street.

Chapter IV

They came down to the busy, narrow street which led into the Boulevard duMontparnasse. Electric trams passed through it with harsh ringing of bells, andpeople surged along the pavements.

The fair to which they were going was held at the Lion de Belfort, not morethan a mile away, and Arthur hailed a cab. Susie told the driver where theywanted to be set down. She noticed that Haddo, who was waiting for them tostart, put his hand on the horse’s neck. On a sudden, for no apparent reason,it began to tremble. The trembling passed through the body and down its limbstill it shook from head to foot as though it had the staggers. The coachmanjumped off his box and held the wretched creature’s head. Margaret and Susiegot out. It was a horribly painful sight. The horse seemed not to suffer fromactual pain, but from an extraordinary fear. Though she knew not why, an ideacame to Susie.

“Take your hand away, Mr Haddo,” she said sharply.

He smiled, and did as she bade him. At the same moment the trembling began todecrease, and in a moment the poor old cab-horse was in its usual state. Itseemed a little frightened still, but otherwise recovered.

“I wonder what the deuce was the matter with it,” said Arthur.

Oliver Haddo looked at him with the blue eyes that seemed to see right throughpeople, and then, lifting his hat, walked away. Susie turned suddenly to DrPorhoët.

“Do you think he could have made the horse do that? It came immediately he puthis hand on its neck, and it stopped as soon as he took it away.”

“Nonsense!” said Arthur.

“It occurred to me that he was playing some trick,” said Dr Porhoët gravely.“An odd thing happened once when he came to see me. I have two Persian cats,which are the most properly conducted of all their tribe. They spend their daysin front of my fire, meditating on the problems of metaphysics. But as soon ashe came in they started up, and their fur stood right on end. Then they beganto run madly round and round the room, as though the victims of uncontrollableterror. I opened the door, and they bolted out. I have never been able tounderstand exactly what took place.”

Margaret shuddered.

“I’ve never met a man who filled me with such loathing,” she said. “I don’tknow what there is about him that frightens me. Even now I feel his eyes fixedstrangely upon me. I hope I shall never see him again.”

Arthur gave a little laugh and pressed her hand. She would not let his go, andhe felt that she was trembling. Personally, he had no doubt about the matter.He would have no trifling with credibility. Either Haddo believed things thatnone but a lunatic could, or else he was a charlatan who sought to attractattention by his extravagances. In any case he was contemptible. It wascertain, at all events, that neither he nor anyone else could work miracles.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Arthur. “If he really knows Frank HurrellI’ll find out all about him. I’ll drop a note to Hurrell tonight and ask him totell me anything he can.”

“I wish you would,” answered Susie, “because he interests me enormously.There’s no place like Paris for meeting queer folk. Sooner or later you runacross persons who believe in everything. There’s no form of religion, there’sno eccentricity or enormity, that hasn’t its votaries. Just think what aprivilege it is to come upon a man in the twentieth century who honestlybelieves in the occult.”

“Since I have been occupied with these matters, I have come across strangepeople,” said Dr Porhoët quietly, “but I agree with Miss Boyd that Oliver Haddois the most extraordinary. For one thing, it is impossible to know how much hereally believes what he says. Is he an impostor or a madman? Does he deceivehimself, or is he laughing up his sleeve at the folly of those who take himseriously? I cannot tell. All I know is that he has travelled widely and isacquainted with many tongues. He has a minute knowledge of alchemicalliterature, and there is no book I have heard of, dealing with the black arts,which he does not seem to know.” Dr Porhoët shook his head slowly. “I shouldnot care to dogmatize about this man. I know I shall outrage the feelings of myfriend Arthur, but I am bound to confess it would not surprise me to learn thathe possessed powers by which he was able to do things seemingly miraculous.”

Arthur was prevented from answering by their arrival at the Lion de Belfort.

The fair was in full swing. The noise was deafening. Steam bands thundered outthe popular tunes of the moment, and to their din merry-go-rounds were turning.At the door of booths men vociferously importuned the passers-by to enter. Fromthe shooting saloons came a continual spatter of toy rifles. Linking up thesesounds, were the voices of the serried crowd that surged along the centralavenue, and the shuffle of their myriad feet. The night was lurid withacetylene torches, which flamed with a dull unceasing roar. It was a curioussight, half gay, half sordid. The throng seemed bent with a kind of savageryupon amusement, as though, resentful of the weary round of daily labour, itsought by a desperate effort to be merry.

The English party with Dr Porhoët, mildly ironic, had scarcely entered beforethey were joined by Oliver Haddo. He was indifferent to the plain fact thatthey did not want his company. He attracted attention, for his appearance andhis manner were remarkable, and Susie noticed that he was pleased to see peoplepoint him out to one another. He wore a Spanish cloak, the capa, and heflung the red and green velvet of its lining gaudily over his shoulder. He hada large soft hat. His height was great, though less noticeable on account ofhis obesity, and he towered over the puny multitude.

They looked idly at the various shows, resisting the melodramas, the circuses,the exhibitions of eccentricity, which loudly clamoured for their custom.Presently they came to a man who was cutting silhouettes in black paper, andHaddo insisted on posing for him. A little crowd collected and did not sparetheir jokes at his singular appearance. He threw himself into his favouriteattitude of proud command. Margaret wished to take the opportunity of leavinghim, but Miss Boyd insisted on staying.

“He’s the most ridiculous creature I’ve ever seen in my life,” she whispered.“I wouldn’t let him out of my sight for worlds.”

When the silhouette was done, he presented it with a low bow to Margaret.

“I implore your acceptance of the only portrait now in existence of OliverHaddo,” he said.

“Thank you,” she answered frigidly.

She was unwilling to take it, but had not the presence of mind to put him offby a jest, and would not be frankly rude. As though certain she set much storeon it, he placed it carefully in an envelope. They walked on and suddenly cameto a canvas booth on which was an Eastern name. Roughly painted on sail-clothwas a picture of an Arab charming snakes, and above were certain words inArabic. At the entrance, a native sat cross-legged, listlessly beating a drum.When he saw them stop, he addressed them in bad French.

“Does not this remind you of the turbid Nile, Dr Porhoët?” said Haddo. “Let usgo in and see what the fellow has to show.”

Dr Porhoët stepped forward and addressed the charmer, who brightened on hearingthe language of his own country.

“He is an Egyptian from Assiut,” said the doctor.

“I will buy tickets for you all,” said Haddo.

He held up the flap that gave access to the booth, and Susie went in. Margaretand Arthur Burdon, somewhat against their will, were obliged to follow. Thenative closed the opening behind them. They found themselves in a dirty littletent, ill-lit by two smoking lamps; a dozen stools were placed in a circle onthe bare ground. In one corner sat a fellah woman, motionless, in ample robesof dingy black. Her face was hidden by a long veil, which was held in place bya queer ornament of brass in the middle of the forehead, between the eyes.These alone were visible, large and sombre, and the lashes were darkened withkohl: her fingers were brightly stained with henna. She moved slightly as thevisitors entered, and the man gave her his drum. She began to rub it with herhands, curiously, and made a droning sound, which was odd and mysterious. Therewas a peculiar odour in the place, so that Dr Porhoët was for a momenttransported to the evil-smelling streets of Cairo. It was an acrid mixture ofincense, of attar of roses, with every imaginable putrescence. It choked thetwo women, and Susie asked for a cigarette. The native grinned when he heardthe English tongue. He showed a row of sparkling and beautiful teeth.

“My name Mohammed,” he said. “Me show serpents to Sirdar Lord Kitchener. Waitand see. Serpents very poisonous.”

He was dressed in a long blue gabardine, more suited to the sunny banks of theNile than to a fair in Paris, and its colour could hardly be seen for dirt. Onhis head was the national tarboosh.

A rug lay at one side of the tent, and from under it he took a goatskin sack.He placed it on the ground in the middle of the circle formed by the seats andcrouched down on his haunches. Margaret shuddered, for the uneven surface ofthe sack moved strangely. He opened the mouth of it. The woman in the cornerlistlessly droned away on the drum, and occasionally uttered a barbaric cry.With a leer and a flash of his bright teeth, the Arab thrust his hand into thesack and rummaged as a man would rummage in a sack of corn. He drew out a long,writhing snake. He placed it on the ground and for a moment waited, then hepassed his hand over it: it became immediately as rigid as a bar of iron.Except that the eyes, the cruel eyes, were open still, there might have been nolife in it.

“Look,” said Haddo. “That is the miracle which Moses did before Pharaoh.”

Then the Arab took a reed instrument, not unlike the pipe which Pan in thehills of Greece played to the dryads, and he piped a weird, monotonous tune.The stiffness broke away from the snake suddenly, and it lifted its head andraised its long body till it stood almost on the tip of its tail, and it swayedslowly to and fro.

Oliver Haddo seemed extraordinarily fascinated. He leaned forward with eagerface, and his unnatural eyes were fixed on the charmer with an indescribableexpression. Margaret drew back in terror.

“You need not be frightened,” said Arthur. “These people only work with animalswhose fangs have been extracted.”

Oliver Haddo looked at him before answering. He seemed to consider each timewhat sort of man this was to whom he spoke.

“A man is only a snake-charmer because, without recourse to medicine, he isproof against the fangs of the most venomous serpents.”

“Do you think so?” said Arthur.

“I saw the most noted charmer of Madras die two hours after he had been bittenby a cobra,” said Haddo. I had heard many tales of his prowess, and one eveningasked a friend to take me to him. He was out when we arrived, but we waited,and presently, accompanied by some friends, he came. We told him what wewanted. He had been at a marriage-feast and was drunk. But he sent for hissnakes, and forthwith showed us marvels which this man has never heard of. Atlast he took a great cobra from his sack and began to handle it. Suddenly itdarted at his chin and bit him. It made two marks like pin-points. The jugglerstarted back.

“‘I am a dead man,’” he said.

“Those about him would have killed the cobra, but he prevented them.

“‘Let the creature live,’ he said. ‘It may be of service to others of my trade.To me it can be of no other use. Nothing can save me.’

“His friends and the jugglers, his fellows, gathered round him and placed himin a chair. In two hours he was dead. In his drunkenness he had forgotten aportion of the spell which protected him, and so he died.”

“You have a marvellous collection of tall stories,” said Arthur. “I’m afraid Ishould want better proof that these particular snakes are poisonous.”

Oliver turned to the charmer and spoke to him in Arabic. Then he answeredArthur.

“The man has a horned viper, cerastes is the name under which yougentlemen of science know it, and it is the most deadly of all Egyptian snakes.It is commonly known as Cleopatra’s Asp, for that is the serpent which wasbrought in a basket of figs to the paramour of Caesar in order that she mightnot endure the triumph of Augustus.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Susie.

He smiled but did not answer. He stepped forward to the centre of the tent andfell on his knees. He uttered Arabic words, which Dr. Porhoët translated to theothers.

“O viper, I adjure you, by the great God who is all-powerful, to come forth.You are but a snake, and God is greater than all snakes. Obey my call andcome.”

A tremor went through the goatskin bag, and in a moment a head was protruded. Alithe body wriggled out. It was a snake of light grey colour, and over each eyewas a horn. It lay slightly curled.

“Do you recognize it?” said Oliver in a low voice to the doctor.

“I do.”

The charmer sat motionless, and the woman in the dim background ceased herweird rubbing of the drum. Haddo seized the snake and opened its mouth.Immediately it fastened on his hand, and the reptile teeth went deep into hisflesh. Arthur watched him for signs of pain, but he did not wince. The writhingsnake dangled from his hand. He repeated a sentence in Arabic, and, with thepeculiar suddenness of a drop of water falling from a roof, the snake fell tothe ground. The blood flowed freely. Haddo spat upon the bleeding place threetimes, muttering words they could not hear, and three times he rubbed the woundwith his fingers. The bleeding stopped. He stretched out his hand for Arthur tolook at.

“That surely is what a surgeon would call healing by first intention,” he said.

Burdon was astonished, but he was irritated, too, and would not allow thatthere was anything strange in the cessation of the flowing blood.

“You haven’t yet shown that the snake was poisonous.”

“I have not finished yet,” smiled Haddo.

He spoke again to the Egyptian, who gave an order to his wife. Without a wordshe rose to her feet and from a box took a white rabbit. She lifted it up bythe ears, and it struggled with its four quaint legs. Haddo put it in front ofthe horned viper. Before anyone could have moved, the snake darted forward, andlike a flash of lightning struck the rabbit. The wretched little beast gave aslight scream, a shudder went through it, and it fell dead.

Margaret sprang up with a cry.

“Oh, how cruel! How hatefully cruel!”

“Are you convinced now?” asked Haddo coolly.

The two women hurried to the doorway. They were frightened and disgusted.Oliver Haddo was left alone with the snake-charmer.

Chapter V

Dr Porhoët had asked Arthur to bring Margaret and Miss Boyd to see him onSunday at his apartment in the Île Saint Louis; and the lovers arranged tospend an hour on their way at the Louvre. Susie, invited to accompany them,preferred independence and her own reflections.

To avoid the crowd which throngs the picture galleries on holidays, they wentto that part of the museum where ancient sculpture is kept. It wascomparatively empty, and the long halls had the singular restfulness of placeswhere works of art are gathered together. Margaret was filled with a genuineemotion; and though she could not analyse it, as Susie, who loved to dissecther state of mind, would have done, it strangely exhilarated her. Her heart wasuplifted from the sordidness of earth, and she had a sensation of freedom whichwas as delightful as it was indescribable. Arthur had never troubled himselfwith art till Margaret’s enthusiasm taught him that there was a side of life hedid not realize. Though beauty meant little to his practical nature, he sought,in his great love for Margaret, to appreciate the works which excited her tosuch charming ecstasy. He walked by her side with docility and listened, notwithout deference, to her outbursts. He admired the correctness of Greekanatomy, and there was one statue of an athlete which attracted his prolongedattention, because the muscles were indicated with the precision of a plate ina surgical textbook. When Margaret talked of the Greeks’ divine repose and oftheir blitheness, he thought it very clever because she said it; but in a manit would have aroused his impatience.

Yet there was one piece, the charming statue known as La Diane deGabies, which moved him differently, and to this presently he insisted ongoing. With a laugh Margaret remonstrated, but secretly she was not displeased.She was aware that his passion for this figure was due, not to its intrinsicbeauty, but to a likeness he had discovered in it to herself.

It stood in that fair wide gallery where is the mocking faun, with his inhumansavour of fellowship with the earth which is divine, and the sightless Homer.The goddess had not the arrogance of the huntress who loved Endymion, nor themajesty of the cold mistress of the skies. She was in the likeness of a younggirl, and with collected gesture fastened her cloak. There was nothing divinein her save a sweet strange spirit of virginity. A lover in ancient Greece, whooffered sacrifice before this fair image, might forget easily that it was agoddess to whom he knelt, and see only an earthly maid fresh with youth andchastity and loveliness. In Arthur’s eyes Margaret had all the exquisite graceof the statue, and the same unconscious composure; and in her also breathed thespring odours of ineffable purity. Her features were chiselled with the clearand divine perfection of this Greek girl’s; her ears were as delicate and asfinely wrought. The colour of her skin was so tender that it reminded youvaguely of all beautiful soft things, the radiance of sunset and the darknessof the night, the heart of roses and the depth of running water. The goddess’shand was raised to her right shoulder, and Margaret’s hand was as small, asdainty, and as white.

“Don’t be so foolish,” said she, as Arthur looked silently at the statue.

He turned his eyes slowly, and they rested upon her. She saw that they wereveiled with tears.

“What on earth’s the matter?”

“I wish you weren’t so beautiful,” he answered, awkwardly, as though he couldscarcely bring himself to say such foolish things. “I’m so afraid thatsomething will happen to prevent us from being happy. It seems too much toexpect that I should enjoy such extraordinarily good luck.”

She had the imagination to see that it meant much for the practical man so toexpress himself. Love of her drew him out of his character, and, though hecould not resist, he resented the effect it had on him. She found nothing toreply, but she took his hand.

“Everything has gone pretty well with me so far,” he said, speaking almost tohimself. “Whenever I’ve really wanted anything, I’ve managed to get it. I don’tsee why things should go against me now.”

He was trying to reassure himself against an instinctive suspicion of themalice of circumstances. But he shook himself and straightened his back.

“It’s stupid to be so morbid as that,” he muttered.

Margaret laughed. They walked out of the gallery and turned to the quay. Bycrossing the bridge and following the river, they must come eventually to Dr.Porhoët’s house.

Meanwhile Susie wandered down the Boulevard Saint Michel, alert with the Sundaycrowd, to that part of Paris which was dearest to her heart. L’Île Saint Louisto her mind offered a synthesis of the French spirit, and it pleased her farmore than the garish boulevards in which the English as a rule seek for thecountry’s fascination. Its position on an island in the Seine gave it a compactcharm. The narrow streets, with their array of dainty comestibles, had the lookof streets in a provincial town. They had a quaintness which appealed to thefancy, and they were very restful. The names of the streets recalled themonarchy that passed away in bloodshed, and in poudre de riz. The veryplane trees had a greater sobriety than elsewhere, as though conscious theystood in a Paris where progress was not. In front was the turbid Seine, andbelow, the twin towers of Notre Dame. Susie could have kissed the hard pavingstones of the quay. Her good-natured, plain face lit up as she realized thedelight of the scene upon which her eyes rested; and it was with a little pang,her mind aglow with characters and events from history and from fiction, thatshe turned away to enter Dr Porhoët’s house.

She was pleased that the approach did not clash with her fantasies. She mounteda broad staircase, dark but roomy, and, at the command of the concierge,rang a tinkling bell at one of the doorways that faced her. Dr Porhoët openedin person.

“Arthur and Mademoiselle are already here,” he said, as he led her in.

They went through a prim French dining-room, with much woodwork and heavyscarlet hangings, to the library. This was a large room, but the bookcases thatlined the walls, and a large writing-table heaped up with books, muchdiminished its size. There were books everywhere. They were stacked on thefloor and piled on every chair. There was hardly space to move. Susie gave acry of delight.

“Now you mustn’t talk to me. I want to look at all your books.”

“You could not please me more,” said Dr Porhoët, “but I am afraid they willdisappoint you. They are of many sorts, but I fear there are few that willinterest an English young lady.”

He looked about his writing-table till he found a packet of cigarettes. Hegravely offered one to each of his guests. Susie was enchanted with the strangemusty smell of the old books, and she took a first glance at them in general.For the most part they were in paper bindings, some of them neat enough, butmore with broken backs and dingy edges; they were set along the shelves inserried rows, untidily, without method or plan. There were many older ones alsoin bindings of calf and pigskin, treasure from half the bookshops in Europe;and there were huge folios like Prussian grenadiers; and tiny Elzevirs, whichhad been read by patrician ladies in Venice. Just as Arthur was a different manin the operating theatre, Dr Porhoët was changed among his books. Though hepreserved the amiable serenity which made him always so attractive, he hadthere a diverting brusqueness of demeanour which contrasted quaintly with hisusual calm.

“I was telling these young people, when you came in, of an ancient Korân whichI was given in Alexandria by a learned man whom I operated upon for cataract.”He showed her a beautifully-written Arabic work, with wonderful capitals andheadlines in gold. “You know that it is almost impossible for an infidel toacquire the holy book, and this is a particularly rare copy, for it was writtenby Kaït Bey, the greatest of the Mameluke Sultans.”

He handled the delicate pages as a lover of flowers would handle rose-leaves.

“And have you much literature on the occult sciences?” asked Susie.

Dr Porhoët smiled.

“I venture to think that no private library contains so complete a collection,but I dare not show it to you in the presence of our friend Arthur. He is toopolite to accuse me of foolishness, but his sarcastic smile would betray him.”

Susie went to the shelves to which he vaguely waved, and looked with a peculiarexcitement at the mysterious array. She ran her eyes along the names. It seemedto her that she was entering upon an unknown region of romance. She felt likean adventurous princess who rode on her palfrey into a forest of great baretrees and mystic silences, where wan, unearthly shapes pressed upon her way.

“I thought once of writing a life of that fantastic and grandiloquent creature,Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Paracelsus Bombast von Hohenheim,” said DrPorhoët, “and I have collected many of his books.”

He took down a slim volume in duodecimo, printed in the seventeenth century,with queer plates, on which were all manner of cabbalistic signs. The pages hada peculiar, musty odour. They were stained with iron-mould.

“Here is one of the most interesting works concerning the black art. It is theGrimoire of Honorius, and is the principal text-book of all those whodeal in the darkest ways of the science.”

Then he pointed out the Hexameron of Torquemada and the Tableau del’Inconstance des Démons, by Delancre; he drew his finger down the leatherback of Delrio’s Disquisitiones Magicae and set upright thePseudomonarchia Daemonorum of Wierus; his eyes rested for an instant onHauber’s Acta et Scripta Magica, and he blew the dust carefully off themost famous, the most infamous, of them all, Sprenger’s MalleusMalefikorum.

“Here is one of my greatest treasures. It is the Clavicula Salomonis;and I have much reason to believe that it is the identical copy which belongedto the greatest adventurer of the eighteenth century, Jacques Casanova. Youwill see that the owner’s name had been cut out, but enough remains to indicatethe bottom of the letters; and these correspond exactly with the signature ofCasanova which I have found at the Bibliothéque Nationale. He relates in hismemoirs that a copy of this book was seized among his effects when he wasarrested in Venice for traffic in the black arts; and it was there, on one ofmy journeys from Alexandria, that I picked it up.”

He replaced the precious work, and his eye fell on a stout volume bound invellum.

“I had almost forgotten the most wonderful, the most mysterious, of all thebooks that treat of occult science. You have heard of the Kabbalah, but I doubtif it is more than a name to you.”

“I know nothing about it at all,” laughed Susie, “except that it’s all veryromantic and extraordinary and ridiculous.”

“This, then, is its history. Moses, who was learned in all the wisdom of Egypt,was first initiated into the Kabbalah in the land of his birth; but became mostproficient in it during his wanderings in the wilderness. Here he not onlydevoted the leisure hours of forty years to this mysterious science, butreceived lessons in it from an obliging angel. By aid of it he was able tosolve the difficulties which arose during his management of the Israelites,notwithstanding the pilgrimages, wars, and miseries of that most unruly nation.He covertly laid down the principles of the doctrine in the first four books ofthe Pentateuch, but withheld them from Deuteronomy. Moses also initiated theSeventy Elders into these secrets, and they in turn transmitted them from handto hand. Of all who formed the unbroken line of tradition, David and Solomonwere the most deeply learned in the Kabbalah. No one, however, dared to writeit down till Schimeon ben Jochai, who lived in the time of the destruction ofJerusalem; and after his death the Rabbi Eleazar, his son, and the Rabbi Abba,his secretary, collected his manuscripts and from them composed the celebratedtreatise called Zohar.”

“And how much do you believe of this marvellous story?” asked Arthur Burdon.

“Not a word,” answered Dr Porhoët, with a smile. “Criticism has shown thatZohar is of modern origin. With singular effrontery, it cites an authorwho is known to have lived during the eleventh century, mentions the Crusades,and records events which occurred in the year of Our Lord 1264. It was sometime before 1291 that copies of Zohar began to be circulated by aSpanish Jew named Moses de Leon, who claimed to possess an autograph manuscriptby the reputed author Schimeon ben Jochai. But when Moses de Leon was gatheredto the bosom of his father Abraham, a wealthy Hebrew, Joseph de Avila, promisedthe scribe’s widow, who had been left destitute, that his son should marry herdaughter, to whom he would pay a handsome dowry, if she would give him theoriginal manuscript from which these copies were made. But the widow (one canimagine with what gnashing of teeth) was obliged to confess that she had nosuch manuscript, for Moses de Leon had composed Zohar out of his ownhead, and written it with his own right hand.”

Arthur got up to stretch his legs. He gave a laugh.

“I never know how much you really believe of all these things you tell us. Youspeak with such gravity that we are all taken in, and then it turns out thatyou’ve been laughing at us.”

“My dear friend, I never know myself how much I believe,” returned Dr Porhoët.

“I wonder if it is for the same reason that Mr Haddo puzzles us so much,” saidSusie.

“Ah, there you have a case that is really interesting,” replied the doctor. “Iassure you that, though I know him fairly intimately, I have never been able tomake up my mind whether he is an elaborate practical joker, or whether he isreally convinced he has the wonderful powers to which he lays claim.”

“We certainly saw things last night that were not quite normal,” said Susie.“Why had that serpent no effect on him though it was able to kill the rabbitinstantaneously? And how are you going to explain the violent trembling of thathorse, Mr. Burdon?”

“I can’t explain it,” answered Arthur, irritably, “but I’m not inclined toattribute to the supernatural everything that I can’t immediately understand.”

“I don’t know what there is about him that excites in me a sort of horror,”said Margaret. “I’ve never taken such a sudden dislike to anyone.”

She was too reticent to say all she felt, but she had been strangely affectedlast night by the recollection of Haddo’s words and of his acts. She hadawakened more than once from a nightmare in which he assumed fantastic andghastly shapes. His mocking voice rang in her ears, and she seemed still to seethat vast bulk and the savage, sensual face. It was like a spirit of evil inher path, and she was curiously alarmed. Only her reliance on Arthur’s commonsense prevented her from giving way to ridiculous terrors.

“I’ve written to Frank Hurrell and asked him to tell me all he knows abouthim,” said Arthur. “I should get an answer very soon.”

“I wish we’d never come across him,” cried Margaret vehemently. “I feel that hewill bring us misfortune.”

“You’re all of you absurdly prejudiced,” answered Susie gaily. “He interests meenormously, and I mean to ask him to tea at the studio.”

“I’m sure I shall be delighted to come.”

Margaret cried out, for she recognized Oliver Haddo’s deep bantering tones; andshe turned round quickly. They were all so taken aback that for a moment no onespoke. They were gathered round the window and had not heard him come in. Theywondered guiltily how long he had been there and how much he had heard.

“How on earth did you get here?” cried Susie lightly, recovering herself first.

“No well-bred sorcerer is so dead to the finer feelings as to enter a room bythe door,” he answered, with his puzzling smile. “You were standing round thewindow, and I thought it would startle you if I chose that mode of ingress, soI descended with incredible skill down the chimney.”

“I see a little soot on your left elbow,” returned Susie. “I hope you weren’tat all burned.”

“Not at all, thanks,” he answered, gravely brushing his coat.

“In whatever way you came, you are very welcome,” said Dr Porhoët, geniallyholding out his hand.

But Arthur impatiently turned to his host.

“I wish I knew what made you engage upon these studies,” he said. “I shouldhave thought your medical profession protected you from any tenderness towardssuperstition.”

Dr Porhoët shrugged his shoulders.

“I have always been interested in the oddities of mankind. At one time I read agood deal of philosophy and a good deal of science, and I learned in that waythat nothing was certain. Some people, by the pursuit of science, are impressedwith the dignity of man, but I was only made conscious of his insignificance.The greatest questions of all have been threshed out since he acquired thebeginnings of civilization and he is as far from a solution as ever. Man canknow nothing, for his senses are his only means of knowledge, and they can giveno certainty. There is only one subject upon which the individual can speakwith authority, and that is his own mind, but even here he is surrounded withdarkness. I believe that we shall always be ignorant of the matters which itmost behoves us to know, and therefore I cannot occupy myself with them. Iprefer to set them all aside, and, since knowledge is unattainable, to occupymyself only with folly.”

“It is a point of view I do not sympathize with,” said Arthur.

“Yet I cannot be sure that it is all folly,” pursued the Frenchmanreflectively. He looked at Arthur with a certain ironic gravity. “Do youbelieve that I should lie to you when I promised to speak the truth?”

“Certainly not.”

“I should like to tell you of an experience that I once had in Alexandria. Sofar as I can see, it can be explained by none of the principles known toscience. I ask you only to believe that I am not consciously deceiving you.”

He spoke with a seriousness which gave authority to his words. It was plain,even to Arthur, that he narrated the event exactly as it occurred.

“I had heard frequently of a certain shiekh who was able by means of a magicmirror to show the inquirer persons who were absent or dead, and a nativefriend of mine had often begged me to see him. I had never thought it worthwhile, but at last a time came when I was greatly troubled in my mind. My poormother was an old woman, a widow, and I had received no news of her for manyweeks. Though I wrote repeatedly, no answer reached me. I was very anxious andvery unhappy. I thought no harm could come if I sent for the sorcerer, andperhaps after all he had the power which was attributed to him. My friend, whowas interpreter to the French Consulate, brought him to me one evening. He wasa fine man, tall and stout, of a fair complexion, but with a dark brown beard.He was shabbily dressed, and, being a descendant of the Prophet, wore a greenturban. In his conversation he was affable and unaffected. I asked him whatpersons could see in the magic mirror, and he said they were a boy not arrivedat puberty, a virgin, a black female slave, and a pregnant woman. In order tomake sure that there was no collusion, I despatched my servant to an intimatefriend and asked him to send me his son. While we waited, I prepared by themagician’s direction frankincense and coriander-seed, and a chafing-dish withlive charcoal. Meanwhile, he wrote forms of invocation on six strips of paper.When the boy arrived, the sorcerer threw incense and one of the paper stripsinto the chafing-dish, then took the boy’s right hand and drew a square andcertain mystical marks on the palm. In the centre of the square he poured alittle ink. This formed the magic mirror. He desired the boy to look steadilyinto it without raising his head. The fumes of the incense filled the room withsmoke. The sorcerer muttered Arabic words, indistinctly, and this he continuedto do all the time except when he asked the boy a question.

“‘Do you see anything in the ink?’ he said.

“‘No,’ the boy answered.

“But a minute later, he began to tremble and seemed very much frightened.

“‘I see a man sweeping the ground,’ he said.

“‘When he has done sweeping, tell me,’ said the sheikh.

“‘He has done,’ said the boy.

“The sorcerer turned to me and asked who it was that I wished the boy shouldsee.

“‘I desire to see the widow Jeanne-Marie Porhoët.’

“The magician put the second and third of the small strips of paper into thechafing-dish, and fresh frankincense was added. The fumes were painful to myeyes. The boy began to speak.

“‘I see an old woman lying on a bed. She has a black dress, and on her head isa little white cap. She has a wrinkled face and her eyes are closed. There is aband tied round her chin. The bed is in a sort of hole, in the wall, and thereare shutters to it.’

The boy was describing a Breton bed, and the white cap was the coiffethat my mother wore. And if she lay there in her black dress, with a band abouther chin, I knew that it could mean but one thing.

“‘What else does he see?’ I asked the sorcerer.

“He repeated my question, and presently the boy spoke again.

“‘I see four men come in with a long box. And there are women crying. They allwear little white caps and black dresses. And I see a man in a white surplice,with a large cross in his hands, and a little boy in a long red gown. And themen take off their hats. And now everyone is kneeling down.’

“‘I will hear no more,’ I said. ‘It is enough.’

“I knew that my mother was dead.

“In a little while, I received a letter from the priest of the village in whichshe lived. They had buried her on the very day upon which the boy had seen thissight in the mirror of ink.”

Dr Porhoët passed his hand across his eyes, and for a little while there wassilence.

“What have you to say to that?” asked Oliver Haddo, at last.

“Nothing,” answered Arthur.

Haddo looked at him for a minute with those queer eyes of his which seemed tostare at the wall behind.

“Have you ever heard of Eliphas Levi?” he inquired. “He is the most celebratedoccultist of recent years. He is thought to have known more of the mysteriesthan any adept since the divine Paracelsus.”

“I met him once,” interrupted Dr Porhoët. “You never saw a man who looked lesslike a magician. His face beamed with good-nature, and he wore a long greybeard, which covered nearly the whole of his breast. He was of a short and verycorpulent figure.”

“The practice of black arts evidently disposes to obesity,” said Arthur, icily.

Susie noticed that this time Oliver Haddo made no sign that the taunt movedhim. His unwinking, straight eyes remained upon Arthur without expression.

“Levi’s real name was Alphonse-Louis Constant, but he adopted that under whichhe is generally known for reasons that are plain to the romantic mind. Hisfather was a bootmaker. He was destined for the priesthood, but fell in lovewith a damsel fair and married her. The union was unhappy. A fate befell himwhich has been the lot of greater men than he, and his wife presently abandonedthe marital roof with her lover. To console himself he began to make seriousresearches in the occult, and in due course published a vast number of mysticalworks dealing with magic in all its branches.”

“I’m sure Mr Haddo was going to tell us something very interesting about him,”said Susie.

“I wished merely to give you his account of how he raised the spirit ofApollonius of Tyana in London.”

Susie settled herself more comfortably in her chair and lit a cigarette.

“He went there in the spring of 1856 to escape from internal disquietude and todevote himself without distraction to his studies. He had letters ofintroduction to various persons of distinction who concerned themselves withthe supernatural, but, finding them trivial and indifferent, he immersedhimself in the study of the supreme Kabbalah. One day, on returning to hishotel, he found a note in his room. It contained half a card, transverselydivided, on which he at once recognized the character of Solomon’s Seal, and atiny slip of paper on which was written in pencil: The other half of thiscard will be given you at three o’clock tomorrow in front of WestminsterAbbey. Next day, going to the appointed spot, with his portion of the cardin his hand, he found a baronial equipage waiting for him. A footmanapproached, and, making a sign to him, opened the carriage door. Within was alady in black satin, whose face was concealed by a thick veil. She motioned himto a seat beside her, and at the same time displayed the other part of the cardhe had received. The door was shut, and the carriage rolled away. When the ladyraised her veil, Eliphas Levi saw that she was of mature age; and beneath hergrey eyebrows were bright black eyes of preternatural fixity.”

Susie Boyd clapped her hands with delight.

“I think it’s delicious, and I’m sure every word of it is true,” she cried.“I’m enchanted with the mysterious meeting at Westminster Abbey in theMid-Victorian era. Can’t you see the elderly lady in a huge crinoline and ablack poke bonnet, and the wizard in a ridiculous hat, a bottle-greenfrock-coat, and a flowing tie of black silk?”

“Eliphas remarks that the lady spoke French with a marked English accent,”pursued Haddo imperturbably. “She addressed him as follows: ‘Sir, I am awarethat the law of secrecy is rigorous among adepts; and I know that you have beenasked for phenomena, but have declined to gratify a frivolous curiosity. It ispossible that you do not possess the necessary materials. I can show you acomplete magical cabinet, but I must require of you first the most inviolablesilence. If you do not guarantee this on your honour, I will give the order foryou to be driven home.’”

Oliver Haddo told his story not ineffectively, but with a comic gravity thatprevented one from knowing exactly how to take it.

“Having given the required promise Eliphas Levi was shown a collection ofvestments and of magical instruments. The lady lent him certain books of whichhe was in need; and at last, as a result of many conversations, determined himto attempt at her house the experience of a complete evocation. He preparedhimself for twenty-one days, scrupulously observing the rules laid down by theRitual. At length everything was ready. It was proposed to call forth thephantom of the divine Apollonius, and to question it upon two matters, one ofwhich concerned Eliphas Levi and the other, the lady of the crinoline. She hadat first counted on assisting at the evocation with a trustworthy person, butat the last moment her friend drew back; and as the triad or unity isrigorously prescribed in magical rites, Eliphas was left alone. The cabinetprepared for the experiment was situated in a turret. Four concave mirrors werehung within it, and there was an altar of white marble, surrounded by a chainof magnetic iron. On it was engraved the sign of the Pentagram, and this symbolwas drawn on the new, white sheepskin which was stretched beneath. A copperbrazier stood on the altar, with charcoal of alder and of laurel wood, and infront a second brazier was placed upon a tripod. Eliphas Levi was clothed in awhite robe, longer and more ample than the surplice of a priest, and he woreupon his head a chaplet of vervain leaves entwined about a golden chain. In onehand he held a new sword and in the other the Ritual.”

Susie’s passion for caricature at once asserted itself, and she laughed as shesaw in fancy the portly little Frenchman, with his round, red face, thuswonderfully attired.

“He set alight the two fires with the prepared materials, and began, at firstin a low voice, but rising by degrees, the invocations of the Ritual. Theflames invested every object with a wavering light. Presently they went out. Heset more twigs and perfumes on the brazier, and when the flame started up oncemore, he saw distinctly before the altar a human figure larger than life, whichdissolved and disappeared. He began the invocations again and placed himself ina circle, which he had already traced between the altar and the tripod. Thenthe depth of the mirror which was in front of him grew brighter by degrees, anda pale form arose, and it seemed gradually to approach. He closed his eyes, andcalled three times upon Apollonius. When he opened them, a man stood beforehim, wholly enveloped in a winding sheet, which seemed more grey than black.His form was lean, melancholy, and beardless. Eliphas felt an intense cold, andwhen he sought to ask his questions found it impossible to speak. Thereupon, heplaced his hand on the Pentagram, and directed the point of his sword towardthe figure, adjuring it mentally by that sign not to terrify, but to obey him.The form suddenly grew indistinct and soon it strangely vanished. He commandedit to return, and then felt, as it were, an air pass by him; and, somethinghaving touched the hand which held the sword, his arm was immediately benumbedas far as the shoulder. He supposed that the weapon displeased the spirit, andset it down within the circle. The human figure at once reappeared, but Eliphasexperienced such a sudden exhaustion in all his limbs that he was obliged tosit down. He fell into a deep coma, and dreamed strange dreams. But of these,when he recovered, only a vague memory remained to him. His arm continued forseveral days to be numb and painful. The figure had not spoken, but it seemedto Eliphas Levi that the questions were answered in his own mind. For to eachan inner voice replied with one grim word: dead.”

“Your friend seems to have had as little fear of spooks as you have of lions,”said Burdon. “To my thinking it is plain that all these preparations, and theperfumes, the mirrors, the pentagrams, must have the greatest effect on theimagination. My only surprise is that your magician saw no more.”

“Eliphas Levi talked to me himself of this evocation,” said Dr Porhoët. “Hetold me that its influence on him was very great. He was no longer the sameman, for it seemed to him that something from the world beyond had passed intohis soul.”

“I am astonished that you should never have tried such an interestingexperiment yourself,” said Arthur to Oliver Haddo.

“I have,” answered the other calmly. “My father lost his power of speechshortly before he died, and it was plain that he sought with all his might totell me something. A year after his death, I called up his phantom from thegrave so that I might learn what I took to be a dying wish. The circumstancesof the apparition are so similar to those I have just told you that it wouldonly bore you if I repeated them. The only difference was that my fatheractually spoke.”

“What did he say?” asked Susie.

“He said solemnly: ‘Buy Ashantis, they are bound to go up.’

“I did as he told me; but my father was always unlucky in speculation, and theywent down steadily. I sold out at considerable loss, and concluded that in theworld beyond they are as ignorant of the tendency of the Stock Exchange as weare in this vale of sorrow.”

Susie could not help laughing. But Arthur shrugged his shoulders impatiently.It disturbed his practical mind never to be certain if Haddo was serious, orif, as now, he was plainly making game of them.

Chapter VI

Two days later, Arthur received Frank Hurrell’s answer to his letter. It wascharacteristic of Frank that he should take such pains to reply at length tothe inquiry, and it was clear that he had lost none of his old interest in oddpersonalities. He analysed Oliver Haddo’s character with the patience of ascientific man studying a new species in which he is passionately concerned.

My dear Burdon:

It is singular that you should write just now to ask what I know of OliverHaddo, since by chance I met the other night at dinner at Queen Anne’s Gate aman who had much to tell me of him. I am curious to know why he excites yourinterest, for I am sure his peculiarities make him repugnant to a person ofyour robust common sense. I can with difficulty imagine two men less capable ofgetting on together. Though I have not seen Haddo now for years, I can tellyou, in one way and another, a good deal about him. He erred when he describedme as his intimate friend. It is true that at one time I saw much of him, but Inever ceased cordially to dislike him. He came up to Oxford from Eton with areputation for athletics and eccentricity. But you know that there is nothingthat arouses the ill-will of boys more than the latter, and he achieved anunpopularity which was remarkable. It turned out that he played footballadmirably, and except for his rather scornful indolence he might easily havegot his blue. He sneered at the popular enthusiasm for games, and was used tosay that cricket was all very well for boys but not fit for the pastime of men.(He was then eighteen!) He talked grandiloquently of big-game shooting and ofmountain climbing as sports which demanded courage and self-reliance. Heseemed, indeed, to like football, but he played it with a brutal savagery whichthe other persons concerned naturally resented. It became current opinion inother pursuits that he did not play the game. He did nothing that wasmanifestly unfair, but was capable of taking advantages which most people wouldhave thought mean; and he made defeat more hard to bear because he exulted overthe vanquished with the coarse banter that youths find so difficult to endure.

What you would hardly believe is that, when he first came up, he was a personof great physical attractions. He is now grown fat, but in those days wasextremely handsome. He reminded one of those colossal statues of Apollo inwhich the god is represented with a feminine roundness and delicacy. He wasvery tall and had a magnificent figure. It was so well-formed for his age thatone might have foretold his precious corpulence. He held himself with a dashingerectness. Many called it an insolent swagger. His features were regular andfine. He had a great quantity of curling hair, which was worn long, with a sortof poetic grace: I am told that now he is very bald; and I can imagine thatthis must be a great blow to him, for he was always exceedingly vain. Iremember a peculiarity of his eyes, which could scarcely have been natural, buthow it was acquired I do not know. The eyes of most people converge upon theobject at which they look, but his remained parallel. It gave them a singularexpression, as though he were scrutinising the inmost thought of the personwith whom he talked. He was notorious also for the extravagance of his costume,but, unlike the aesthetes of that day, who clothed themselves with artisticcarelessness, he had a taste for outrageous colours. Sometimes, by a queerfreak, he dressed himself at unseasonable moments with excessive formality. Heis the only undergraduate I have ever seen walk down the High in a tall hat anda closely-buttoned frock-coat.

I have told you he was very unpopular, but it was not an unpopularity of thesort which ignores a man and leaves him chiefly to his own society. Haddo kneweverybody and was to be found in the most unlikely places. Though peopledisliked him, they showed a curious pleasure in his company, and he wasprobably entertained more than any man in Oxford. I never saw him but he wassurrounded by a little crowd, who abused him behind his back, but could notresist his fascination.

I often tried to analyse this, for I felt it as much as anyone, and though Ihonestly could not bear him, I could never resist going to see him wheneveropportunity arose. I suppose he offered the charm of the unexpected to thatmass of undergraduates who, for all their matter-of-fact breeziness, arecuriously alive to the romantic. It was impossible to tell what he would do orsay next, and you were kept perpetually on the alert. He was certainly notwitty, but he had a coarse humour which excited the rather gross sense of theludicrous possessed by the young. He had a gift for caricature which was reallydiverting, and an imperturbable assurance. He had also an ingenious talent forprofanity, and his inventiveness in this particular was a power among youthswhose imaginations stopped at the commoner sorts of bad language. I have heardhim preach a sermon of the most blasphemous sort in the very accents of thelate Dean of Christ Church, which outraged and at the same time irresistiblyamused everyone who heard it. He had a more varied knowledge than the greaterpart of undergraduates, and, having at the same time a retentive memory andconsiderable quickness, he was able to assume an attitude of omniscience whichwas as impressive as it was irritating. I have never heard him confess that hehad not read a book. Often, when I tried to catch him, he confounded me byquoting the identical words of a passage in some work which I could have swornhe had never set eyes on. I daresay it was due only to some juggling, like theconjuror’s sleight of hand that apparently lets you choose a card, but in factforces one on you; and he brought the conversation round cleverly to a pointwhen it was obvious I should mention a definite book. He talked very well, withan entertaining flow of rather pompous language which made the amusing thingshe said particularly funny. His passion for euphuism contrasted strikingly withthe simple speech of those with whom he consorted. It certainly added authorityto what he said. He was proud of his family and never hesitated to tell thecurious of his distinguished descent. Unless he has much altered, you willalready have heard of his relationship with various noble houses. He is, infact, nearly connected with persons of importance, and his ancestry is no lessdistinguished than he asserts. His father is dead, and he owns a place inStaffordshire which is almost historic. I have seen photographs of it, and itis certainly very fine. His forebears have been noted in the history of Englandsince the days of the courtier who accompanied Anne of Denmark to Scotland,and, if he is proud of his stock, it is not without cause. So he passed histime at Oxford, cordially disliked, at the same time respected and mistrusted;he had the reputation of a liar and a rogue, but it could not be denied that hehad considerable influence over others. He amused, angered, irritated, andinterested everyone with whom he came in contact. There was always somethingmysterious about him, and he loved to wrap himself in a romanticimpenetrability. Though he knew so many people, no one knew him, and to the endhe remained a stranger in our midst. A legend grew up around him, which hefostered sedulously, and it was reported that he had secret vices which couldonly be whispered with bated breath. He was said to intoxicate himself withOriental drugs, and to haunt the vilest opium-dens in the East of London. Hekept the greatest surprise for the last, since, though he was never seen towork, he managed, to the universal surprise, to get a first. He went down, andto the best of my belief was never seen in Oxford again.

I have heard vaguely that he was travelling over the world, and, when I met intown now and then some of the fellows who had known him at the “Varsity, weirdrumours reached me. One told me that he was tramping across America, earninghis living as he went; another asserted that he had been seen in a monastry inIndia; a third assured me that he had married a ballet-girl in Milan; andsomeone else was positive that he had taken to drink. One opinion, however, wascommon to all my informants, and this was that he did something out of thecommon. It was clear that he was not the man to settle down to the tame life ofa country gentleman which his position and fortune indicated. At last I met himone day in Piccadilly, and we dined together at the Savoy. I hardly recognizedhim, for he was become enormously stout, and his hair had already grown thin.Though he could not have been more than twenty-five, he looked considerablyolder. I tried to find out what he had been up to, but, with the air of mysteryhe affects, he would go into no details. He gave me to understand that he hadsojourned in lands where the white man had never been before, and had learntesoteric secrets which overthrew the foundations of modern science. It seemedto me that he had coarsened in mind as well as in appearance. I do not know ifit was due to my own development since the old days at Oxford, and to mygreater knowledge of the world, but he did not seem to me so brilliant as Iremembered. His facile banter was rather stupid. In fact he bored me. The posewhich had seemed amusing in a lad fresh from Eton now was intolerable, and Iwas glad to leave him. It was characteristic that, after asking me to dinner,he left me in a lordly way to pay the bill.

Then I heard nothing of him till the other day, when our friend Miss Ley askedme to meet at dinner the German explorer Burkhardt. I dare say you rememberthat Burkhardt brought out a book a little while ago on his adventures inCentral Asia. I knew that Oliver Haddo was his companion in that journey andhad meant to read it on this account, but, having been excessively busy, hadomitted to do so. I took the opportunity to ask the German about our commonacquaintance, and we had a long talk. Burkhardt had met him by chance atMombasa in East Africa, where he was arranging an expedition after big game,and they agreed to go together. He told me that Haddo was a marvellous shot anda hunter of exceptional ability. Burkhardt had been rather suspicious of a manwho boasted so much of his attainments, but was obliged soon to confess that heboasted of nothing unjustly. Haddo has had an extraordinary experience, thetruth of which Burkhardt can vouch for. He went out alone one night on thetrail of three lions and killed them all before morning with one shot each. Iknow nothing of these things, but from the way in which Burkhardt spoke, Ijudge it must be a unique occurrence. But, characteristically enough, no onewas more conscious than Haddo of the singularity of his feat, and he made lifealmost insufferable for his fellow-traveller in consequence. Burkhardt assuresme that Haddo is really remarkable in pursuit of big game. He has a sort ofinstinct which leads him to the most unlikely places, and a wonderful feelingfor country, whereby he can cut across, and head off animals whose spoor he hasnoticed. His courage is very great. To follow a wounded lion into thick coveris the most dangerous proceeding in the world, and demands the utmost coolness.The animal invariably sees the sportsman before he sees it, and in most casescharges. But Haddo never hesitated on these occasions, and Burkhardt could onlyexpress entire admiration for his pluck. It appears that he is not what iscalled a good sportsman. He kills wantonly, when there can be no possibleexcuse, for the mere pleasure of it; and to Burkhardt’s indignation frequentlyshot beasts whose skins and horns they did not even trouble to take. Whenantelope were so far off that it was impossible to kill them, and the approachof night made it useless to follow, he would often shoot, and leave a wretchedwounded beast to die by inches. His selfishness was extreme, and he nevershared any information with his friend that might rob him of an uninterruptedpursuit of game. But notwithstanding all this, Burkhardt had so high an opinionof Haddo’s general capacity and of his resourcefulness that, when he wasarranging his journey in Asia, he asked him to come also. Haddo consented, andit appears that Burkhardt’s book gives further proof, if it is needed, of theman’s extraordinary qualities. The German confessed that on more than oneoccasion he owed his life to Haddo’s rare power of seizing opportunities. Butthey quarrelled at last through Haddo’s over-bearing treatment of the natives.Burkhardt had vaguely suspected him of cruelty, but at length it was clear thathe used them in a manner which could not be defended. Finally he had adesperate quarrel with one of the camp servants, as a result of which the manwas shot dead. Haddo swore that he fired in self-defence, but his action causeda general desertion, and the travellers found themselves in a very dangerouspredicament. Burkhardt thought that Haddo was clearly to blame and refused tohave anything more to do with him. They separated. Burkhardt returned toEngland; and Haddo, pursued by the friends of the murdered man, had greatdifficulty in escaping with his life. Nothing has been heard of him since tillI got your letter.

Altogether, an extraordinary man. I confess that I can make nothing of him. Ishall never be surprised to hear anything in connexion with him. I recommendyou to avoid him like the plague. He can be no one’s friend. As an acquaintancehe is treacherous and insincere; as an enemy, I can well imagine that he wouldbe as merciless as he is unscrupulous.

An immensely long letter!

Goodbye, my son. I hope that your studies in French methods of surgery willhave added to your wisdom. Your industry edifies me, and I am sure that youwill eventually be a baronet and the President of the Royal College ofSurgeons; and you shall relieve royal persons of their, vermiform appendix.

Yours ever,
FRANK HURRELL

Arthur, having read this letter twice, put it in an envelope and left itwithout comment for Miss Boyd. Her answer came within a couple of hours:

“I’ve asked him to tea on Wednesday, and I can’t put him off. You must come andhelp us; but please be as polite to him as if, like most of us, he had onlytaken mental liberties with the Ten Commandments.”

Chapter VII

On the morning of the day upon which they had asked him to tea, Oliver Haddoleft at Margaret’s door vast masses of chrysanthemums. There were so many thatthe austere studio was changed in aspect. It gained an ephemeral brightnessthat Margaret, notwithstanding pieces of silk hung here and there on the walls,had never been able to give it. When Arthur arrived, he was dismayed that thethought had not occurred to him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “You must think me very inconsiderate.”

Margaret smiled and held his hand.

“I think I like you because you don’t trouble about the common littleattentions of lovers.”

“Margaret’s a wise girl,” smiled Susie. “She knows that when a man sendsflowers it is a sign that he has admired more women than one.”

“I don’t suppose that these were sent particularly to me.”

Arthur Burdon sat down and observed with pleasure the cheerful fire. The drawncurtains and the lamps gave the place a nice cosiness, and there was thepeculiar air of romance which is always in a studio. There is a sense offreedom about it that disposes the mind to diverting speculations. In such anatmosphere it is possible to be serious without pompousness and flippantwithout inanity.

In the few days of their acquaintance Arthur and Susie had arrived at terms ofpleasant familiarity. Susie, from her superior standpoint of an unmarried womanno longer young, used him with the good-natured banter which she affected. Toher, he was a foolish young thing in love, and she marvelled that even thecleverest man in that condition could behave like a perfect idiot. But Margaretknew that, if her friend chaffed him, it was because she completely approved ofhim. As their intimacy increased, Susie learnt to appreciate his solidcharacter. She admired his capacity in dealing with matters that were in hisprovince, and the simplicity with which he left alone those of which he wasignorant. There was no pose in him. She was touched also by an ingenuouscandour which gave a persuasive charm to his abruptness. And, though she set aplain woman’s value on good looks, his appearance, rough hewn like a statue inporphyry, pleased her singularly. It was an index of his character. The look ofhim gave you the whole man, strong yet gentle, honest and simple, neither veryimaginative nor very brilliant, but immensely reliable and trustworthy to thebottom of his soul. He was seated now with Margaret’s terrier on his knees,stroking its ears, and Susie, looking at him, wondered with a little pang whyno man like that had even cared for her. It was evident that he would make aperfect companion, and his love, once won, was of the sort that did not alter.

Dr Porhoët came in and sat down with the modest quietness which was one of hischarms. He was not a great talker and loved most to listen in silence to thechatter of young people. The dog jumped down from Arthur’s knee, went up to thedoctor, and rubbed itself in friendly fashion against his legs. They began totalk in the soft light and had forgotten almost that another guest wasexpected. Margaret hoped fervently that he would not come. She had never lookedmore lovely than on this afternoon, and she busied herself with thepreparations for tea with a housewifely grace that added a peculiar delicacy toher comeliness. The dignity which encompassed the perfection of her beauty wasdelightfully softened, so that you were reminded of those sweet domestic saintswho lighten here and there the passionate records of the Golden Book.

“C’est tellement intime ici,” smiled Dr Porhoët, breaking into French inthe impossibility of expressing in English the exact feeling which that scenegave him.

It might have been a picture by some master of genre. It seemed hardlyby chance that the colours arranged themselves in such agreeable tones, or thatthe lines of the wall and the seated persons achieved such a gracefuldecoration. The atmosphere was extraordinarily peaceful.

There was a knock at the door, and Arthur got up to open. The terrier followedat his heels. Oliver Haddo entered. Susie watched to see what the dog would doand was by this time not surprised to see a change come over it. With its tailbetween its legs, the friendly little beast slunk along the wall to thefurthermost corner. It turned a suspicious, frightened eye upon Haddo and thenhid its head. The visitor, intent upon his greetings, had not noticed even thatthere was an animal in the room. He accepted with a simple courtesy they hardlyexpected from him the young woman’s thanks for his flowers. His behavioursurprised them. He put aside his poses. He seemed genuinely to admire the cosylittle studio. He asked Margaret to show him her sketches and looked at themwith unassumed interest. His observations were pointed and showed a certainknowledge of what he spoke about. He described himself as an amateur, thatobject of a painter’s derision: the man “who knows what he likes”; but hiscriticism, though generous, showed that he was no fool. The two women wereimpressed. Putting the sketches aside, he began to talk, of the many places hehad seen. It was evident that he sought to please. Susie began to understandhow it was that, notwithstanding his affectations, he had acquired so great aninfluence over the undergraduates of Oxford. There was romance and laughter inhis conversation; and though, as Frank Hurrell had said, lacking in wit, hemade up for it with a diverting pleasantry that might very well have passed forhumour. But Susie, though amused, felt that this was not the purpose for whichshe had asked him to come. Dr Porhoët had lent her his entertaining work on theold alchemists, and this gave her a chance to bring their conversation tomatters on which Haddo was expert. She had read the book with delight and, hermind all aflame with those strange histories wherein fact and fancy were sowonderfully mingled, she was eager to know more. The long toil in which so manyhad engaged, always to lose their fortunes, often to suffer persecution andtorture, interested her no less than the accounts, almost authenticated, ofthose who had succeeded in their extraordinary quest.

She turned to Dr Porhoët.

“You are a bold man to assert that now and then the old alchemists actually didmake gold,” she said.

“I have not gone quite so far as that,” he smiled. “I assert merely that, ifevidence as conclusive were offered of any other historical event, it would becredited beyond doubt. We can disbelieve these circumstantial details only bycoming to the conclusion beforehand that it is impossible they should be true.”

“I wish you would write that life of Paracelsus which you suggest in yourpreface.”

Dr Porhoët, smiling shook his head.

“I don’t think I shall ever do that now,” he said. “Yet he is the mostinteresting of all the alchemists, for he offers the fascinating problem of animmensely complex character. It is impossible to know to what extent he was acharlatan and to what a man of serious science.”

Susie glanced at Oliver Haddo, who sat in silence, his heavy face in shadow,his eyes fixed steadily on the speaker. The immobility of that vast bulk waspeculiar.

“His name is not so ridiculous as later associations have made it seem,”proceeded the doctor, “for he belonged to the celebrated family of Bombast, andthey were called Hohenheim after their ancient residence, which was a castlenear Stuttgart in Würtemberg. The most interesting part of his life is thatwhich the absence of documents makes it impossible accurately to describe. Hetravelled in Germany, Italy, France, the Netherlands, in Denmark, Sweden, andRussia. He went even to India. He was taken prisoner by the Tartars, andbrought to the Great Khan, whose son he afterwards accompanied toConstantinople. The mind must be dull indeed that is not thrilled by thethought of this wandering genius traversing the lands of the earth at the mosteventful date of the world’s history. It was at Constantinople that, accordingto a certain aureum vellus printed at Rorschach in the sixteenthcentury, he received the philosopher’s stone from Solomon Trismosinus. Thisperson possessed also the Universal Panacea, and it is asserted that hewas seen still alive by a French traveller at the end of the seventeenthcentury. Paracelsus then passed through the countries that border the Danube,and so reached Italy, where he served as a surgeon in the imperial army. I seeno reason why he should not have been present at the battle of Pavia. Hecollected information from physicians, surgeons and alchemists; fromexecutioners, barbers, shepherds, Jews, gipsies, midwives, and fortune-tellers;from high and low, from learned and vulgar. In the sketch I have given of hiscareer in that volume you hold, I have copied out a few words of his upon theacquirement of knowledge which affect me with a singular emotion.”

Dr Porhoët took his book from Miss Boyd and opened it thoughtfully. He read outthe fine passage from the preface of the Paragranum:

“I went in search of my art, often incurring danger of life. I have not beenashamed to learn that which seemed useful to me even from vagabonds, hangmen,and barbers. We know that a lover will go far to meet the woman he adores; howmuch more will the lover of Wisdom be tempted to go in search of his divinemistress.”

He turned the page to find a few more lines further on:

“We should look for knowledge where we may expect to find it, and why should aman be despised who goes in search of it? Those who remain at home may growricher and live more comfortably than those who wander; but I desire neither tolive comfortably nor to grow rich.”

“By Jove, those are fine words,” said Arthur, rising to his feet.

Their brave simplicity moved him as no rhetoric could have done, and they madehim more eager still to devote his own life to the difficult acquisition ofknowledge. Dr Porhoët gave him his ironic smile.

“Yet the man who could write that was in many ways a mere buffoon, who praisedhis wares with the vulgar glibness of a quack. He was vain and ostentatious,intemperate and boastful. Listen:

“After me, O Avicenna, Galen, Rhases and Montagnana! After me, not I after you,ye men of Paris, Montpellier, Meissen, and Cologne; all you that come from thecountries along the Danube and the Rhine, and you that come from the islands ofthe sea. It is not for me to follow you, because mine is the lordship. The timewill come when none of you shall remain in his dark corner who will not be anobject of contempt to the world, because I shall be the King, and the Monarchywill be mine.”

Dr Porhoët closed the book.

“Did you ever hear such gibberish in your life? Yet he did a bold thing. Hewrote in German instead of in Latin, and so, by weakening the old belief inauthority, brought about the beginning of free thought in science. He continuedto travel from place to place, followed by a crowd of disciples, some timesattracted to a wealthy city by hope of gain, sometimes journeying to a pettycourt at the invitation of a prince. His folly and the malice of his rivalsprevented him from remaining anywhere for long. He wrought many wonderfulcures. The physicians of Nuremberg denounced him as a quack, a charlatan, andan impostor. To refute them he asked the city council to put under his carepatients that had been pronounced incurable. They sent him several cases ofelephantiasis, and he cured them: testimonials to that effect may still befound in the archives of Nuremberg. He died as the result of a tavern brawl andwas buried at Salzburg. Tradition says that, his astral body having alreadyduring physical existence become self-conscious, he is now a living adept,residing with others of his sort in a certain place in Asia. From there hestill influences the minds of his followers and at times even appears to themin visible and tangible substance.”

“But look here,” said Arthur, “didn’t Paracelsus, like most of these oldfellows, in the course of his researches make any practical discoveries?”

“I prefer those which were not practical,” confessed the doctor, with a smile.“Consider for example the Tinctura Physicorum, which neither Pope norEmperor could buy with all his wealth. It was one of the greatest alchemicalmysteries, and, though mentioned under the name of The Red Lion in manyoccult works, was actually known to few before Paracelsus, except HermesTrismegistus and Albertus Magnus. Its preparation was extremely difficult, forthe presence was needed of two perfectly harmonious persons whose skill wasequal. It was said to be a red ethereal fluid. The least wonderful of its manyproperties was its power to transmute all inferior metals into gold. There isan old church in the south of Bavaria where the tincture is said to be stillburied in the ground. In the year 1698 some of it penetrated through the soil,and the phenomenon was witnessed by many people, who believed it to be amiracle. The church which was thereupon erected is still a well-known place forpilgrimage. Paracelsus concludes his directions for its manufacture with thewords: But if this be incomprehensible to you, remember that only he whodesires with his whole heart will find, and to him only who knocks vehementlyshall the door be opened.”

“I shall never try to make it,” smiled Arthur.

“Then there was the Electrum Magicum, of which the wise made mirrorswherein they were able to see not only the events of the past and of thepresent, but the doings of men in daytime and at night. They might see anythingthat had been written or spoken, and the person who said it, and the causesthat made him say it. But I like best the Primum Ens Melissæ. Anelaborate prescription is given for its manufacture. It was a remedy to prolonglife, and not only Paracelsus, but his predecessors Galen, Arnold of Villanova,and Raymond Lulli, had laboured studiously to discover it.”

“Will it make me eighteen again?” cried Susie.

“It is guaranteed to do so,” answered Dr Porhoët gravely. “Lesebren, aphysician to Louis XIV, gives an account of certain experiments witnessed byhimself. It appears that one of his friends prepared the remedy, and hiscuriosity would not let him rest until he had seen with his own eyes the effectof it.”

“That is the true scientific attitude,” laughed Arthur.

“He took every morning at sunrise a glass of white wine tinctured with thispreparation; and after using it for fourteen days his nails began to fall out,without, however, causing him any pain. His courage failed him at this point,and he gave the same dose to an old female servant. She regained at least oneof the characteristics of youth, much to her astonishment, for she did not knowthat she had been taking a medicine, and, becoming frightened, refused tocontinue. The experimenter then took some grain, soaked it in the tincture, andgave it to an aged hen. On the sixth day the bird began to lose its feathers,and kept on losing them till it was naked as a newborn babe; but before twoweeks had passed other feathers grew, and these were more beautifully colouredthan any that fortunate hen had possessed in her youth. Her comb stood up, andshe began again to lay eggs.”

Arthur laughed heartily.

“I confess I like that story much better than the others. The Primum EnsMelissæ at least offers a less puerile benefit than most magical secrets.”

“Do you call the search for gold puerile?” asked Haddo, who had been sittingfor a long time in complete silence.

“I venture to call it sordid.”

“You are very superior.”

“Because I think the aims of mystical persons invariably gross or trivial? Tomy plain mind, it is inane to raise the dead in order to hear from theirphantom lips nothing but commonplaces. And I really cannot see that thealchemist who spent his life in the attempted manufacture of gold was a morerespectable object than the outside jobber of modern civilization.”

“But if he sought for gold it was for the power it gave him, and it was powerhe aimed at when he brooded night and day over dim secrets. Power was thesubject of all his dreams, but not a paltry, limited dominion over this orthat; power over the whole world, power over all created things, power over thevery elements, power over God Himself. His lust was so vast that he could notrest till the stars in their courses were obedient to his will.”

For once Haddo lost his enigmatic manner. It was plain now that his wordsintoxicated him, and his face assumed a new, a strange, expression. A peculiararrogance flashed in his shining eyes.

“And what else is it that men seek in life but power? If they want money, it isbut for the power that attends it, and it is power again that they strive forin all the knowledge they acquire. Fools and sots aim at happiness, but men aimonly at power. The magus, the sorcerer, the alchemist, are seized withfascination of the unknown; and they desire a greatness that is inaccessible tomankind. They think by the science they study so patiently, but endurance andstrength, by force of will and by imagination, for these are the great weaponsof the magician, they may achieve at last a power with which they can face theGod of Heaven Himself.”

Oliver Haddo lifted his huge bulk from the low chair in which he had beensitting. He began to walk up and down the studio. It was curious to see thisheavy man, whose seriousness was always problematical, caught up by a curiousexcitement.

“You’ve been talking of Paracelsus,” he said. “There is one of his experimentswhich the doctor has withheld from you. You will find it neither mean normercenary, but it is very terrible. I do not know whether the account of it istrue, but it would be of extraordinary interest to test it for oneself.”

He looked round at the four persons who watched him intently. There was asingular agitation in his manner, as though the thing of which he spoke wasvery near his heart.

“The old alchemists believed in the possibility of spontaneous generation. Bythe combination of psychical powers and of strange essences, they claim to havecreated forms in which life became manifest. Of these, the most marvellous werethose strange beings, male and female, which were called homunculi. Theold philosophers doubted the possibility of this operation, but Paracelsusasserts positively that it can be done. I picked up once for a song on a barrowat London Bridge a little book in German. It was dirty and thumbed, many of thepages were torn, and the binding scarcely held the leaves together. It wascalled Die Sphinx and was edited by a certain Dr Emil Besetzny. Itcontained the most extraordinary account I have ever read of certain spiritsgenerated by Johann-Ferdinand, Count von Küffstein, in the Tyrol, in 1775. Thesources from which this account is taken consist of masonic manuscripts, butmore especially of a diary kept by a certain James Kammerer, who acted in thecapacity of butler and famulus to the Count. The evidence is ten times strongerthan any upon which men believe the articles of their religion. If it relatedto less wonderful subjects, you would not hesitate to believe implicitly everyword you read. There were ten homunculi—James Kammerer calls themprophesying spirits—kept in strong bottles, such as are used to preserve fruit,and these were filled with water. They were made in five weeks, by the Countvon Küffstein and an Italian mystic and rosicrucian, the Abbé Geloni. Thebottles were closed with a magic seal. The spirits were about a span long, andthe Count was anxious that they should grow. They were therefore buried undertwo cartloads of manure, and the pile daily sprinkled with a certain liquorprepared with great trouble by the adepts. The pile after such sprinklingsbegan to ferment and steam, as if heated by a subterranean fire. When thebottles were removed, it was found that the spirits had grown to about a spanand a half each; the male homunculi were come into possession of heavybeards, and the nails of the fingers had grown. In two of the bottles there wasnothing to be seen save clear water, but when the Abbé knocked thrice at theseal upon the mouth, uttering at the same time certain Hebrew words, the waterturned a mysterious colour, and the spirits showed their faces, very small atfirst, but growing in size till they attained that of a human countenance. Andthis countenance was horrible and fiendish.”

Haddo spoke in a low voice that was hardly steady, and it was plain that he wasmuch moved. It appeared as if his story affected him so that he could scarcelypreserve his composure. He went on.

“These beings were fed every three days by the Count with a rose-colouredsubstance which was kept in a silver box. Once a week the bottles were emptiedand filled again with pure rain-water. The change had to be made rapidly,because while the homunculi were exposed to the air they closed theireyes and seemed to grow weak and unconscious, as though they were about to die.But with the spirits that were invisible, at certain intervals blood was pouredinto the water; and it disappeared at once, inexplicably, without colouring ortroubling it. By some accident one of the bottles fell one day and was broken.The homunculus within died after a few painful respirations in spite ofall efforts to save him, and the body was buried in the garden. An attempt togenerate another, made by the Count without the assistance of the Abbé, who hadleft, failed; it produced only a small thing like a leech, which had littlevitality and soon died.”

Haddo ceased speaking, and Arthur looked at him with amazement. “But taking forgranted that the thing is possible, what on earth is the use of manufacturingthese strange beasts?” he exclaimed.

“Use!” cried Haddo passionately. “What do you think would be man’s sensationswhen he had solved the great mystery of existence, when he saw living beforehim the substance which was dead? These homunculi were seen byhistorical persons, by Count Max Lemberg, by Count Franz-Josef von Thun, and bymany others. I have no doubt that they were actually generated. But with ourmodern appliances, with our greater skill, what might it not be possible to donow if we had the courage? There are chemists toiling away in theirlaboratories to create the primitive protoplasm from matter which is dead, theorganic from the inorganic. I have studied their experiments. I know all thatthey know. Why shouldn’t one work on a larger scale, joining to the knowledgeof the old adepts the scientific discovery of the moderns? I don’t know whatwould be the result. It might be very strange and very wonderful. Sometimes mymind is verily haunted by the desire to see a lifeless substance move under myspells, by the desire to be as God.”

He gave a low weird laugh, half cruel, half voluptuous. It made Margaretshudder with sudden fright. He had thrown himself down in the chair, and he satin complete shadow. By a singular effect his eyes appeared blood-red, and theystared into space, strangely parallel, with an intensity that was terrifying.Arthur started a little and gave him a searching glance. The laugh and thatuncanny glance, the unaccountable emotion, were extraordinarily significant.The whole thing was explained if Oliver Haddo was mad.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Haddo’s words were out of tune with therest of the conversation. Dr Porhoët had spoken of magical things with asceptical irony that gave a certain humour to the subject, and Susie wasresolutely flippant. But Haddo’s vehemence put these incredulous people out ofcountenance. Dr Porhoët got up to go. He shook hands with Susie and withMargaret. Arthur opened the door for him. The kindly scholar looked round forMargaret’s terrier…

“I must bid my farewells to your little dog.”

He had been so quiet that they had forgotten his presence.

“Come here, Copper,” said Margaret.

The dog slowly slunk up to them, and with a terrified expression crouched atMargaret’s feet.

“What on earth’s the matter with you?” she asked.

“He’s frightened of me,” said Haddo, with that harsh laugh of his, which gavesuch an unpleasant impression.

“Nonsense!”

Dr Porhoët bent down, stroked the dog’s back, and shook its paw. Margaretlifted it up and set it on a table.

“Now, be good,” she said, with lifted finger.

Dr Porhoët with a smile went out, and Arthur shut the door behind him.Suddenly, as though evil had entered into it, the terrier sprang at OliverHaddo and fixed its teeth in his hand. Haddo uttered a cry, and, shaking itoff, gave it a savage kick. The dog rolled over with a loud bark that wasalmost a scream of pain, and lay still for a moment as if it were desperatelyhurt. Margaret cried out with horror and indignation. A fierce rage on a suddenseized Arthur so that he scarcely knew what he was about. The wretched brute’ssuffering, Margaret’s terror, his own instinctive hatred of the man, werejoined together in frenzied passion.

“You brute,” he muttered.

He hit Haddo in the face with his clenched fist. The man collapsed bulkily tothe floor, and Arthur, furiously seizing his collar, began to kick him with allhis might. He shook him as a dog would shake a rat and then violently flung himdown. For some reason Haddo made no resistance. He remained where he fell inutter helplessness. Arthur turned to Margaret. She was holding the poor hurtdog in her hands, crying over it, and trying to comfort it in its pain. Verygently he examined it to see if Haddo’s brutal kick had broken a bone. They satdown beside the fire. Susie, to steady her nerves, lit a cigarette. She washorribly, acutely conscious of that man who lay in a mass on the floor behindthem. She wondered what he would do. She wondered why he did not go. And shewas ashamed of his humiliation. Then her heart stood still; for she realizedthat he was raising himself to his feet, slowly, with the difficulty of a veryfat person. He leaned against the wall and stared at them. He remained therequite motionless. His stillness got on her nerves, and she could have screamedas she felt him look at them, look with those unnatural eyes, whose expressionnow she dared not even imagine.

At last she could no longer resist the temptation to turn round just enough tosee him. Haddo’s eyes were fixed upon Margaret so intently that he did not seehe was himself observed. His face, distorted by passion, was horrible to lookupon. That vast mass of flesh had a malignancy that was inhuman, and it wasterrible to see the satanic hatred which hideously deformed it. But it changed.The redness gave way to a ghastly pallor. The revengeful scowl disappeared; anda torpid smile spread over the features, a smile that was even more terrifyingthan the frown of malice. What did it mean? Susie could have cried out, but hertongue cleaved to her throat. The smile passed away, and the face became oncemore impassive. It seemed that Margaret and Arthur realized at last the powerof those inhuman eyes, and they became quite still. The dog ceased its sobbing.The silence was so great that each one heard the beating of his heart. It wasintolerable.

Then Oliver Haddo moved. He came forward slowly.

“I want to ask you to forgive me for what I did,” he said.

“The pain of the dog’s bite was so keen that I lost my temper. I deeply regretthat I kicked it. Mr Burdon was very right to thrash me. I feel that I deservedno less.”

He spoke in a low voice, but with great distinctness. Susie was astounded. Anabject apology was the last thing she expected.

He paused for Margaret’s answer. But she could not bear to look at him. Whenshe spoke, her words were scarcely audible. She did not know why his request tobe forgiven made him seem more detestable.

“I think, if you don’t mind, you had better go away.”

Haddo bowed slightly. He looked at Burdon.

“I wish to tell you that I bear no malice for what you did. I recognize thejustice of your anger.”

Arthur did not answer at all. Haddo hesitated a moment, while his eyes restedon them quietly. To Susie it seemed that they flickered with the shadow of asmile. She watched him with bewildered astonishment.

He reached for his hat, bowed again, and went.

Chapter VIII

Susie could not persuade herself that Haddo’s regret was sincere. The humilityof it aroused her suspicion. She could not get out of her mind the ugly slynessof that smile which succeeded on his face the first passionate look of deadlyhatred. Her fancy suggested various dark means whereby Oliver Haddo might takevengeance on his enemy, and she was at pains to warn Arthur. But he onlylaughed.

“The man’s a funk,” he said. “Do you think if he’d had anything in him at allhe would have let me kick him without trying to defend himself?”

Haddo’s cowardice increased the disgust with which Arthur regarded him. He wasamused by Susie’s trepidation.

“What on earth do you suppose he can do? He can’t drop a brickbat on my head.If he shoots me he’ll get his head cut off, and he won’t be such an ass as torisk that!”

Margaret was glad that the incident had relieved them of Oliver’s society. Shemet him in the street a couple of days later, and since he took off his hat inthe French fashion without waiting for her to acknowledge him, she was able tomake her cut more pointed.

She began to discuss with Arthur the date of their marriage. It seemed to herthat she had got out of Paris all it could give her, and she wished to begin anew life. Her love for Arthur appeared on a sudden more urgent, and she wasfilled with delight at the thought of the happiness she would give him.

A day or two later Susie received a telegram. It ran as follows:

Please meet me at the Gare du Nord, 2:40.

Nancy Clerk

It was an old friend, who was apparently arriving in Paris that afternoon. Aphotograph of her, with a bold signature, stood on the chimney-piece, and Susiegave it an inquisitive glance. She had not seen Nancy for so long that itsurprised her to receive this urgent message.

“What a bore it is!” she said. “I suppose I must go.”

They meant to have tea on the other side of the river, but the journey to thestation was so long that it would not be worth Susie’s while to come back inthe interval; and they arranged therefore to meet at the house to which theywere invited. Susie started a little before two.

Margaret had a class that afternoon and set out two or three minutes later. Asshe walked through the courtyard she started nervously, for Oliver Haddo passedslowly by. He did not seem to see her. Suddenly he stopped, put his hand to hisheart, and fell heavily to the ground. The concierge, the only person athand, ran forward with a cry. She knelt down and, looking round with terror,caught sight of Margaret.

“Oh, mademoiselle, venez vite!” she cried.

Margaret was obliged to go. Her heart beat horribly. She looked down at Oliver,and he seemed to be dead. She forgot that she loathed him. Instinctively sheknelt down by his side and loosened his collar. He opened his eyes. Anexpression of terrible anguish came into his face.

“For the love of God, take me in for one moment,” he sobbed. “I shall die inthe street.”

Her heart was moved towards him. He could not go into the poky den,evil-smelling and airless, of the concierge. But with her help Margaretraised him to his feet, and together they brought him to the studio. He sankpainfully into a chair.

“Shall I fetch you some water?” asked Margaret.

“Can you get a pastille out of my pocket?”

He swallowed a white tabloid, which she took out of a case attached to hiswatch-chain.

“I’m very sorry to cause you this trouble,” he gasped. “I suffer from a diseaseof the heart, and sometimes I am very near death.”

“I’m glad that I was able to help you,” she said.

He seemed able to breathe more easily. She left him to himself for a while, sothat he might regain his strength. She took up a book and began to read.Presently, without moving from his chair, he spoke.

“You must hate me for intruding on you.”

His voice was stronger, and her pity waned as he seemed to recover. Sheanswered with freezing indifference.

“I couldn’t do any less for you than I did. I would have brought a dog into myroom if it seemed hurt.”

“I see that you wish me to go.”

He got up and moved towards the door, but he staggered and with a groan tumbledto his knees. Margaret sprang forward to help him. She reproached herselfbitterly for those scornful words. The man had barely escaped death, and shewas merciless.

“Oh, please stay as long as you like,” she cried. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean tohurt you.”

He dragged himself with difficulty back to the chair, and she,conscience-stricken, stood over him helplessly. She poured out a glass ofwater, but he motioned it away as though he would not be beholden to her evenfor that.

“Is there nothing I can do for you at all?” she exclaimed, painfully.

“Nothing, except allow me to sit in this chair,” he gasped.

“I hope you’ll remain as long as you choose.”

He did not reply. She sat down again and pretended to read. In a little whilehe began to speak. His voice reached her as if from a long way off.

“Will you never forgive me for what I did the other day?”

She answered without looking at him, her back still turned.

“Can it matter to you if I forgive or not?”

“You have not pity. I told you then how sorry I was that a suddenuncontrollable pain drove me to do a thing which immediately I bitterlyregretted. Don’t you think it must have been hard for me, under the actualcircumstances, to confess my fault?”

“I wish you not to speak of it. I don’t want to think of that horrible scene.”

“If you knew how lonely I was and how unhappy, you would have a little mercy.”

His voice was strangely moved. She could not doubt now that he was sincere.

“You think me a charlatan because I aim at things that are unknown to you. Youwon’t try to understand. You won’t give me any credit for striving with all mysoul to a very great end.”

She made no reply, and for a time there was silence. His voice was differentnow and curiously seductive.

“You look upon me with disgust and scorn. You almost persuaded yourself to letme die in the street rather than stretch out to me a helping hand. And if youhadn’t been merciful then, almost against your will, I should have died.”

“It can make no difference to you how I regard you,” she whispered.

She did not know why his soft, low tones mysteriously wrung her heartstrings.Her pulse began to beat more quickly.

“It makes all the difference in the world. It is horrible to think of yourcontempt. I feel your goodness and your purity. I can hardly bear my ownunworthiness. You turn your eyes away from me as though I were unclean.”

She turned her chair a little and looked at him. She was astonished at thechange in his appearance. His hideous obesity seemed no longer repellent, forhis eyes wore a new expression; they were incredibly tender now, and they weremoist with tears. His mouth was tortured by a passionate distress. Margaret hadnever seen so much unhappiness on a man’s face, and an overwhelming remorseseized her.

“I don’t want to be unkind to you,” she said.

“I will go. That is how I can best repay you for what you have done.”

The words were so bitter, so humiliated, that the colour rose to her cheeks.

“I ask you to stay. But let us talk of other things.”

For a moment he kept silence. He seemed no longer to see Margaret, and shewatched him thoughtfully. His eyes rested on a print of La Giocondawhich hung on the wall. Suddenly he began to speak. He recited the honeyedwords with which Walter Pater expressed his admiration for that consummatepicture.

“Hers is the head upon which all the ends of the world are come, and theeyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought out from within upon theflesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange thoughts and fantasticreveries and exquisite passions. Set it for a moment beside one of those whiteGreek goddesses or beautiful women of antiquity, and how would they be troubledby this beauty, into which the soul with all its maladies has passed. All thethoughts and experience of the world have etched and moulded there, in thatwhich they have of power to refine and make expressive the outward form, theanimalism of Greece, the lust of Rome, the mysticism of the Middle Ages, withits spiritual ambition and imaginative loves, the return of the Pagan world,the sins of the Borgias.”

His voice, poignant and musical, blended with the suave music of the words sothat Margaret felt she had never before known their divine significance. Shewas intoxicated with their beauty. She wished him to continue, but had not thestrength to speak. As if he guessed her thought, he went on, and now his voicehad a richness in it as of an organ heard afar off. It was like an overwhelmingfragrance and she could hardly bear it.

“She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, she hasbeen dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been adiver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and trafficked forstrange evils with Eastern merchants; and, as Leda, was the mother of Helen ofTroy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary; and all this has been to her butas the sound of lyres and flutes, and lives only in the delicacy with which ithas moulded the changing lineaments, and tinged the eyelids and the hands.”

Oliver Haddo began then to speak of Leonardo da Vinci, mingling with his ownfantasies the perfect words of that essay which, so wonderful was his memory,he seemed to know by heart. He found exotic fancies in the likeness betweenSaint John the Baptist, with his soft flesh and waving hair, and Bacchus, withhis ambiguous smile. Seen through his eyes, the seashore in the Saint Anne hadthe airless lethargy of some damasked chapel in a Spanish nunnery, and over thelandscapes brooded a wan spirit of evil that was very troubling. He loved themysterious pictures in which the painter had sought to express something beyondthe limits of painting, something of unsatisfied desire and of longing forunhuman passions. Oliver Haddo found this quality in unlikely places, and hiswords gave a new meaning to paintings that Margaret had passed thoughtlesslyby. There was the portrait of a statuary by Bronzino in the Long Gallery of theLouvre. The features were rather large, the face rather broad. The expressionwas sombre, almost surly in the repose of the painted canvas, and the eyes werebrown, almond-shaped like those of an Oriental; the red lips were exquisitelymodelled, and the sensuality was curiously disturbing; the dark, chestnut hair,cut short, curled over the head with an infinite grace. The skin was like ivorysoftened with a delicate carmine. There was in that beautiful countenance morethan beauty, for what most fascinated the observer was a supreme and disdainfulindifference to the passion of others. It was a vicious face, except thatbeauty could never be quite vicious; it was a cruel face, except that indolencecould never be quite cruel. It was a face that haunted you, and yet youradmiration was alloyed with an unreasoning terror. The hands were nervous andadroit, with long fashioning fingers; and you felt that at their touch the clayalmost moulded itself into gracious forms. With Haddo’s subtle words thecharacter of that man rose before her, cruel yet indifferent, indolent andpassionate, cold yet sensual; unnatural secrets dwelt in his mind, andmysterious crimes, and a lust for the knowledge that was arcane. Oliver Haddowas attracted by all that was unusual, deformed, and monstrous, by the picturesthat represented the hideousness of man or that reminded you of his mortality.He summoned before Margaret the whole array of Ribera’s ghoulish dwarfs, withtheir cunning smile, the insane light of their eyes, and their malice: he dweltwith a horrible fascination upon their malformations, the humped backs, theclub feet, the hydrocephalic heads. He described the picture by Valdes Leal, ina certain place at Seville, which represents a priest at the altar; and thealtar is sumptuous with gilt and florid carving. He wears a magnificent copeand a surplice of exquisite lace, but he wears them as though their weight wasmore than he could bear; and in the meagre trembling hands, and in the white,ashen face, in the dark hollowness of the eyes, there is a bodily corruptionthat is terrifying. He seems to hold together with difficulty the bonds of theflesh, but with no eager yearning of the soul to burst its prison, only withdespair; it is as if the Lord Almighty had forsaken him and the high heavenswere empty of their solace. All the beauty of life appears forgotten, and thereis nothing in the world but decay. A ghastly putrefaction has attacked alreadythe living man; the worms of the grave, the piteous horror of mortality, andthe darkness before him offer naught but fear. Beyond, dark night is seen and aturbulent sea, the dark night of the soul of which the mystics write, and thetroublous sea of life whereon there is no refuge for the weary and the sick atheart.

Then, as if in pursuance of a definite plan, he analysed with a searching,vehement intensity the curious talent of the modern Frenchman, Gustave Moreau.Margaret had lately visited the Luxembourg, and his pictures were fresh in hermemory. She had found in them little save a decorative arrangement marred byfaulty drawing; but Oliver Haddo gave them at once a new, esoteric import.Those effects as of a Florentine jewel, the clustered colours, emerald andruby, the deep blue of sapphires, the atmosphere of scented chambers, themystic persons who seem ever about secret, religious rites, combined in hiscunning phrases to create, as it were, a pattern on her soul of morbid andmysterious intricacy. Those pictures were filled with a strange sense of sin,and the mind that contemplated them was burdened with the decadence of Rome andwith the passionate vice of the Renaissance; and it was tortured, too, by allthe introspection of this later day.

Margaret listened, rather breathlessly, with the excitement of an explorerbefore whom is spread the plain of an undiscovered continent. The painters sheknew spoke of their art technically, and this imaginative appreciation was newto her. She was horribly fascinated by the personality that imbued theseelaborate sentences. Haddo’s eyes were fixed upon hers, and she responded tohis words like a delicate instrument made for recording the beatings of theheart. She felt an extraordinary languor. At last he stopped. Margaret neithermoved nor spoke. She might have been under a spell. It seemed to her that shehad no power in her limbs.

“I want to do something for you in return for what you have done for me,” hesaid.

He stood up and went to the piano.

“Sit in this chair,” he said.

She did not dream of disobeying. He began to play. Margaret was hardlysurprised that he played marvellously. Yet it was almost incredible that thosefat, large hands should have such a tenderness of touch. His fingers caressedthe notes with a peculiar suavity, and he drew out of the piano effects whichshe had scarcely thought possible. He seemed to put into the notes a troubling,ambiguous passion, and the instrument had the tremulous emotion of a humanbeing. It was strange and terrifying. She was vaguely familiar with the musicto which she listened; but there was in it, under his fingers, an exotic savourthat made it harmonious with all that he had said that afternoon. His memorywas indeed astonishing. He had an infinite tact to know the feeling thatoccupied Margaret’s heart, and what he chose seemed to be exactly that which atthe moment she imperatively needed. Then he began to play things she did notknow. It was music the like of which she had never heard, barbaric, with aplaintive weirdness that brought to her fancy the moonlit nights of desertplaces, with palm trees mute in the windless air, and tawny distances. Sheseemed to know tortuous narrow streets, white houses of silence with strangemoon-shadows, and the glow of yellow light within, and the tinkling of uncouthinstruments, and the acrid scents of Eastern perfumes. It was like a processionpassing through her mind of persons who were not human, yet existedmysteriously, with a life of vampires. Mona Lisa and Saint John the Baptist,Bacchus and the mother of Mary, went with enigmatic motions. But the daughterof Herodias raised her hands as though, engaged for ever in a mystic rite, toinvoke outlandish gods. Her face was very pale, and her dark eyes weresleepless; the jewels of her girdle gleamed with sombre fires; and her dresswas of colours that have long been lost. The smile, in which was all the sorrowof the world and all its wickedness, beheld the wan head of the Saint, and witha voice that was cold with the coldness of death she murmured the words of thepoet:

“I am amorous of thy body, Iokanaan! Thy body is white like the lilies of afield that the mower hath never mowed. Thy body is white like the snows thatlie on the mountains of Judea, and come down into the valleys. The roses in thegarden of the Queen of Arabia are not so white as thy body. Neither the rosesin the garden of the Queen of Arabia, the garden of spices of the Queen ofArabia, nor the feet of the dawn when they light on the leaves, nor the breastof the moon when she lies on the breast of the sea… There is nothing in theworld so white as thy body. Suffer me to touch thy body.”

Oliver Haddo ceased to play. Neither of them stirred. At last Margaret soughtby an effort to regain her self-control.

“I shall begin to think that you really are a magician,” she said, lightly.

“I could show you strange things if you cared to see them,” he answered, againraising his eyes to hers.

“I don’t think you will ever get me to believe in occult philosophy,” shelaughed.

“Yet it reigned in Persia with the magi, it endowed India with wonderfultraditions, it civilised Greece to the sounds of Orpheus’s lyre.”

He stood before Margaret, towering over her in his huge bulk; and there was asingular fascination in his gaze. It seemed that he spoke only to conceal fromher that he was putting forth now all the power that was in him.

“It concealed the first principles of science in the calculations ofPythagoras. It established empires by its oracles, and at its voice tyrantsgrew pale upon their thrones. It governed the minds of some by curiosity, andothers it ruled by fear.”

His voice grew very low, and it was so seductive that Margaret’s brain reeled.The sound of it was overpowering like too sweet a fragrance.

I tell you that for this art nothing is impossible. It commands the elements,and knows the language of the stars, and directs the planets in their courses.The moon at its bidding falls blood-red from the sky. The dead rise up and forminto ominous words the night wind that moans through their skulls. Heaven andHell are in its province; and all forms, lovely and hideous; and love and hate.With Circe’s wand it can change men into beasts of the field, and to them itcan give a monstrous humanity. Life and death are in the right hand and in theleft of him who knows its secrets. It confers wealth by the transmutation ofmetals and immortality by its quintessence.”

Margaret could not hear what he said. A gradual lethargy seized her under hisbaleful glance, and she had not even the strength to wish to free herself. Sheseemed bound to him already by hidden chains.

“If you have powers, show them,” she whispered, hardly conscious that shespoke.

Suddenly he released the enormous tension with which he held her. Like a manwho has exerted all his strength to some end, the victory won, he loosened hismuscles, with a faint sigh of exhaustion. Margaret did not speak, but she knewthat something horrible was about to happen. Her heart beat like a prisonedbird, with helpless flutterings, but it seemed too late now to draw back. Herwords by a mystic influence had settled something beyond possibility of recall.

On the stove was a small bowl of polished brass in which water was kept inorder to give a certain moisture to the air. Oliver Haddo put his hand in hispocket and drew out a little silver box. He tapped it, with a smile, as a mantaps a snuff-box, and it opened. He took an infinitesimal quantity of a bluepowder that it contained and threw it on the water in the brass bowl.Immediately a bright flame sprang up, and Margaret gave a cry of alarm. Oliverlooked at her quickly and motioned her to remain still. She saw that the waterwas on fire. It was burning as brilliantly, as hotly, as if it were common gas;and it burned with the same dry, hoarse roar. Suddenly it was extinguished. Sheleaned forward and saw that the bowl was empty.

The water had been consumed, as though it were straw, and not a drop remained.She passed her hand absently across her forehead.

“But water cannot burn,” she muttered to herself.

It seemed that Haddo knew what she thought, for he smiled strangely.

“Do you know that nothing more destructive can be invented than this bluepowder, and I have enough to burn up all the water in Paris? Who dreamt thatwater might burn like chaff?”

He paused, seeming to forget her presence. He looked thoughtfully at the littlesilver box.

“But it can be made only in trivial quantities, at enormous expense and withexceeding labour; it is so volatile that you cannot keep it for three days. Ihave sometimes thought that with a little ingenuity I might make it morestable, I might so modify it that, like radium, it lost no strength as itburned; and then I should possess the greatest secret that has ever been in themind of man. For there would be no end of it. It would continue to burn whilethere was a drop of water on the earth, and the whole world would be consumed.But it would be a frightful thing to have in one’s hands; for once it were castupon the waters, the doom of all that existed would be sealed beyond repeal.”

He took a long breath, and his eyes glittered with a devilish ardour. His voicewas hoarse with overwhelming emotion.

“Sometimes I am haunted by the wild desire to have seen the great and finalscene when the irrevocable flames poured down the river, hurrying along thestreams of the earth, searching out the moisture in all growing things, tearingit even from the eternal rocks; when the flames poured down like the rushing ofthe wind, and all that lived fled from before them till they came to the sea;and the sea itself was consumed in vehement fire.”

Margaret shuddered, but she did not think the man was mad. She had ceased tojudge him. He took one more particle of that atrocious powder and put it in thebowl. Again he thrust his hand in his pocket and brought out a handful of somecrumbling substance that might have been dried leaves, leaves of differentsorts, broken and powdery. There was a trace of moisture in them still, for alow flame sprang up immediately at the bottom of the dish, and a thick vapourfilled the room. It had a singular and pungent odour that Margaret did notknow. It was difficult to breathe, and she coughed. She wanted to beg Oliver tostop, but could not. He took the bowl in his hands and brought it to her.

“Look,” he commanded.

She bent forward, and at the bottom saw a blue fire, of a peculiar solidity, asthough it consisted of molten metal. It was not still, but writhed strangely,like serpents of fire tortured by their own unearthly ardour.

“Breathe very deeply.”

She did as he told her. A sudden trembling came over her, and darkness fellacross her eyes. She tried to cry out, but could utter no sound. Her brainreeled. It seemed to her that Haddo bade her cover her face. She gasped forbreath, and it was as if the earth spun under her feet. She appeared to travelat an immeasurable speed. She made a slight movement, and Haddo told her not tolook round. An immense terror seized her. She did not know whither she wasborne, and still they went quickly, quickly; and the hurricane itself wouldhave lagged behind them. At last their motion ceased; and Oliver was holdingher arm.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Open your eyes and stand up.”

The night had fallen; but it was not the comfortable night that soothes thetroubled minds of mortal men; it was a night that agitated the soulmysteriously so that each nerve in the body tingled. There was a lurid darknesswhich displayed and yet distorted the objects that surrounded them. No moonshone in the sky, but small stars appeared to dance on the heather, vaguenight-fires like spirits of the damned. They stood in a vast and troubledwaste, with huge stony boulders and leafless trees, rugged and gnarled liketortured souls in pain. It was as if there had been a devastating storm, andthe country reposed after the flood of rain and the tempestuous wind and thelightning. All things about them appeared dumbly to suffer, like a man rackedby torments who has not the strength even to realize that his agony has ceased.Margaret heard the flight of monstrous birds, and they seemed to whisperstrange things on their passage. Oliver took her hand. He led her steadily to across-road, and she did not know if they walked amid rocks or tombs.

She heard the sound of a trumpet, and from all parts, strangely appearing wherebefore was nothing, a turbulent assembly surged about her. That vast emptyspace was suddenly filled by shadowy forms, and they swept along like the wavesof the sea, crowding upon one another’s heels. And it seemed that all themighty dead appeared before her; and she saw grim tyrants, and paintedcourtesans, and Roman emperors in their purple, and sultans of the East. Allthose fierce evil women of olden time passed by her side, and now it was MonaLisa and now the subtle daughter of Herodias. And Jezebel looked out upon herfrom beneath her painted brows, and Cleopatra turned away a wan, lewd face; andshe saw the insatiable mouth and the wanton eyes of Messalina, and Fustine washaggard with the eternal fires of lust. She saw cardinals in their scarlet, andwarriors in their steel, gay gentlemen in periwigs, and ladies in powder andpatch. And on a sudden, like leaves by the wind, all these were driven beforethe silent throngs of the oppressed; and they were innumerable as the sands ofthe sea. Their thin faces were earthy with want and cavernous from disease, andtheir eyes were dull with despair. They passed in their tattered motley, somein the fantastic rags of the beggars of Albrecht Dürer and some in the greycerecloths of Le Nain; many wore the blouses and the caps of the rabble inFrance, and many the dingy, smoke-grimed weeds of English poor. And they surgedonward like a riotous crowd in narrow streets flying in terror before themounted troops. It seemed as though all the world were gathered there instrange confusion.

Then all again was void; and Margaret’s gaze was riveted upon a great, ruinedtree that stood in that waste place, alone, in ghastly desolation; and though adead thing, it seemed to suffer a more than human pain. The lightning had tornit asunder, but the wind of centuries had sought in vain to drag up its roots.The tortured branches, bare of any twig, were like a Titan’s arms, convulsedwith intolerable anguish. And in a moment she grew sick with fear, for a changecame into the tree, and the tremulousness of life was in it; the rough bark waschanged into brutish flesh and the twisted branches into human arms. It becamea monstrous, goat-legged thing, more vast than the creatures of nightmare. Shesaw the horns and the long beard, the great hairy legs with their hoofs, andthe man’s rapacious hands. The face was horrible with lust and cruelty, and yetit was divine. It was Pan, playing on his pipes, and the lecherous eyescaressed her with a hideous tenderness. But even while she looked, as the mistof early day, rising, discloses a fair country, the animal part of thatghoulish creature seemed to fall away, and she saw a lovely youth, titanic butsublime, leaning against a massive rock. He was more beautiful than the Adam ofMichelangelo who wakes into life at the call of the Almighty; and, like himfreshly created, he had the adorable languor of one who feels still in hislimbs the soft rain on the loose brown earth. Naked and full of majesty he lay,the outcast son of the morning; and she dared not look upon his face, for sheknew it was impossible to bear the undying pain that darkened it with ruthlessshadows. Impelled by a great curiosity, she sought to come nearer, but the vastfigure seemed strangely to dissolve into a cloud; and immediately she feltherself again surrounded by a hurrying throng. Then came all legendary monstersand foul beasts of a madman’s fancy; in the darkness she saw enormous toads,with paws pressed to their flanks, and huge limping scarabs, shelled creaturesthe like of which she had never seen, and noisome brutes with horny scales andround crabs’ eyes, uncouth primeval things, and winged serpents, and creepinganimals begotten of the slime. She heard shrill cries and peals of laughter andthe terrifying rattle of men at the point of death. Haggard women, dishevelledand lewd, carried wine; and when they spilt it there were stains like thestains of blood. And it seemed to Margaret that a fire burned in her veins, andher soul fled from her body; but a new soul came in its place, and suddenly sheknew all that was obscene. She took part in some festival of hideous lust, andthe wickedness of the world was patent to her eyes. She saw things so vile thatshe screamed in terror, and she heard Oliver laugh in derision by her side. Itwas a scene of indescribable horror, and she put her hands to her eyes so thatshe might not see.

She felt Oliver Haddo take her hands. She would not let him drag them away.Then she heard him speak.

“You need not be afraid.”

His voice was quite natural once more, and she realized with a start that shewas sitting quietly in the studio. She looked around her with frightened eyes.Everything was exactly as it had been. The early night of autumn was fallen,and the only light in the room came from the fire. There was still that vague,acrid scent of the substance which Haddo had burned.

“Shall I light the candles?” he said.

He struck a match and lit those which were on the piano. They threw a strangelight. Then Margaret suddenly remembered all that she had seen, and sheremembered that Haddo had stood by her side. Shame seized her, intolerableshame, so that the colour, rising to her cheeks, seemed actually to burn them.She hid her face in her hands and burst into tears.

“Go away,” she said. “For God’s sake, go.”

He looked at her for a moment; and the smile came to his lips which Susie hadseen after his tussle with Arthur, when last he was in the studio.

“When you want me you will find me in the Rue de Vaugiraud, number 209,” hesaid. “Knock at the second door on the left, on the third floor.”

She did not answer. She could only think of her appalling shame.

“I’ll write it down for you in case you forget.”

He scribbled the address on a sheet of paper that he found on the table.Margaret took no notice, but sobbed as though her heart would break. Suddenly,looking up with a start, she saw that he was gone. She had not heard him openthe door or close it. She sank down on her knees and prayed desperately, asthough some terrible danger threatened her.

But when she heard Susie’s key in the door, Margaret sprang to her feet. Shestood with her back to the fireplace, her hands behind her, in the attitude ofa prisoner protesting his innocence. Susie was too much annoyed to observe thisagitation.

“Why on earth didn’t you come to tea?” she asked. “I couldn’t make out what hadbecome of you.”

“I had a dreadful headache,” answered Margaret, trying to control herself.

Susie flung herself down wearily in a chair. Margaret forced herself to speak.

“Had Nancy anything particular to say to you?” she asked.

“She never turned up,” answered Susie irritably. “I can’t understand it. Iwaited till the train came in, but there was no sign of her. Then I thought shemight have hit upon that time by chance and was not coming from England, so Iwalked about the station for half an hour.”

She went to the chimneypiece, on which had been left the telegram that summonedher to the Gare du Nord, and read it again. She gave a little cry of surprise.

“How stupid of me! I never noticed the postmark. It was sent from the RueLittré.”

This was less than ten minutes’ walk from the studio. Susie looked at themessage with perplexity.

“I wonder if someone has been playing a silly practical joke on me.” Sheshrugged her shoulders. “But it’s too foolish. If I were a suspicious woman,”she smiled, “I should think you had sent it yourself to get me out of the way.”

The idea flashed through Margaret that Oliver Haddo was the author of it. Hemight easily have seen Nancy’s name on the photograph during his first visit tothe studio. She had no time to think before she answered lightly.

“If I wanted to get rid of you, I should have no hesitation in saying so.”

“I suppose no one has been here?” asked Susie.

“No one.”

The lie slipped from Margaret’s lips before she had made up her mind to tellit. Her heart gave a great beat against her chest. She felt herself redden.

Susie got up to light a cigarette. She wished to rest her nerves. The box wason the table and, as she helped herself, her eyes fell carelessly on theaddress that Haddo had left. She picked it up and read it aloud.

“Who on earth lives there?” she asked.

“I don’t know at all,” answered Margaret.

She braced herself for further questions, but Susie, without interest, put downthe sheet of paper and struck a match.

Margaret was ashamed. Her nature was singularly truthful, and it troubled herextraordinarily that she had lied to her greatest friend. Something strongerthan herself seemed to impel her. She would have given much to confess her twofalsehoods, but had not the courage. She could not bear that Susie’s implicittrust in her straightforwardness should be destroyed; and the admission thatOliver Haddo had been there would entail a further acknowledgment of thenameless horrors she had witnessed. Susie would think her mad.

There was a knock at the door; and Margaret, her nerves shattered by all thatshe had endured, could hardly restrain a cry of terror. She feared that Haddohad returned. But it was Arthur Burdon. She greeted him with a passionaterelief that was unusual, for she was by nature a woman of greatself-possession. She felt excessively weak, physically exhausted as though shehad gone a long journey, and her mind was highly wrought. Margaret rememberedthat her state had been the same on her first arrival in Paris, when, in hereagerness to get a preliminary glimpse of its marvels, she had hurried till herbones ached from one celebrated monument to another. They began to speak oftrivial things. Margaret tried to join calmly in the conversation, but hervoice sounded unnatural, and she fancied that more than once Arthur gave her acurious look. At length she could control herself no longer and burst into asudden flood of tears. In a moment, uncomprehending but affectionate, he caughther in his arms. He asked tenderly what was the matter. He sought to comforther. She wept ungovernably, clinging to him for protection.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she gasped. “I don’t know what is the matter with me. I’monly nervous and frightened.”

Arthur had an idea that women were often afflicted with what he described bythe old-fashioned name of vapours, and was not disposed to pay much attentionto this vehement distress. He soothed her as he would have done a child.

“Oh, take care of me, Arthur. I’m so afraid that some dreadful thing willhappen to me. I want all your strength. Promise that you’ll never forsake me.”

He laughed, as he kissed away her tears, and she tried to smile.

“Why can’t we be married at once?” she asked. “I don’t want to wait any longer.I shan’t feel safe till I’m actually your wife.”

He reasoned with her very gently. After all, they were to be married in a fewweeks. They could not easily hasten matters, for their house was not yet ready,and she needed time to get her clothes. The date had been fixed by her. Shelistened sullenly to his words. Their wisdom was plain, and she did not see howshe could possibly insist. Even if she told him all that had passed he wouldnot believe her; he would think she was suffering from some trick of her morbidfancy.

“If anything happens to me,” she answered, with the dark, anguished eyes of ahunted beast, “you will be to blame.”

“I promise you that nothing will happen.”

Chapter IX

Margaret’s night was disturbed, and next day she was unable to go about herwork with her usual tranquillity. She tried to reason herself into a naturalexplanation of the events that had happened. The telegram that Susie hadreceived pointed to a definite scheme on Haddo’s part, and suggested that hissudden illness was but a device to get into the studio. Once there, he had usedher natural sympathy as a means whereby to exercise his hypnotic power, and allshe had seen was merely the creation of his own libidinous fancy. But thoughshe sought to persuade herself that, in playing a vile trick on her, he hadtaken a shameful advantage of her pity, she could not look upon him with anger.Her contempt for him, her utter loathing, were alloyed with a feeling thataroused in her horror and dismay. She could not get the man out of herthoughts. All that he had said, all that she had seen, seemed, as though itpossessed a power of material growth, unaccountably to absorb her. It was as ifa rank weed were planted in her heart and slid long poisonous tentacles downevery artery, so that each part of her body was enmeshed. Work could notdistract her, conversation, exercise, art, left her listless; and between herand all the actions of life stood the flamboyant, bulky form of Oliver Haddo.She was terrified of him now as never before, but curiously had no longer thephysical repulsion which hitherto had mastered all other feelings. Although sherepeated to herself that she wanted never to see him again, Margaret couldscarcely resist an overwhelming desire to go to him. Her will had been takenfrom her, and she was an automaton. She struggled, like a bird in the fowler’snet with useless beating of the wings; but at the bottom of her heart she wasdimly conscious that she did not want to resist. If he had given her thataddress, it was because he knew she would use it. She did not know why shewanted to go to him; she had nothing to say to him; she knew only that it wasnecessary to go. But a few days before she had seen the Phèdre ofRacine, and she felt on a sudden all the torments that wrung the heart of thatunhappy queen; she, too, struggled aimlessly to escape from the poison that theimmortal gods poured in her veins. She asked herself frantically whether aspell had been cast over her, for now she was willing to believe that Haddo’spower was all-embracing. Margaret knew that if she yielded to the horribletemptation nothing could save her from destruction. She would have cried forhelp to Arthur or to Susie, but something, she knew not what, prevented her. Atlength, driven almost to distraction, she thought that Dr Porhoët might dosomething for her. He, at least, would understand her misery. There seemed nota moment to lose, and she hastened to his house. They told her he was out. Herheart sank, for it seemed that her last hope was gone. She was like a persondrowning, who clings to a rock; and the waves dash against him, and beat uponhis bleeding hands with a malice all too human, as if to tear them from theirrefuge.

Instead of going to the sketch-class, which was held at six in the evening, shehurried to the address that Oliver Haddo had given her. She went along thecrowded street stealthily, as though afraid that someone would see her, and herheart was in a turmoil. She desired with all her might not to go, and soughtvehemently to prevent herself, and yet withal she went. She ran up the stairsand knocked at the door. She remembered his directions distinctly. In a momentOliver Haddo stood before her. He did not seem astonished that she was there.As she stood on the landing, it occurred to her suddenly that she had no reasonto offer for her visit, but his words saved her from any need for explanation.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

Haddo led her into a sitting-room. He had an apartment in a maisonmeublée, and heavy hangings, the solid furniture of that sort of house inParis, was unexpected in connexion with him. The surroundings were socommonplace that they seemed to emphasise his singularity. There was a peculiarlack of comfort, which suggested that he was indifferent to material things.The room was large, but so cumbered that it gave a cramped impression. Haddodwelt there as if he were apart from any habitation that might be his. He movedcautiously among the heavy furniture, and his great obesity was somehow moreremarkable. There was the acrid perfume which Margaret remembered a few daysbefore in her vision of an Eastern city.

Asking her to sit down, he began to talk as if they were old acquaintancesbetween whom nothing of moment had occurred. At last she took her courage inboth hands.

“Why did you make me come here?” she asked suddenly,

“You give me credit now for very marvellous powers,” he smiled.

“You knew I should come.”

“I knew.”

“What have I done to you that you should make me so unhappy? I want you toleave me alone.”

“I shall not prevent you from going out if you choose to go. No harm has cometo you. The door is open.”

Her heart beat quickly, painfully almost, and she remained silent. She knewthat she did not want to go. There was something that drew her strangely tohim, and she was ceasing to resist. A strange feeling began to take hold ofher, creeping stealthily through her limbs; and she was terrified, butunaccountably elated.

He began to talk with that low voice of his that thrilled her with a curiousmagic. He spoke not of pictures now, nor of books, but of life. He told her ofstrange Eastern places where no infidel had been, and her sensitive fancy wasaflame with the honeyed fervour of his phrase. He spoke of the dawn uponsleeping desolate cities, and the moonlit nights of the desert, of the sunsetswith their splendour, and of the crowded streets at noon. The beauty of theEast rose before her. He told her of many-coloured webs and of silken carpets,the glittering steel of armour damascened, and of barbaric, priceless gems. Thesplendour of the East blinded her eyes. He spoke of frankincense and myrrh andaloes, of heavy perfumes of the scent-merchants, and drowsy odours of theSyrian gardens. The fragrance of the East filled her nostrils. And all thesethings were transformed by the power of his words till life itself seemedoffered to her, a life of infinite vivacity, a life of freedom, a life ofsupernatural knowledge. It seemed to her that a comparison was drawn for herattention between the narrow round which awaited her as Arthur’s wife and thisfair, full existence. She shuddered to think of the dull house in Harley Streetand the insignificance of its humdrum duties. But it was possible for her alsoto enjoy the wonder of the world. Her soul yearned for a beauty that thecommonalty of men did not know. And what devil suggested, a warp as it were inthe woof of Oliver’s speech, that her exquisite loveliness gave her the rightto devote herself to the great art of living? She felt a sudden desire forperilous adventures. As though fire passed through her, she sprang to her feetand stood with panting bosom, her flashing eyes bright with the multi-colouredpictures that his magic presented.

Oliver Haddo stood too, and they faced one another. Then, on a sudden, she knewwhat the passion was that consumed her. With a quick movement, his eyes morethan ever strangely staring, he took her in his arms, and he kissed her lips.She surrendered herself to him voluptuously. Her whole body burned with theecstasy of his embrace.

“I think I love you,” she said, hoarsely.

She looked at him. She did not feel ashamed.

“Now you must go,” he said.

He opened the door, and, without another word, she went. She walked through thestreets as if nothing at all had happened. She felt neither remorse norrevulsion.

Then Margaret felt every day that uncontrollable desire to go to him; and,though she tried to persuade herself not to yield, she knew that her effort wasonly a pretence: she did not want anything to prevent her. When it seemed thatsome accident would do so, she could scarcely control her irritation. There wasalways that violent hunger of the soul which called her to him, and the onlyhappy hours she had were those spent in his company. Day after day she feltthat complete ecstasy when he took her in his huge arms, and kissed her withhis heavy, sensual lips. But the ecstasy was extraordinarily mingled withloathing, and her physical attraction was allied with physical abhorrence.

Yet when he looked at her with those pale blue eyes, and threw into his voicethose troubling accents, she forgot everything. He spoke of unhallowed things.Sometimes, as it were, he lifted a corner of the veil, and she caught a glimpseof terrible secrets. She understood how men had bartered their souls forinfinite knowledge. She seemed to stand upon a pinnacle of the temple, andspiritual kingdoms of darkness, principalities of the unknown, were spreadbefore her eyes to lure her to destruction. But of Haddo himself she learnednothing. She did not know if he loved her. She did not know if he had everloved. He appeared to stand apart from human kind. Margaret discovered bychance that his mother lived, but he would not speak of her.

“Some day you shall see her,” he said.

“When?”

“Very soon.”

Meanwhile her life proceeded with all outward regularity. She found it easy todeceive her friends, because it occurred to neither that her frequent absencewas not due to the plausible reasons she gave. The lies which at first seemedintolerable now tripped glibly off her tongue. But though they were so natural,she was seized often with a panic of fear lest they should be discovered; andsometimes, suffering agonies of remorse, she would lie in bed at night andthink with utter shame of the way she was using Arthur. But things had gone toofar now, and she must let them take their course. She scarcely knew why herfeelings towards him had so completely changed. Oliver Haddo had scarcelymentioned his name and yet had poisoned her mind. The comparison between thetwo was to Arthur’s disadvantage. She thought him a little dull now, and hiscommonplace way of looking at life contrasted with Haddo’s fascinatingboldness. She reproached Arthur in her heart because he had never understoodwhat was in her. He narrowed her mind. And gradually she began to hate himbecause her debt of gratitude was so great. It seemed unfair that he shouldhave done so much for her. He forced her to marry him by his beneficence. YetMargaret continued to discuss with him the arrangement of their house in HarleyStreet. It had been her wish to furnish the drawing-room in the style of LouisXV; and together they made long excursions to buy chairs or old pieces of silkwith which to cover them. Everything should be perfect in its kind. The date oftheir marriage was fixed, and all the details were settled. Arthur wasridiculously happy. Margaret made no sign. She did not think of the future, andshe spoke of it only to ward off suspicion. She was inwardly convinced now thatthe marriage would never take place, but what was to prevent it she did notknow. She watched Susie and Arthur cunningly. But though she watched in orderto conceal her own secret, it was another’s that she discovered. SuddenlyMargaret became aware that Susie was deeply in love with Arthur Burdon. Thediscovery was so astounding that at first it seemed absurd.

“You’ve never done that caricature of Arthur for me that you promised,” shesaid, suddenly.

“I’ve tried, but he doesn’t lend himself to it,” laughed Susie.

“With that long nose and the gaunt figure I should have thought you could makesomething screamingly funny.”

“How oddly you talk of him! Somehow I can only see his beautiful, kind eyes andhis tender mouth. I would as soon do a caricature of him as write a parody on apoem I loved.”

Margaret took the portfolio in which Susie kept her sketches. She caught thelook of alarm that crossed her friend’s face, but Susie had not the courage toprevent her from looking. She turned the drawings carelessly and presently cameto a sheet upon which, in a more or less finished state, were half a dozenheads of Arthur. Pretending not to see it, she went on to the end. When sheclosed the portfolio Susie gave a sigh of relief.

“I wish you worked harder,” said Margaret, as she put the sketches down. “Iwonder you don’t do a head of Arthur as you can’t do a caricature.”

“My dear, you mustn’t expect everyone to take such an overpowering interest inthat young man as you do.”

The answer added a last certainty to Margaret’s suspicion. She told herselfbitterly that Susie was no less a liar than she. Next day, when the other wasout, Margaret looked through the portfolio once more, but the sketches ofArthur had disappeared. She was seized on a sudden with anger because Susiedared to love the man who loved her.

The web in which Oliver Haddo enmeshed her was woven with skilful intricacy. Hetook each part of her character separately and fortified with consummate arthis influence over her. There was something satanic in his deliberation, yet inactual time it was almost incredible that he could have changed the oldabhorrence with which she regarded him into that hungry passion. Margaret couldnot now realize her life apart from his. At length he thought the time was ripefor the final step.

“It may interest you to know that I’m leaving Paris on Thursday,” he saidcasually, one afternoon.

She started to her feet and stared at him with bewildered eyes.

“But what is to become of me?”

“You will marry the excellent Mr Burdon.”

“You know I cannot live without you. How can you be so cruel?”

“Then the only alternative is that you should accompany me.”

Her blood ran cold, and her heart seemed pressed in an iron vice.

“What do you mean?”

“There is no need to be agitated. I am making you an eminently desirable offerof marriage.”

She sank helplessly into her chair. Because she had refused to think of thefuture, it had never struck her that the time must come when it would benecessary to leave Haddo or to throw in her lot with his definitely. She wasseized with revulsion. Margaret realized that, though an odious attractionbound her to the man, she loathed and feared him. The scales fell from hereyes. She remembered on a sudden Arthur’s great love and all that he had donefor her sake. She hated herself. Like a bird at its last gasp beatingfrantically against the bars of a cage, Margaret made a desperate effort toregain her freedom. She sprang up.

“Let me go from here. I wish I’d never seen you. I don’t know what you’ve donewith me.”

“Go by all means if you choose,” he answered.

He opened the door, so that she might see he used no compulsion, and stoodlazily at the threshold, with a hateful smile on his face. There was somethingterrible in his excessive bulk. Rolls of fat descended from his chin andconcealed his neck. His cheeks were huge, and the lack of beard added to thehideous nakedness of his face. Margaret stopped as she passed him, horriblyrepelled yet horribly fascinated. She had an immense desire that he should takeher again in his arms and press her lips with that red voluptuous mouth. It wasas though fiends of hell were taking revenge upon her loveliness by inspiringin her a passion for this monstrous creature. She trembled with the intensityof her desire. His eyes were hard and cruel.

“Go,” he said.

She bent her head and fled from before him. To get home she passed through thegardens of the Luxembourg, but her legs failed her, and in exhaustion she sankupon a bench. The day was sultry. She tried to collect herself. Margaret knewwell the part in which she sat, for in the enthusiastic days that seemed solong gone by she was accustomed to come there for the sake of a certain treeupon which her eyes now rested. It had all the slim delicacy of a Japaneseprint. The leaves were slender and fragile, half gold with autumn, half green,but so tenuous that the dark branches made a pattern of subtle beauty againstthe sky. The hand of a draughtsman could not have fashioned it with a moreexcellent skill. But now Margaret could take no pleasure in its grace. She felta heartrending pang to think that thenceforward the consummate things of artwould have no meaning for her. She had seen Arthur the evening before, andremembered with an agony of shame the lies to which she had been forced inorder to explain why she could not see him till late that day. He had proposedthat they should go to Versailles, and was bitterly disappointed when she toldhim they could not, as usual on Sundays, spend the whole day together. Heaccepted her excuse that she had to visit a sick friend. It would not have beenso intolerable if he had suspected her of deceit, and his reproaches would havehardened her heart. It was his entire confidence which was so difficult tobear.

“Oh, if I could only make a clean breast of it all,” she cried.

The bell of Saint Sulpice was ringing for vespers. Margaret walked slowly tothe church, and sat down in the seats reserved in the transept for the needy.She hoped that the music she must hear there would rest her soul, and perhapsshe might be able to pray. Of late she had not dared. There was a pleasantdarkness in the place, and its large simplicity was soothing. In herexhaustion, she watched listlessly the people go to and fro. Behind her was apriest in the confessional. A little peasant girl, in a Breton coiffe,perhaps a maid-servant lately come from her native village to the greatcapital, passed in and knelt down. Margaret could hear her muttered words, andat intervals the deep voice of the priest. In three minutes she tripped neatlyaway. She looked so fresh in her plain black dress, so healthy and innocent,that Margaret could not restrain a sob of envy. The child had so little toconfess, a few puny errors which must excite a smile on the lips of the gentlepriest, and her candid spirit was like snow. Margaret would have given anythingto kneel down and whisper in those passionless ears all that she suffered, butthe priest’s faith and hers were not the same. They spoke a different tongue,not of the lips only but of the soul, and he would not listen to the words ofan heretic.

A long procession of seminarists came in from the college which is under theshadow of that great church, two by two, in black cassocks and short whitesurplices. Many were tonsured already. Some were quite young. Margaret watchedtheir faces, wondering if they were tormented by such agony as she. But theyhad a living faith to sustain them, and if some, as was plain, were narrow andobtuse, they had at least a fixed rule which prevented them from swerving intotreacherous byways. One of two had a wan ascetic look, such as the saints mayhave had when the terror of life was known to them only in the imaginings ofthe cloister. The canons of the church followed in their more gorgeousvestments, and finally the officiating clergy.

The music was beautiful. There was about it a staid, sad dignity; and it seemedto Margaret fit thus to adore God. But it did not move her. She could notunderstand the words that the priests chanted; their gestures, their movementsto and fro, were strange to her. For her that stately service had no meaning.And with a great cry in her heart she said that God had forsaken her. She wasalone in an alien land. Evil was all about her, and in those ceremonies shecould find no comfort. What could she expect when the God of her fathers lefther to her fate? So that she might not weep in front of all those people,Margaret with down-turned face walked to the door. She felt utterly lost. Asshe walked along the interminable street that led to her own house, she wasshaken with sobs.

“God has forsaken me,” she repeated. “God has foresaken me.”

Next day, her eyes red with weeping, she dragged herself to Haddo’s door. Whenhe opened it, she went in without a word. She sat down, and he watched her insilence.

“I am willing to marry you whenever you choose,” she said at last.

“I have made all the necessary arrangements.”

“You have spoken to me of your mother. Will you take me to her at once.”

The shadow of a smile crossed his lips.

“If you wish it.”

Haddo told her that they could be married before the Consul early enough on theThursday morning to catch a train for England. She left everything in hishands.

“I’m desperately unhappy,” she said dully.

Oliver laid his hands upon her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“Go home, and you will forget your tears. I command you to be happy.”

Then it seemed that the bitter struggle between the good and the evil in herwas done, and the evil had conquered. She felt on a sudden curiously elated. Itseemed no longer to matter that she deceived her faithful friends. She gave abitter laugh, as she thought how easy it was to hoodwink them.

Wednesday happened to be Arthur’s birthday, and he asked her to dine with himalone.

“We’ll do ourselves proud, and hang the expense,” he said.

They had arranged to eat at a fashionable restaurant on the other side of theriver, and soon after seven he fetched her. Margaret was dressed with exceedingcare. She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for Arthur’s arrival, andsurveyed herself in the glass. Susie thought she had never been more beautiful.

“I think you’ve grown more pleasing to look upon than you ever were,” she said.“I don’t know what it is that has come over you of late, but there’s a depth inyour eyes that is quite new. It gives you an odd mysteriousness which is veryattractive.”

Knowing Susie’s love for Arthur, she wondered whether her friend was notheartbroken as she compared her own plainness with the radiant beauty that wasbefore her. Arthur came in, and Margaret did not move. He stopped at the doorto look at her. Their eyes met. His heart beat quickly, and yet he was seizedwith awe. His good fortune was too great to bear, when he thought that thispriceless treasure was his. He could have knelt down and worshipped as though agoddess of old Greece stood before him. And to him also her eyes had changed.They had acquired a burning passion which disturbed and yet enchanted him. Itseemed that the lovely girl was changed already into a lovely woman. Anenigmatic smile came to her lips.

“Are you pleased?” she asked.

Arthur came forward and Margaret put her hands on his shoulders.

“You have scent on,” he said.

He was surprised, for she had never used it before. It was a faint, almostacrid perfume that he did not know. It reminded him vaguely of those odourswhich he remembered in his childhood in the East. It was remote and strange. Itgave Margaret a new and troubling charm. There had ever been something cold inher statuesque beauty, but this touch somehow curiously emphasized her sex.Arthur’s lips twitched, and his gaunt face grew pale with passion. His emotionwas so great that it was nearly pain. He was puzzled, for her eyes expressedthings that he had never seen in them before.

“Why don’t you kiss me?” she said.

She did not see Susie, but knew that a quick look of anguish crossed her face.Margaret drew Arthur towards her. His hands began to tremble. He had neverventured to express the passion that consumed him, and when he kissed her itwas with a restraint that was almost brotherly. Now their lips met. Forgettingthat anyone else was in the room, he flung his arms around Margaret. She hadnever kissed him in that way before, and the rapture was intolerable. Her lipswere like living fire. He could not take his own away. He forgot everything.All his strength, all his self-control, deserted him. It crossed his mind thatat this moment he would willingly die. But the delight of it was so great thathe could scarcely withhold a cry of agony. At length Susie’s voice reminded himof the world.

“You’d far better go out to dinner instead of behaving like a pair of completeidiots.”

She tried to make her tone as flippant as the words, but her voice was cut by apang of agony. With a little laugh, Margaret withdrew from Arthur’s embrace andlightly looked at her friend. Susie’s brave smile died away as she caught thisglance, for there was in it a malicious hatred that startled her. It was sounexpected that she was terrified. What had she done? She was afraid,dreadfully afraid, that Margaret had guessed her secret. Arthur stood as if hissenses had left him, quivering still with the extremity of passion.

“Susie says we must go,” smiled Margaret.

He could not speak. He could not regain the conventional manner of politesociety. Very pale, like a man suddenly awaked from deep sleep, he went out atMargaret’s side. They walked along the passage. Though the door was closedbehind them and they were out of earshot, Margaret seemed not withstanding tohear Susie’s passionate sobbing. It gave her a horrible delight.

The tavern to which they went was on the Boulevard des Italiens, and at thisdate the most frequented in Paris. It was crowded, but Arthur had reserved atable in the middle of the room. Her radiant loveliness made people stare atMargaret as she passed, and her consciousness of the admiration she excitedincreased her beauty. She was satisfied that amid that throng of thebest-dressed women in the world she had cause to envy no one. The gaiety wascharming. Shaded lights gave an opulent cosiness to the scene, and there wereflowers everywhere. Innumerable mirrors reflected women of the world, admirablygowned, actresses of renown, and fashionable courtesans. The noise was verygreat. A Hungarian band played in a distant corner, but the music was drownedby the loud talking of excited men and the boisterous laughter of women. It wasplain that people had come to spend their money with a lavish hand. Thevivacious crowd was given over with all its heart to the pleasure of thefleeting moment. Everyone had put aside grave thoughts and sorrow.

Margaret had never been in better spirits. The champagne went quickly to herhead, and she talked all manner of charming nonsense. Arthur was enchanted. Hewas very proud, very pleased, and very happy. They talked of all the thingsthey would do when they were married. They talked of the places they must goto, of their home and of the beautiful things with which they would fill it.Margaret’s animation was extraordinary. Arthur was amused at her delight withthe brightness of the place, with the good things they ate, and with the wine.Her laughter was like a rippling brook. Everything tended to take him out ofhis usual reserve. Life was very pleasing, at that moment, and he feltsingularly joyful.

“Let us drink to the happiness of our life,” he said.

They touched glasses. He could not take his eyes away from her.

“You’re simply wonderful tonight,” he said. “I’m almost afraid of my goodfortune.”

“What is there to be afraid of?” she cried.

“I should like to lose something I valued in order to propitiate the fates. Iam too happy now. Everything goes too well with me.”

She gave a soft, low laugh and stretched out her hand on the table. No sculptorcould have modelled its exquisite delicacy. She wore only one ring, a largeemerald which Arthur had given her on their engagement. He could not resisttaking her hand.

“Would you like to go on anywhere?” he said, when they had finished dinner andwere drinking their coffee.

“No, let us stay here. I must go to bed early, as I have a tiring day before metomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Nothing of any importance,” she laughed.

Presently the diners began to go in little groups, and Margaret suggested thatthey should saunter towards the Madeleine. The night was fine, but rather cold,and the broad avenue was crowded. Margaret watched the people. It was no lessamusing than a play. In a little while, they took a cab and drove through thestreets, silent already, that led to the quarter of the Montparnasse. They satin silence, and Margaret nestled close to Arthur. He put his arm around herwaist. In the shut cab that faint, oriental odour rose again to his nostrils,and his head reeled as it had before dinner.

“You’ve made me very happy, Margaret,” he whispered. “I feel that, however longI live, I shall never have a happier day than this.”

“Do you love me very much?” she asked, lightly.

He did not answer, but took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately.They arrived at Margaret’s house, and she tripped up to the door. She held outher hand to him, smiling.

“Goodnight.”

“It’s dreadful to think that I must spend a dozen hours without seeing you.When may I come?”

“Not in the morning, because I shall be too busy. Come at twelve.”

She remembered that her train started exactly at that hour. The door wasopened, and with a little wave of the hand she disappeared.

Chapter X

Susie stared without comprehension at the note that announced Margaret’smarriage. It was a petit bleu sent off from the Gare du Nord, and ran asfollows:

When you receive this I shall be on my way to London. I was married to OliverHaddo this morning. I love him as I never loved Arthur. I have acted in thismanner because I thought I had gone too far with Arthur to make an explanationpossible. Please tell him.

MARGARET

Susie was filled with dismay. She did not know what to do nor what to think.There was a knock at the door, and she knew it must be Arthur, for he wasexpected at midday. She decided quickly that it was impossible to break thenews to him then and there. It was needful first to find out all manner ofthings, and besides, it was incredible. Making up her mind, she opened thedoor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Margaret isn’t here,” she said. “A friend of hers is ill andsent for her suddenly.”

“What a bore!” answered Arthur. “Mrs Bloomfield as usual, I suppose?”

“Oh, you know she’s been ill?”

“Margaret has spent nearly every afternoon with her for some days.”

Susie did not answer. This was the first she had heard of Mrs Bloomfield’sillness, and it was news that Margaret was in the habit of visiting her. Buther chief object at this moment was to get rid of Arthur.

“Won’t you come back at five o’clock?” she said.

“But, look here, why shouldn’t we lunch together, you and I?”

“I’m very sorry, but I’m expecting somebody in.”

“Oh, all right. Then I’ll come back at five.”

He nodded and went out. Susie read the brief note once more, and asked herselfif it could possibly be true. The callousness of it was appalling. She went toMargaret’s room and saw that everything was in its place. It did not look as ifthe owner had gone on a journey. But then she noticed that a number of lettershad been destroyed. She opened a drawer and found that Margaret’s trinkets weregone. An idea struck her. Margaret had bought lately a number of clothes, andthese she had insisted should be sent to her dressmaker, saying that it wasneedless to cumber their little apartment with them. They could stay there tillshe returned to England a few weeks later for her marriage, and it would besimpler to despatch them all from one place. Susie went out. At the door itoccurred to her to ask the concierge if she knew where Margaret had gonethat morning.

“Parfaitement, Mademoiselle,” answered the old woman. “I heard her tellthe coachman to go to the British Consulate.”

The last doubt was leaving Susie. She went to the dressmaker and therediscovered that by Margaret’s order the boxes containing her things had gone onthe previous day to the luggage office of the Gare du Nord.

“I hope you didn’t let them go till your bill was paid,” said Susie lightly, asthough in jest.

The dressmaker laughed.

“Mademoiselle paid for everything two or three days ago.”

With indignation, Susie realised that Margaret had not only taken away thetrousseau bought for her marriage with Arthur; but, since she was herselfpenniless, had paid for it with the money which he had generously given her.Susie drove then to Mrs Bloomfield, who at once reproached her for not comingto see her.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been exceedingly busy, and I knew that Margaret waslooking after you.”

“I’ve not seen Margaret for three weeks,” said the invalid.

“Haven’t you? I thought she dropped in quite often.”

Susie spoke as though the matter were of no importance. She asked herself nowwhere Margaret could have spent those afternoons. By a great effort she forcedherself to speak of casual things with the garrulous old lady long enough tomake her visit seem natural. On leaving her, she went to the Consulate, and herlast doubt was dissipated. Then nothing remained but to go home and wait forArthur. Her first impulse had been to see Dr Porhoët and ask for his advice;but, even if he offered to come back with her to the studio, his presence wouldbe useless. She must see Arthur by himself. Her heart was wrung as she thoughtof the man’s agony when he knew the truth. She had confessed to herself longbefore that she loved him passionately, and it seemed intolerable that she ofall persons must bear him this great blow.

She sat in the studio, counting the minutes, and thought with a bitter smilethat his eagerness to see Margaret would make him punctual. She had eatennothing since the petit déjeuner of the morning, and she was faint withhunger. But she had not the heart to make herself tea. At last he came. Heentered joyfully and looked around.

“Is Margaret not here yet?” he asked, with surprise.

“Won’t you sit down?”

He did not notice that her voice was strange, nor that she kept her eyesaverted.

“How lazy you are,” he cried. “You haven’t got the tea.”

“Mr Burdon, I have something to say to you. It will cause you very great pain.”

He observed now the hoarseness of her tone. He sprang to his feet, and athousand fancies flashed across his brain. Something horrible had happened toMargaret. She was ill. His terror was so great that he could not speak. He putout his hands as does a blind man. Susie had to make an effort to go on. Butshe could not. Her voice was choked, and she began to cry. Arthur trembled asthough he were seized with ague. She gave him the letter.

“What does it mean?”

He looked at her vacantly. Then she told him all that she had done that day andthe places to which she had been.

“When you thought she was spending every afternoon with Mrs Bloomfield, she waswith that man. She made all the arrangements with the utmost care. It was quitepremeditated.”

Arthur sat down and leaned his head on his hand. He turned his back to her, sothat she should not see his face. They remained in perfect silence. And it wasso terrible that Susie began to cry quietly. She knew that the man she lovedwas suffering an agony greater than the agony of death, and she could not helphim. Rage flared up in her heart, and hatred for Margaret.

“Oh, it’s infamous!” she cried suddenly. “She’s lied to you, she’s beenodiously deceitful. She must be vile and heartless. She must be rotten to thevery soul.”

He turned round sharply, and his voice was hard.

“I forbid you to say anything against her.”

Susie gave a little gasp. He had never spoken to her before in anger. Sheflashed out bitterly.

“Can you love her still, when she’s shown herself capable of such viletreachery? For nearly a month this man must have been making love to her, andshe’s listened to all we said of him. She’s pretended to hate the sight of him,I’ve seen her cut him in the street. She’s gone on with all the preparationsfor your marriage. She must have lived in a world of lies, and you neversuspected anything because you had an unalterable belief in her love andtruthfulness. She owes everything to you. For four years she’s lived on yourcharity. She was only able to be here because you gave her money to carry out afoolish whim, and the very clothes on her back were paid for by you.”

“I can’t help it if she didn’t love me,” he cried desperately.

“You know just as well as I do that she pretended to love you. Oh, she’sbehaved shamefully. There can be no excuse for her.”

He looked at Susie with haggard, miserable eyes.

“How can you be so cruel? For God’s sake don’t make it harder.”

There was an indescribable agony in his voice. And as if his own words of painovercame the last barrier of his self-control, he broke down. He hid his facein his hands and sobbed. Susie was horribly conscience-stricken.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to say such hateful things. Ididn’t mean to be unkind. I ought to have remembered how passionately you loveher.”

It was very painful to see the effort he made to regain his self-command. Susiesuffered as much as he did. Her impulse was to throw herself on her knees, andkiss his hands, and comfort him; but she knew that he was interested in heronly because she was Margaret’s friend. At last he got up and, taking his pipefrom his pocket, filled it silently. She was terrified at the look on his face.The first time she had ever seen him, Susie wondered at the possibility ofself-torture which was in that rough-hewn countenance; but she had neverdreamed that it could express such unutterable suffering. Its lines weresuddenly changed, and it was terrible to look upon.

“I can’t believe it’s true,” he muttered. “I can’t believe it.”

There was a knock at the door, and Arthur gave a startled cry.

“Perhaps she’s come back.”

He opened it hurriedly, his face suddenly lit up by expectation; but it was DrPorhoët.

“How do you do?” said the Frenchman. “What is happening?”

He looked round and caught the dismay that was on the faces of Arthur andSusie.

“Where is Miss Margaret? I thought you must be giving a party.”

There was something in his manner that made Susie ask why.

“I received a telegram from Mr Haddo this morning.”

He took it from his pocket and handed it to Susie. She read it and passed it toArthur. It said:

Come to the studio at five. High jinks.

Oliver Haddo

“Margaret was married to Mr Haddo this morning,” said Arthur, quietly. “Iunderstand they have gone to England.”

Susie quickly told the doctor the few facts they knew. He was as surprised, asdistressed, as they.

“But what is the explanation of it all?” he asked.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders wearily.

“She cared for Haddo more than she cared for me, I suppose. It is naturalenough that she should go away in this fashion rather than offer explanations.I suppose she wanted to save herself a scene she thought might be ratherpainful.”

“When did you see her last?”

“We spent yesterday evening together.”

“And did she not show in any way that she contemplated such a step?”

Arthur shook his head.

“You had no quarrel?”

“We’ve never quarrelled. She was in the best of spirits. I’ve never seen hermore gay. She talked the whole time of our house in London, and of the placeswe must visit when we were married.”

Another contraction of pain passed over his face as he remembered that she hadbeen more affectionate than she had ever been before. The fire of her kissesstill burnt upon his lips. He had spent a night of almost sleepless ecstasybecause he had been certain for the first time that the passion which consumedhim burnt in her heart too. Words were dragged out of him against his will.

“Oh, I’m sure she loved me.”

Meanwhile Susie’s eyes were fixed on Haddo’s cruel telegram. She seemed to hearhis mocking laughter.

“Margaret loathed Oliver Haddo with a hatred that was almost unnatural. It wasa physical repulsion like that which people sometimes have for certain animals.What can have happened to change it into so great a love that it has made hercapable of such villainous acts?”

“We mustn’t be unfair to him,” said Arthur. “He put our backs up, and we wereprobably unjust. He has done some very remarkable things in his day, and he’sno fool. It’s possible that some people wouldn’t mind the eccentricities whichirritated us. He’s certainly of very good family and he’s rich. In many waysit’s an excellent match for Margaret.”

He was trying with all his might to find excuses for her. It would not make hertreachery so intolerable if he could persuade himself that Haddo had qualitieswhich might explain her infatuation. But as his enemy stood before his fancy,monstrously obese, vulgar, and overbearing, a shudder passed through him. Thethought of Margaret in that man’s arms tortured him as though his flesh weretorn with iron hooks.

“Perhaps it’s not true. Perhaps she’ll return,” he cried.

“Would you take her back if she came to you?” asked Susie.

“Do you think anything she can do has the power to make me love her less? Theremust be reasons of which we know nothing that caused her to do all she hasdone. I daresay it was inevitable from the beginning.”

Dr Porhoët got up and walked across the room.

“If a woman had done me such an injury that I wanted to take some horriblevengeance, I think I could devise nothing more subtly cruel than to let her bemarried to Oliver Haddo.”

“Ah, poor thing, poor thing!” said Arthur. “If I could only suppose she wouldbe happy! The future terrifies me.”

“I wonder if she knew that Haddo had sent that telegram,” said Susie.

“What can it matter?”

She turned to Arthur gravely.

“Do you remember that day, in this studio, when he kicked Margaret’s dog, andyou thrashed him? Well, afterwards, when he thought no one saw him, I happenedto catch sight of his face. I never saw in my life such malignant hatred. Itwas the face of a fiend of wickedness. And when he tried to excuse himself,there was a cruel gleam in his eyes which terrified me. I warned you; I toldyou that he had made up his mind to revenge himself, but you laughed at me. Andthen he seemed to go out of our lives and I thought no more about it. I wonderwhy he sent Dr Porhoët here today. He must have known that the doctor wouldhear of his humiliation, and he may have wished that he should be present athis triumph. I think that very moment he made up his mind to be even with you,and he devised this odious scheme.”

“How could he know that it was possible to carry out such a horrible thing?”said Arthur.

“I wonder if Miss Boyd is right,” murmured the doctor. “After all, if you cometo think of it, he must have thought that he couldn’t hurt you more. The wholething is fiendish. He took away from you all your happiness. He must have knownthat you wanted nothing in the world more than to make Margaret your wife, andhe has not only prevented that, but he has married her himself. And he can onlyhave done it by poisoning her mind, by warping her very character. Her soulmust be horribly besmirched; he must have entirely changed her personality.”

“Ah, I feel that,” cried Arthur. “If Margaret has broken her word to me, ifshe’s gone to him so callously, it’s because it’s not the Margaret I know. Somedevil must have taken possession of her body.”

“You use a figure of speech. I wonder if it can possibly be a reality.”

Arthur and Dr Porhoët looked at Susie with astonishment.

“I can’t believe that Margaret could have done such a thing,” she went on. “Themore I think of it, the more incredible it seems. I’ve known Margaret foryears, and she was incapable of deceit. She was very kind-hearted. She washonest and truthful. In the first moment of horror, I was only indignant, but Idon’t want to think too badly of her. There is only one way to excuse her, andthat is by supposing she acted under some strange compulsion.”

Arthur clenched his hands.

“I’m not sure if that doesn’t make it more awful than before. If he’s marriedher, not because he cares, but in order to hurt me, what life will she leadwith him? We know how heartless he is, how vindictive, how horribly cruel.”

“Dr Porhoët knows more about these things than we do,” said Susie. “Is itpossible that Haddo can have cast some spell upon her that would make herunable to resist his will? Is it possible that he can have got such aninfluence over her that her whole character was changed?”

“How can I tell?” cried the doctor helplessly. “I have heard that such thingsmay happen. I have read of them, but I have no proof. In these matters all isobscurity. The adepts in magic make strange claims. Arthur is a man of science,and he knows what the limits of hypnotism are.”

“We know that Haddo had powers that other men have not,” answered Susie.“Perhaps there was enough truth in his extravagant pretensions to enable him todo something that we can hardly imagine.”

Arthur passed his hands wearily over his face.

“I’m so broken, so confused, that I cannot think sanely. At this momenteverything seems possible. My faith in all the truths that have supported me istottering.”

For a while they remained silent. Arthur’s eyes rested on the chair in whichMargaret had so often sat. An unfinished canvas still stood upon the easel. Itwas Dr Porhoët who spoke at last.

“But even if there were some truth in Miss Boyd’s suppositions, I don’t see howit can help you. You cannot do anything. You have no remedy, legal orotherwise. Margaret is apparently a free agent, and she has married this man.It is plain that many people will think she has done much better in marrying acountry gentleman than in marrying a young surgeon. Her letter is perfectlylucid. There is no trace of compulsion. To all intents and purposes she hasmarried him of her own free-will, and there is nothing to show that she desiresto be released from him or from the passion which we may suppose enslaves her.”

What he said was obviously true, and no reply was possible.

“The only thing is to grin and bear it,” said Arthur, rising.

“Where are you going?” said Susie.

“I think I want to get away from Paris. Here everything will remind me of whatI have lost. I must get back to my work.”

He had regained command over himself, and except for the hopeless woe of hisface, which he could not prevent from being visible, he was as calm as ever. Heheld out his hand to Susie.

“I can only hope that you’ll forget,” she said.

“I don’t wish to forget,” he answered, shaking his head. “It’s possible thatyou will hear from Margaret. She’ll want the things that she has left here, andI daresay will write to you. I should like you to tell her that I bear her noill-will for anything she has done, and I will never venture to reproach her. Idon’t know if I shall be able to do anything for her, but I wish her to knowthat in any case and always I will do everything that she wants.”

“If she writes to me, I will see that she is told,” answered Susie gravely.

“And now goodbye.”

“You can’t go to London till tomorrow. Shan’t I see you in the morning?”

“I think if you don’t mind, I won’t come here again. The sight of all thisrather disturbs me.”

Again a contraction of pain passed across his eyes, and Susie saw that he wasusing a superhuman effort to preserve the appearance of composure. Shehesitated a moment.

“Shall I never see you again?” she said. “I should be sorry to lose sight ofyou entirely.”

“I should be sorry, too,” he answered. “I have learned how good and kind youare, and I shall never forget that you are Margaret’s friend. When you come toLondon, I hope that you will let me know.”

He went out. Dr Porhoët, his hands behind his back, began to walk up and downthe room. At last he turned to Susie.

“There is one thing that puzzles me,” he said. “Why did he marry her?”

“You heard what Arthur said,” answered Susie bitterly. “Whatever happened, hewould have taken her back. The other man knew that he could only bind her tohim securely by going through the ceremonies of marriage.”

Dr Porhoët shrugged his shoulders, and presently he left her. When Susie wasalone she began to weep broken-heartedly, not for herself, but because Arthursuffered an agony that was hardly endurable.

Chapter XI

Arthur went back to London next day.

Susie felt it impossible any longer to stay in the deserted studio, andaccepted a friend’s invitation to spend the winter in Italy. The good DrPorhoët remained in Paris with his books and his occult studies.

Susie travelled slowly through Tuscany and Umbria. Margaret had not written toher, and Susie, on leaving Paris, had sent her friend’s belongings to anaddress from which she knew they would eventually be forwarded. She could notbring herself to write. In answer to a note announcing her change of plans,Arthur wrote briefly that he had much work to do and was delivering a newcourse of lectures at St. Luke’s; he had lately been appointed visiting surgeonto another hospital, and his private practice was increasing. He did notmention Margaret. His letter was abrupt, formal, and constrained. Susie,reading it for the tenth time, could make little of it. She saw that he wroteonly from civility, without interest; and there was nothing to indicate hisstate of mind. Susie and her companion had made up their minds to pass someweeks in Rome; and here, to her astonishment, Susie had news of Haddo and hiswife. It appeared that they had spent some time there, and the little Englishcircle was talking still of their eccentricities. They travelled in some state,with a courier and a suite of servants; they had taken a carriage and were inthe habit of driving every afternoon on the Pincio. Haddo had excited attentionby the extravagance of his costume, and Margaret by her beauty; she was to beseen in her box at the opera every night, and her diamonds were the envy of allbeholders. Though people had laughed a good deal at Haddo’s pretentiousness,and been exasperated by his arrogance, they could not fail to be impressed byhis obvious wealth. But finally the pair had disappeared suddenly withoutsaying a word to anybody. A good many bills remained unpaid, but these, Susielearnt, had been settled later. It was reported that they were now in MonteCarlo.

“Did they seem happy?” Susie asked the gossiping friend who gave her thisscanty information.

“I think so. After all, Mrs Haddo has almost everything that a woman can want,riches, beauty, nice clothes, jewels. She would be very unreasonable not to behappy.”

Susie had meant to pass the later spring on the Riviera, but when she heardthat the Haddos were there, she hesitated. She did not want to run the risk ofseeing them, and yet she had a keen desire to find out exactly how things weregoing. Curiosity and distaste struggled in her mind, but curiosity won; and shepersuaded her friend to go to Monte Carlo instead of to Beaulieu. At firstSusie did not see the Haddos; but rumour was already much occupied with them,and she had only to keep her ears open. In that strange place, where all thatis extravagant and evil, all that is morbid, insane, and fantastic, is gatheredtogether, the Haddos were in fit company. They were notorious for theirassiduity at the tables and for their luck, for the dinners and suppers theygave at places frequented by the very opulent, and for their eccentricappearance. It was a complex picture that Susie put together from the scraps ofinformation she collected. After two or three days she saw them at the tables,but they were so absorbed in their game that she felt quite safe fromdiscovery. Margaret was playing, but Haddo stood behind her and directed hermovements. Their faces were extraordinarily intent. Susie fixed her attentionon Margaret, for in what she had heard of her she had been quite unable torecognize the girl who had been her friend. And what struck her most now wasthat there was in Margaret’s expression a singular likeness to Haddo’s.Notwithstanding her exquisite beauty, she had a curiously vicious look, whichsuggested that somehow she saw literally with Oliver’s eyes. They had won greatsums that evening, and many persons watched them. It appeared that they playedalways in this fashion, Margaret putting on the stakes and Haddo telling herwhat to do and when to stop. Susie heard two Frenchmen talking of them. Shelistened with all her ears. She flushed as she heard one of them make anobservation about Margaret which was more than coarse. The other laughed.

“It is incredible,” he said.

“I assure you it’s true. They have been married six months, and she is stillonly his wife in name. The superstitious through all the ages have believed inthe power of virginity, and the Church has made use of the idea for its ownends. The man uses her simply as a mascot.”

The men laughed, and their conversation proceeded so grossly that Susie’scheeks burned. But what she had heard made her look at Margaret more closelystill. She was radiant. Susie could not deny that something had come to herthat gave a new, enigmatic savour to her beauty. She was dressed moregorgeously than Susie’s fastidious taste would have permitted; and herdiamonds, splendid in themselves, were too magnificent for the occasion. Atlast, sweeping up the money, Haddo touched her on the shoulder, and she rose.Behind her was standing a painted woman of notorious disreputability. Susie wasastonished to see Margaret smile and nod as she passed her.

Susie learnt that the Haddos had a suite of rooms at the most expensive of thehotels. They lived in a whirl of gaiety. They knew few English except thosewhose reputations were damaged, but seemed to prefer the society of thoseforeigners whose wealth and eccentricities made them the cynosure of thatlittle world. Afterwards, she often saw them, in company of Russian Grand-Dukesand their mistresses, of South American women with prodigious diamonds, ofnoble gamblers and great ladies of doubtful fame, of strange men overdressedand scented. Rumour was increasingly busy with them. Margaret moved among allthose queer people with a cold mysteriousness that excited the curiosity of thesated idlers. The suggestion which Susie overheard was repeated morecircumstantially. But to this was joined presently the report of orgies thatwere enacted in the darkened sitting-room of the hotel, when all that was nobleand vicious in Monte Carlo was present. Oliver’s eccentric imagination inventedwhimsical festivities. He had a passion for disguise, and he gave a fancy-dressparty of which fabulous stories were told. He sought to revive the mysticalceremonies of old religions, and it was reported that horrible rites had beenperformed in the garden of the villa, under the shining moon, in imitation ofthose he had seen in Eastern places. It was said that Haddo had magical powersof extraordinary character, and the tired imagination of those pleasure-seekerswas tickled by his talk of black art. Some even asserted that the blasphemousceremonies of the Black Mass had been celebrated in the house of a PolishPrince. People babbled of satanism and of necromancy. Haddo was thought to beimmersed in occult studies for the performance of a magical operation; and somesaid that he was occupied with the Magnum Opus, the greatest and most fantasticof alchemical experiments. Gradually these stories were narrowed down to themonstrous assertion that he was attempting to create living beings. He hadexplained at length to somebody that magical receipts existed for themanufacture of homunculi.

Haddo was known generally by the name he was pleased to give himself. TheBrother of the Shadow; but most people used it in derision, for it contrastedabsurdly with his astonishing bulk. They were amused or outraged by his vanity,but they could not help talking about him, and Susie knew well enough by nowthat nothing pleased him more. His exploits as a lion-hunter were well known,and it was reported that human blood was on his hands. It was soon discoveredthat he had a queer power over animals, so that in his presence they wereseized with unaccountable terror. He succeeded in surrounding himself with anatmosphere of the fabulous, and nothing that was told of him was tooextravagant for belief. But unpleasant stories were circulated also, andsomeone related that he had been turned out of a club in Vienna for cheating atcards. He played many games, but here, as at Oxford, it was found that he wasan unscrupulous opponent. And those old rumours followed him that he tookstrange drugs. He was supposed to have odious vices, and people whispered toone another of scandals that had been with difficulty suppressed. No one quiteunderstood on what terms he was with his wife, and it was vaguely asserted thathe was at times brutally cruel to her. Susie’s heart sank when she heard this;but on the few occasions upon which she caught sight of Margaret, she seemed inthe highest spirits. One story inexpressibly shocked her. After lunching atsome restaurant, Haddo gave a bad louis among the money with which he paid thebill, and there was a disgraceful altercation with the waiter. He refused tochange the coin till a policeman was brought in. His guests were furious, andseveral took the first opportunity to cut him dead. One of those presentnarrated the scene to Susie, and she was told that Margaret laughedunconcernedly with her neighbour while the sordid quarrel was proceeding. Theman’s blood was as good as his fortune was substantial, but it seemed to pleasehim to behave like an adventurer. The incident was soon common property, andgradually the Haddos found themselves cold-shouldered. The persons with whomthey mostly consorted had reputations too delicate to stand the glare ofpublicity which shone upon all who were connected with him, and the suggestionof police had thrown a shudder down many a spine. What had happened in Romehappened here again: they suddenly disappeared.

Susie had not been in London for some time, and as the spring advanced sheremembered that her friends would be glad to see her. It would be charming tospend a few weeks there with an adequate income; for its pleasures had hithertobeen closed to her, and she looked forward to her visit as if it were to aforeign city. But though she would not confess it to herself, her desire to seeArthur was the strongest of her motives. Time and absence had deadened a littlethe intensity of her feelings, and she could afford to acknowledge that sheregarded him with very great affection. She knew that he would never care forher, but she was content to be his friend. She could think of him without pain.

Susie stayed in Paris for three weeks to buy some of the clothes which sheasserted were now her only pleasure in life, and then went to London.

She wrote to Arthur, and he invited her at once to lunch with him at arestaurant. She was vexed, for she felt they could have spoken more freely inhis own house; but as soon as she saw him, she realized that he had chosentheir meeting-place deliberately. The crowd of people that surrounded them, thegaiety, the playing of the band, prevented any intimacy of conversation. Theywere forced to talk of commonplaces. Susie was positively terrified at thechange that had taken place in him. He looked ten years older; he had lostflesh, and his hair was sprinkled with white. His face was extraordinarilydrawn, and his eyes were weary from lack of sleep. But what most struck her wasthe change in his expression. The look of pain which she had seen on his facethat last evening in the studio was now become settled, so that it altered thelines of his countenance. It was harrowing to look at him. He was more silentthan ever, and when he spoke it was in a strange low voice that seemed to comefrom a long way off. To be with him made Susie curiously uneasy, for there wasa strenuousness in him which deprived his manner of all repose. One of thethings that had pleased her in him formerly was the tranquillity which gave onethe impression that here was a man who could be relied on in difficulties. Atfirst she could not understand exactly what had happened, but in a moment sawthat he was making an unceasing effort at self-control. He was never free fromsuffering and he was constantly on the alert to prevent anyone from seeing it.The strain gave him a peculiar restlessness.

But he was gentler than he had ever been before. He seemed genuinely glad tosee her and asked about her travels with interest. Susie led him to talk ofhimself, and he spoke willingly enough of his daily round. He was earning agood deal of money, and his professional reputation was making steady progress.He worked hard. Besides his duties at the two hospitals with which he was nowconnected, his teaching, and his private practice, he had read of late one ortwo papers before scientific bodies, and was editing a large work on surgery.

“How on earth can you find time to do so much?” asked Susie.

“I can do with less sleep than I used,” he answered. “It almost doubles myworking-day.”

He stopped abruptly and looked down. His remark had given accidentally somehint at the inner life which he was striving to conceal. Susie knew that hersuspicion was well-founded. She thought of the long hours he lay awake, tryingin vain to drive from his mind the agony that tortured him, and the shortintervals of troubled sleep. She knew that he delayed as long as possible thefatal moment of going to bed, and welcomed the first light of day, which gavehim an excuse for getting up. And because he knew that he had divulged thetruth he was embarrassed. They sat in awkward silence. To Susie, the tragicfigure in front of her was singularly impressive amid that lighthearted throng:all about them happy persons were enjoying the good things of life, talking,laughing, and making merry. She wondered what refinement of self-torture haddriven him to choose that place to come to. He must hate it.

When they finished luncheon, Susie took her courage in both hands.

“Won’t you come back to my rooms for half an hour? We can’t talk here.”

He made an instinctive motion of withdrawal, as though he sought to escape. Hedid not answer immediately, and she insisted.

“You have nothing to do for an hour, and there are many things I want to speakto you about”

“The only way to be strong is never to surrender to one’s weakness,” he said,almost in a whisper, as though ashamed to talk so intimately.

“Then you won’t come?”

“No.”

It was not necessary to specify the matter which it was proposed to discuss.Arthur knew perfectly that Susie wished to talk of Margaret, and he was toostraightforward to pretend otherwise. Susie paused for one moment.

“I was never able to give Margaret your message. She did not write to me.”

A certain wildness came into his eyes, as if the effort he made was almost toomuch for him.

“I saw her in Monte Carlo,” said Susie. “I thought you might like to hear abouther.”

“I don’t see that it can do any good,” he answered.

Susie made a little hopeless gesture. She was beaten.

“Shall we go?” she said.

“You are not angry with me?” he asked. “I know you mean to be kind. I’m verygrateful to you.”

“I shall never be angry with you,” she smiled.

Arthur paid the bill, and they threaded their way among the tables. At the doorshe held out her hand.

“I think you do wrong in shutting yourself away from all human comradeship,”she said, with that good-humoured smile of hers. “You must know that you willonly grow absurdly morbid.”

“I go out a great deal,” he answered patiently, as though he reasoned with achild. “I make a point of offering myself distractions from my work. I go tothe opera two or three times a week.”

“I thought you didn’t care for music.”

“I don’t think I did,” he answered. “But I find it rests me.”

He spoke with a weariness that was appalling. Susie had never beheld so plainlythe torment of a soul in pain.

“Won’t you let me come to the opera with you one night?” she asked. “Or does itbore you to see me?”

“I should like it above all things,” he smiled, quite brightly. “You’re like awonderful tonic. They’re giving Tristan on Thursday. Shall we go together?”

“I should enjoy it enormously.”

She shook hands with him and jumped into a cab.

“Oh, poor thing!” she murmured. “Poor thing! What can I do for him?”

She clenched, her hands when she thought of Margaret. It was monstrous that sheshould have caused such havoc in that good, strong man.

“Oh, I hope she’ll suffer for it,” she whispered vindictively. “I hope she’llsuffer all the agony that he has suffered.”

Susie dressed herself for Covent Garden as only she could do. Her gown pleasedher exceedingly, not only because it was admirably made, but because it hadcost far more than she could afford. To dress well was her only extravagance.It was of taffeta silk, in that exquisite green which the learned in suchmatters call Eau de Nil; and its beauty was enhanced by the old lacewhich had formed not the least treasured part of her inheritance. In her hairshe wore an ornament of Spanish paste, of exquisite workmanship, and round herneck a chain which had once adorned that of a madonna in an Andalusian church.Her individuality made even her plainness attractive. She smiled at herself inthe glass ruefully, because Arthur would never notice that she was perfectlydressed.

When she tripped down the stairs and across the pavement to the cab with whichhe fetched her, Susie held up her skirt with a grace she flattered herself wasquite Parisian. As they drove along, she flirted a little with her Spanish fanand stole a glance at herself in the glass. Her gloves were so long and so newand so expensive that she was really indifferent to Arthur’s inattention.

Her joyous temperament expanded like a spring flower when she found herself inthe Opera House. She put up her glasses and examined the women as they cameinto the boxes of the Grand Tier. Arthur pointed out a number of persons whosenames were familiar to her, but she felt the effort he was making to beamiable. The weariness of his mouth that evening was more noticeable because ofthe careless throng. But when the music began he seemed to forget that any eyewas upon him; he relaxed the constant tension in which he held himself; andSusie, watching him surreptitiously, saw the emotions chase one another acrosshis face. It was now very mobile. The passionate sounds ate into his soul,mingling with his own love and his own sorrow, till he was taken out ofhimself; and sometimes he panted strangely. Through the interval he remainedabsorbed in his emotion. He sat as quietly as before and did not speak a word.Susie understood why Arthur, notwithstanding his old indifference, now showedsuch eager appreciation of music; it eased the pain he suffered by transferringit to an ideal world, and his own grievous sorrow made the music so real thatit gave him an enjoyment of extraordinary vehemence. When it was all over andIsolde had given her last wail of sorrow, Arthur was so exhausted that he couldhardly stir.

But they went out with the crowd, and while they were waiting in the vestibulefor space to move in, a common friend came up to them. This was Arbuthnot, aneye-specialist, whom Susie had met on the Riviera and who, she presentlydiscovered, was a colleague of Arthur’s at St Luke’s. He was a prosperousbachelor with grey hair and a red, contented face, well-to-do, for his practicewas large, and lavish with his money. He had taken Susie out to luncheon onceor twice in Monte Carlo; for he liked women, pretty or plain, and she attractedhim by her good-humour. He rushed up to them now and wrung their hands. Hespoke in a jovial voice.

“The very people I wanted to see! Why haven’t you been to see me, you wickedwoman? I’m sure your eyes are in a deplorable condition.”

“Do you think I would let a bold, bad man like you stare into them with anophthalmoscope?” laughed Susie.

“Now look here, I want you both to do me a great favour. I’m giving a supperparty at the Savoy, and two of my people have suddenly failed me. The table isordered for eight, and you must come and take their places.”

“I’m afraid I must get home,” said Arthur. “I have a deuce of a lot of work todo.”

“Nonsense,” answered Arbuthnot. “You work much too hard, and a littlerelaxation will do you good.” He turned to Susie: “I know you like curiositiesin human nature; I’m having a man and his wife who will positively thrill you,they’re so queer, and a lovely actress, and an awfully jolly American girl.”

“I should love to come,” said Susie, with an appealing look at Arthur, “if onlyto show you how much more amusing I am than lovely actresses.”

Arthur, forcing himself to smile, accepted the invitation. The specialistpatted him cheerily on the back, and they agreed to meet at the Savoy.

“It’s awfully good of you to come,” said Susie, as they drove along. “Do youknow, I’ve never been there in my life, and I’m palpitating with excitement.”

“What a selfish brute I was to refuse!” he answered.

When Susie came out of the dressing-room, she found Arthur waiting for her. Shewas in the best of spirits.

“Now you must say you like my frock. I’ve seen six women turn green with envyat the sight of it. They think I must be French, and they’re sure I’m notrespectable.”

“That is evidently a great compliment,” he smiled.

At that moment Arbuthnot came up to them in his eager way and seized theirarms.

“Come along. We’re waiting for you. I’ll just introduce you all round, and thenwe’ll go in to supper.”

They walked down the steps into the foyer, and he led them to a group ofpeople. They found themselves face to face with Oliver Haddo and Margaret.

“Mr Arthur Burdon—Mrs Haddo. Mr Burdon is a colleague of mine at St Luke’s; andhe will cut out your appendix in a shorter time than any man alive.”

Arbuthnot rattled on. He did not notice that Arthur had grown ghastly pale andthat Margaret was blank with consternation. Haddo, his heavy face wreathed withsmiles, stepped forward heartily. He seemed thoroughly to enjoy the situation.

“Mr Burdon is an old friend of ours,” he said. “In fact, it was he whointroduced me to my wife. And Miss Boyd and I have discussed Art and theImmortality of the Soul with the gravity due to such topics.”

He held out his hand, and Susie took it. She had a horror of scenes, and,though this encounter was as unexpected as it was disagreeable, she felt itneedful to behave naturally. She shook hands with Margaret.

“How disappointing!” cried their host. “I was hoping to give Miss Boydsomething quite new in the way of magicians, and behold! she knows all abouthim.”

“If she did, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t speak to me,” said Oliver, with abantering smile.

They went into the supper-room.

“Now, how shall we sit?” said Arbuthnot, glancing round the table.

Oliver looked at Arthur, and his eyes twinkled.

“You must really let my wife and Mr Burdon be together. They haven’t seen oneanother for so long that I’m sure they have no end of things to talk about.” Hechuckled to himself. “And pray give me Miss Boyd, so that she can abuse me toher heart’s content.”

This arrangement thoroughly suited the gay specialist, for he was able to putthe beautiful actress on one side of him and the charming American on theother. He rubbed his hands.

“I feel that we’re going to have a delightful supper.”

Oliver laughed boisterously. He took, as was his habit, the whole conversationupon himself, and Susie was obliged to confess that he was at his best. Therewas a grotesque drollery about him that was very diverting, and it was almostimpossible to resist him. He ate and drank with tremendous appetite. Susiethanked her stars at that moment that she was a woman who knew by long practicehow to conceal her feelings, for Arthur, overcome with dismay at the meeting,sat in stony silence. But she talked gaily. She chaffed Oliver as though hewere an old friend, and laughed vivaciously. She noticed meanwhile that Haddo,more extravagantly dressed than usual, had managed to get an odd fantasy intohis evening clothes: he wore knee-breeches, which in itself was enough toexcite attention; but his frilled shirt, his velvet collar, and oddly-cut satinwaistcoat gave him the appearance of a comic Frenchman. Now that she was ableto examine him more closely, she saw that in the last six months he was grownmuch balder; and the shiny whiteness of his naked crown contrasted oddly withthe redness of his face. He was stouter, too, and the fat hung in heavy foldsunder his chin; his paunch was preposterous. The vivacity of his movements madehis huge corpulence subtly alarming. He was growing indeed strangely terriblein appearance. His eyes had still that fixed, parallel look, but there was inthem now at times a ferocious gleam. Margaret was as beautiful as ever, butSusie noticed that his influence was apparent in her dress; for there could beno doubt that it had crossed the line of individuality and had degenerated intothe eccentric. Her gown was much too gorgeous. It told against the classicalcharacter of her beauty. Susie shuddered a little, for it reminded her of acourtesan’s.

Margaret talked and laughed as much as her husband, but Susie could not tellwhether this animation was affected or due to an utter callousness. Her voiceseemed natural enough, yet it was inconceivable that she should be solighthearted. Perhaps she was trying to show that she was happy. The supperproceeded, and the lights, the surrounding gaiety, the champagne, made everyonemore lively. Their host was in uproarious spirits. He told a story or two atwhich everyone laughed. Oliver Haddo had an amusing anecdote handy. It was alittle risky, but it was so funnily narrated that everyone roared but Arthur,who remained in perfect silence. Margaret had been drinking glass after glassof wine, and no sooner had her husband finished than she capped his story withanother. But whereas his was wittily immoral, hers was simply gross. At firstthe other women could not understand to what she was tending, but when theysaw, they looked down awkwardly at their plates. Arbuthnot, Haddo, and theother man who was there laughed very heartily; but Arthur flushed to the rootsof his hair. He felt horribly uncomfortable. He was ashamed. He dared not lookat Margaret. It was inconceivable that from her exquisite mouth such indecencyshould issue. Margaret, apparently quite unconscious of the effect she hadproduced, went on talking and laughing.

Soon the lights were put out, and Arthur’s agony was ended. He wanted to rushaway, to hide his face, to forget the sight of her and her gaiety, above all toforget that story. It was horrible, horrible.

She shook hands with him quite lightly.

“You must come and see us one day. We’ve got rooms at the Carlton.”

He bowed and did not answer. Susie had gone to the dressing-room to get hercloak. She stood at the door when Margaret came out.

“Can we drop you anywhere?” said Margaret. “You must come and see us when youhave nothing better to do.”

Susie threw back her head. Arthur was standing just in front of them lookingdown at the ground in complete abstraction.

“Do you see him?” she said, in a low voice quivering with indignation. “That iswhat you have made him.”

He looked up at that moment and turned upon them his sunken, tormented eyes.They saw his wan, pallid face with its look of hopeless woe.

“Do you know that he’s killing himself on your account? He can’t sleep atnight. He’s suffered the tortures of the damned. Oh, I hope you’ll suffer ashe’s suffered!”

“I wonder that you blame me,” said Margaret. “You ought to be rather grateful.”

“Why?”

“You’re not going to deny that you’ve loved him passionately from the first dayyou saw him? Do you think I didn’t see that you cared for him in Paris? Youcare for him now more than ever.”

Susie felt suddenly sick at heart. She had never dreamt that her secret wasdiscovered. Margaret gave a bitter little laugh and walked past her.

Chapter XII

Arthur Burdon spent two or three days in a state of utter uncertainty, but atlast the idea he had in mind grew so compelling as to overcome all objections.He went to the Carlton and asked for Margaret. He had learnt from the porterthat Haddo was gone out and so counted on finding her alone. A simple deviceenabled him to avoid sending up his name. When he was shown into her privateroom Margaret was sitting down. She neither read nor worked.

“You told me I might call upon you,” said Arthur.

She stood up without answering, and turned deathly pale.

“May I sit down?” he asked.

She bowed her head. For a moment they looked at one another in silence. Arthursuddenly forgot all he had prepared to say. His intrusion seemed intolerable.

“Why have you come?” she said hoarsely.

They both felt that it was useless to attempt the conventionality of society.It was impossible to deal with the polite commonplaces that ease an awkwardsituation.

“I thought that I might be able to help you,” he answered gravely.

“I want no help. I’m perfectly happy. I have nothing to say to you.”

She spoke hurriedly, with a certain nervousness, and her eyes were fixedanxiously on the door as though she feared that someone would come in.

“I feel that we have much to say to one another,” he insisted. “If it isinconvenient for us to talk here, will you not come and see me?”

“He’d know,” she cried suddenly, as if the words were dragged out of her.“D’you think anything can be hidden from him?”

Arthur glanced at her. He was horrified by the terror that was in her eyes. Inthe full light of day a change was plain in her expression. Her face wasstrangely drawn, and pinched, and there was in it a constant look as of aperson cowed. Arthur turned away.

“I want you to know that I do not blame you in the least for anything you did.No action of yours can ever lessen my affection for you.”

“Oh, why did you come here? Why do you torture me by saying such things?”

She burst on a sudden into a flood of tears, and walked excitedly up and downthe room.

“Oh, if you wanted me to be punished for the pain I’ve caused you, you cantriumph now. Susie said she hoped I’d suffer all the agony that I’ve made yousuffer. If she only knew!”

Margaret gave a hysterical laugh. She flung herself on her knees by Arthur’sside and seized his hands.

“Did you think I didn’t see? My heart bled when I looked at your poor wan faceand your tortured eyes. Oh, you’ve changed. I could never have believed that aman could change so much in so few months, and it’s I who’ve caused it all. Oh,Arthur, Arthur, you must forgive me. And you must pity me.”

“But there’s nothing to forgive, darling,” he cried.

She looked at him steadily. Her eyes now were shining with a hard brightness.

“You say that, but you don’t really think it. And yet if you only knew, allthat I have endured is on your account.”

She made a great effort to be calm.

“What do you mean?” said Arthur.

“He never loved me, he would never have thought of me if he hadn’t wanted towound you in what you treasured most. He hated you, and he’s made me what I amso that you might suffer. It isn’t I who did all this, but a devil within me;it isn’t I who lied to you and left you and caused you all this unhappiness.”

She rose to her feet and sighed deeply.

“Once, I thought he was dying, and I helped him. I took him into the studio andgave him water. And he gained some dreadful power over me so that I’ve beenlike wax in his hands. All my will has disappeared, and I have to do hisbidding. And if I try to resist …”

Her face twitched with pain and fear.

“I’ve found out everything since. I know that on that day when he seemed to beat the point of death, he was merely playing a trick on me, and he got Susieout of the way by sending a telegram from a girl whose name he had seen on aphotograph. I’ve heard him roar with laughter at his cleverness.”

She stopped suddenly, and a look of frightful agony crossed her face.

“And at this very minute, for all I know, it may be by his influence that I saythis to you, so that he may cause you still greater suffering by allowing me totell you that he never cared for me. You know now that my life is hell, and hisvengeance is complete.”

“Vengeance for what?”

“Don’t you remember that you hit him once, and kicked him unmercifully? I knowhim well now. He could have killed you, but he hated you too much. It pleasedhim a thousand times more to devise this torture for you and me.”

Margaret’s agitation was terrible to behold. This was the first time that shehad ever spoken to a soul of all these things, and now the long restraint hadburst as burst the waters of a dam. Arthur sought to calm her.

“You’re ill and overwrought. You must try to compose yourself. After all, Haddois a human being like the rest of us.”

“Yes, you always laughed at his claims. You wouldn’t listen to the things hesaid. But I know. Oh, I can’t explain it; I daresay common sense andprobability are all against it, but I’ve seen things with my own eyes that passall comprehension. I tell you, he has powers of the most awful kind. That firstday when I was alone with him, he seemed to take me to some kind of sabbath. Idon’t know what it was, but I saw horrors, vile horrors, that rankled for everafter like poison in my mind; and when we went up to his house inStaffordshire, I recognized the scene; I recognized the arid rocks, and thetrees, and the lie of the land. I knew I’d been there before on that fatalafternoon. Oh, you must believe me! Sometimes I think I shall go mad with theterror of it all.”

Arthur did not speak. Her words caused a ghastly suspicion to flash through hismind, and he could hardly contain himself. He thought that some dreadful shockhad turned her brain. She buried her face in her hands.

“Look here,” he said, “you must come away at once. You can’t continue to livewith him. You must never go back to Skene.”

“I can’t leave him. We’re bound together inseparably.”

“But it’s monstrous. There can be nothing to keep you to him. Come back toSusie. She’ll be very kind to you; she’ll help you to forget all you’veendured.”

“It’s no use. You can do nothing for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because, notwithstanding, I love him with all my soul.”

“Margaret!”

“I hate him. He fills me with repulsion. And yet I do not know what there is inmy blood that draws me to him against my will. My flesh cries out for him.”

Arthur looked away in embarrassment. He could not help a slight, instinctivemovement of withdrawal.

“Do I disgust you?” she said.

He flushed slightly, but scarcely knew how to answer. He made a vague gestureof denial.

“If you only knew,” she said.

There was something so extraordinary in her tone that he gave her a quickglance of surprise. He saw that her cheeks were flaming. Her bosom was pantingas though she were again on the point of breaking into a passion of tears.

“For God’s sake, don’t look at me!” she cried.

She turned away and hid her face. The words she uttered were in a shamed,unnatural voice.

“If you’d been at Monte Carlo, you’d have heard them say, God knows how theyknew it, that it was only through me he had his luck at the tables. He’scontented himself with filling my soul with vice. I have no purity in me. I’msullied through and through. He has made me into a sink of iniquity, and Iloathe myself. I cannot look at myself without a shudder of disgust.”

A cold sweat came over Arthur, and he grew more pale than ever. He realized nowhe was in the presence of a mystery that he could not unravel. She went onfeverishly.

“The other night, at supper, I told a story, and I saw you wince with shame. Itwasn’t I that told it. The impulse came from him, and I knew it was vile, andyet I told it with gusto. I enjoyed the telling of it; I enjoyed the pain Igave you, and the dismay of those women. There seem to be two persons in me,and my real self, the old one that you knew and loved, is growing weaker day byday, and soon she will be dead entirely. And there will remain only the wantonsoul in the virgin body.”

Arthur tried to gather his wits together. He felt it an occasion on which itwas essential to hold on to the normal view of things.

“But for God’s sake leave him. What you’ve told me gives you every ground fordivorce. It’s all monstrous. The man must be so mad that he ought to be put ina lunatic asylum.”

“You can do nothing for me,” she said.

“But if he doesn’t love you, what does he want you for?”

“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to suspect.”

She looked at Arthur steadily. She was now quite calm.

“I think he wishes to use me for a magical operation. I don’t know if he’s mador not. But I think he means to try some horrible experiment, and I am needfulfor its success. That is my safeguard.”

“Your safeguard?”

“He won’t kill me because he needs me for that. Perhaps in the process I shallregain my freedom.”

Arthur was shocked at the callousness with which she spoke. He went up to herand put his hands on her shoulders.

“Look here, you must pull yourself together, Margaret. This isn’t sane. If youdon’t take care, your mind will give way altogether. You must come with me now.When you’re out of his hands, you’ll soon regain your calmness of mind. Youneed never see him again. If you’re afraid, you shall be hidden from him, andlawyers shall arrange everything between you.”

“I daren’t.”

“But I promise you that you can come to no harm. Be reasonable. We’re in Londonnow, surrounded by people on every side. How do you think he can touch youwhile we drive through the crowded streets? I’ll take you straight to Susie. Ina week you’ll laugh at the idle fears you had.”

“How do you know that he is not in the room at this moment, listening to allyou say?”

The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that Arthur was startled. He lookedround quickly.

“You must be mad. You see that the room is empty.”

“I tell you that you don’t know what powers he has. Have you ever heard thoseold legends with which nurses used to frighten our childhood, of men who couldturn themselves into wolves, and who scoured the country at night?” She lookedat him with staring eyes. “Sometimes, when he’s come in at Skene in themorning, with bloodshot eyes, exhausted with fatigue and strangely discomposed,I’ve imagined that he too …” She stopped and threw back her head. “You’reright, Arthur, I think I shall go mad.”

He watched her helplessly. He did not know what to do. Margaret went on, hervoice quivering with anguish.

“When we were married, I reminded him that he’d promised to take me to hismother. He would never speak of her, but I felt I must see her. And one day,suddenly, he told me to get ready for a journey, and we went a long way, to aplace I did not know, and we drove into the country. We seemed to go miles andmiles, and we reached at last a large house, surrounded by a high wall, and thewindows were heavily barred. We were shown into a great empty room. It wasdismal and cold like the waiting-room at a station. A man came in to us, a tallman, in a frock-coat and gold spectacles. He was introduced to me as Dr Taylor,and then, suddenly, I understood.”

Margaret spoke in hurried gasps, and her eyes were staring wide, as though shesaw still the scene which at the time had seemed the crowning horror of herexperience.

“I knew it was an asylum, and Oliver hadn’t told me a word. He took us up abroad flight of stairs, through a large dormitory—oh, if you only knew what Isaw there! I was so horribly frightened, I’d never been in such a placebefore—to a cell. And the walls and the floor were padded.”

Margaret passed her hand across her forehead to chase away the recollection ofthat awful sight.

“Oh, I see it still. I can never get it out of my mind.”

She remembered with a morbid vividness the vast misshapen mass which she hadseen heaped strangely in one corner. There was a slight movement in it as theyentered, and she perceived that it was a human being. It was a woman, dressedin shapeless brown flannel; a woman of great stature and of a revolting,excessive corpulence. She turned upon them a huge, impassive face; and itsunwrinkled smoothness gave it an appearance of aborted childishness. The hairwas dishevelled, grey, and scanty. But what most terrified Margaret was thatshe saw in this creature an appalling likeness to Oliver.

“He told me it was his mother, and she’d been there for five-and-twenty years.”

Arthur could hardly bear the terror that was in Margaret’s eyes. He did notknow what to say to her. In a little while she began to speak again, in a lowvoice and rapidly, as though to herself, and she wrung her hands.

“Oh, you don’t know what I’ve endured! He used to spend long periods away fromme, and I remained alone at Skene from morning till night, alone with my abjectfear. Sometimes, it seemed that he was seized with a devouring lust for thegutter, and he would go to Liverpool or Manchester and throw himself among thevery dregs of the people. He used to pass long days, drinking in filthypot-houses. While the bout lasted, nothing was too depraved for him. He lovedthe company of all that was criminal and low. He used to smoke opium in foetiddens—oh, you have no conception of his passion to degrade himself—and at lasthe would come back, dirty, with torn clothes, begrimed, sodden still with hislong debauch; and his mouth was hot with the kisses of the vile women of thedocks. Oh, he’s so cruel when the fit takes him that I think he has a fiendishpleasure in the sight of suffering!”

It was more than Arthur could stand. His mind was made up to try a bold course.He saw on the table a whisky bottle and glasses. He poured some neat spiritinto a tumbler and gave it to Margaret.

“Drink this,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Never mind! Drink it at once.”

Obediently she put it to her lips. He stood over her as she emptied the glass.A sudden glow filled her.

“Now come with me.”

He took her arm and led her down the stairs. He passed through the hallquickly. There was a cab just drawn up at the door, and he told her to get in.One or two persons stared at seeing a woman come out of that hotel in a teagownand without a hat. He directed the driver to the house in which Susie lived andlooked round at Margaret. She had fainted immediately she got into the cab.

When they arrived, he carried Margaret upstairs and laid her on a sofa. He toldSusie what had happened and what he wanted of her. The dear woman forgoteverything except that Margaret was very ill, and promised willingly to do allhe wished.

For a week Margaret could not be moved. Arthur hired a little cottage inHampshire, opposite the Isle of Wight, hoping that amid the most charming,restful scenery in England she would quickly regain her strength; and as soonas it was possible Susie took her down. But she was much altered. Her gaietyhad disappeared and with it her determination. Although her illness had beenneither long nor serious, she seemed as exhausted, physically and mentally, asif she had been for months at the point of death. She took no interest in hersurroundings, and was indifferent to the shady lanes through which they droveand to the gracious trees and the meadows. Her old passion for beauty was gone,and she cared neither for the flowers which filled their little garden nor forthe birds that sang continually. But at last it seemed necessary to discuss thefuture. Margaret acquiesced in all that was suggested to her, and agreedwillingly that the needful steps should be taken to procure her release fromOliver Haddo. He made apparently no effort to trace her, and nothing had beenheard of him. He did not know where Margaret was, but he might have guessedthat Arthur was responsible for her flight, and Arthur was easily to be found.It made Susie vaguely uneasy that there was no sign of his existence. Shewished that Arthur were not kept by his work in London.

At last a suit for divorce was instituted.

Two days after this, when Arthur was in his consultingroom, Haddo’s card wasbrought to him. Arthur’s jaw set more firmly.

“Show the gentleman in,” he ordered.

When Haddo entered, Arthur, standing with his back to the fireplace, motionedhim to sit down.

“What can I do for you?” he asked coldly.

“I have not come to avail myself of your surgical skill, my dear Burdon,”smiled Haddo, as he fell ponderously into an armchair.

“So I imagined.”

“You perspicacity amazes me. I surmise that it is to you I owe this amusingcitation which was served on me yesterday.”

“I allowed you to come in so that I might tell you I will have no communicationwith you except through my solicitors.”

“My dear fellow, why do you treat me with such discourtesy? It is true that youhave deprived me of the wife of my bosom, but you might at least so far respectmy marital rights as to use me civilly.”

“My patience is not as good as it was,” answered Arthur, “I venture to remindyou that once before I lost my temper with you, and the result you must havefound unpleasant.”

“I should have thought you regretted that incident by now, O Burdon,” answeredHaddo, entirely unabashed.

“My time is very short,” said Arthur.

“Then I will get to my business without delay. I thought it might interest youto know that I propose to bring a counter-petition against my wife, and I shallmake you co-respondent.”

“You infamous blackguard!” cried Arthur furiously. “You know as well as I dothat your wife is above suspicion.”

“I know that she left my hotel in your company, and has been living since underyour protection.”

Arthur grew livid with rage. He could hardly restrain himself from knocking theman down. He gave a short laugh.

“You can do what you like. I’m really not frightened.”

“The innocent are so very incautious. I assure you that I can make a goodenough story to ruin your career and force you to resign your appointments atthe various hospitals you honour with your attention.”

“You forget that the case will not be tried in open court,” said Arthur.

Haddo looked at him steadily. He did not answer for a moment.

“You’re quite right,” he said at last, with a little smile. “I had forgottenthat.”

“Then I need not detain you longer.”

Oliver Haddo got up. He passed his hand reflectively over his huge face. Arthurwatched him with scornful eyes. He touched a bell, and the servant at onceappeared.

“Show this gentleman out.”

Not in the least disconcerted, Haddo strolled calmly to the door.

Arthur gave a sigh of relief, for he concluded that Haddo would not show fight.His solicitor indeed had already assured him that Oliver would not venture todefend the case.

Margaret seemed gradually to take more interest in the proceedings, and she wasfull of eagerness to be set free. She did not shrink from the unpleasant ordealof a trial. She could talk of Haddo with composure. Her friends were able topersuade themselves that in a little while she would be her old self again, forshe was growing stronger and more cheerful; her charming laughter rang throughthe little house as it had been used to do in the Paris studio. The case was tocome on at the end of July, before the long vacation, and Susie had agreed totake Margaret abroad as soon as it was done.

But presently a change came over her. As the day of the trial drew nearer,Margaret became excited and disturbed; her gaiety deserted her, and she fellinto long, moody silences. To some extent this was comprehensible, for shewould have to disclose to callous ears the most intimate details of her marriedlife; but at last her nervousness grew so marked that Susie could no longerascribe it to natural causes. She thought it necessary to write to Arthur aboutit.

My Dear Arthur:

I don’t know what to make of Margaret, and I wish you would come down and seeher. The good-humour which I have noticed in her of late has given way to acurious irritability. She is so restless that she cannot keep still for amoment. Even when she is sitting down her body moves in a manner that is almostconvulsive. I am beginning to think that the strain from which she suffered isbringing on some nervous disease, and I am really alarmed. She walks about thehouse in a peculiarly aimless manner, up and down the stairs, in and out of thegarden. She has grown suddenly much more silent, and the look has come back toher eyes which they had when first we brought her down here. When I beg her totell me what is troubling her, she says: “I’m afraid that something is going tohappen.” She will not or cannot explain what she means. The last few weeks haveset my own nerves on edge, so that I do not know how much of what I observe isreal, and how much is due to my fancy; but I wish you would come and put alittle courage into me. The oddness of it all is making me uneasy, and I amseized with preposterous terrors. I don’t know what there is in Haddo thatinspires me with this unaccountable dread. He is always present to my thoughts.I seem to see his dreadful eyes and his cold, sensual smile. I wake up atnight, my heart beating furiously, with the consciousness that something quiteawful has happened.

Oh, I wish the trial were over, and that we were happy in Germany.

Yours ever
SUSAN BOYD

Susie took a certain pride in her common sense, and it was humiliating to findthat her nerves could be so distraught. She was worried and unhappy. It had notbeen easy to take Margaret back to her bosom as if nothing had happened. Susiewas human; and, though she did ten times more than could be expected of her,she could not resist a feeling of irritation that Arthur sacrificed her socalmly. He had no room for other thoughts, and it seemed quite natural to himthat she should devote herself entirely to Margaret’s welfare.

Susie walked some way along the road to post this letter and then went to herroom. It was a wonderful night, starry and calm, and the silence was like balmto her troubles. She sat at the window for a long time, and at last, feelingmore tranquil, went to bed. She slept more soundly than she had done for manydays. When she awoke the sun was streaming into her room, and she gave a deepsigh of delight. She could see trees from her bed, and blue sky. All hertroubles seemed easy to bear when the world was so beautiful, and she was readyto laugh at the fears that had so affected her.

She got up, put on a dressing-gown, and went to Margaret’s room. It was empty.The bed had not been slept in. On the pillow was a note.

It’s no good; I can’t help myself. I’ve gone back to him. Don’t trouble aboutme any more. It’s quite hopeless and useless.

M

Susie gave a little gasp. Her first thought was for Arthur, and she uttered awail of sorrow because he must be cast again into the agony of desolation. Oncemore she had to break the dreadful news. She dressed hurriedly and ate somebreakfast. There was no train till nearly eleven, and she had to bear herimpatience as best she could. At last it was time to start, and she put on hergloves. At that moment the door was opened, and Arthur came in.

She gave a cry of terror and turned pale.

“I was just coming to London to see you,” she faltered. “How did you find out?”

“Haddo sent me a box of chocolates early this morning with a card on which waswritten: I think the odd trick is mine.”

This cruel vindictiveness, joined with a schoolboy love of taunting thevanquished foe, was very characteristic. Susie gave Arthur Burdon the notewhich she had found in Margaret’s room. He read it and then thought for a longtime.

“I’m afraid she’s right,” he said at length. “It seems quite hopeless. The manhas some power over her which we can’t counteract.”

Susie wondered whether his strong scepticism was failing at last. She could notwithstand her own feeling that there was something preternatural about the holdthat Oliver had over Margaret. She had no shadow of a doubt that he was able toaffect his wife even at a distance, and was convinced now that the restlessnessof the last few days was due to this mysterious power. He had been at work insome strange way, and Margaret had been aware of it. At length she could notresist and had gone to him instinctively: her will was as little concerned aswhen a chip of steel flies to a magnet.

“I cannot find it in my heart now to blame her for anything she has done,” saidSusie. “I think she is the victim of a most lamentable fate. I can’t help it. Imust believe that he was able to cast a spell on her; and to that is due allthat has happened. I have only pity for her great misfortunes.”

“Has it occurred to you what will happen when she is back in Haddo’s hands?”cried Arthur. “You know as well as I do how revengeful he is and how hatefullycruel. My heart bleeds when I think of the tortures, sheer physical tortures,which she may suffer.”

He walked up and down in desperation.

“And yet there’s nothing whatever that one can do. One can’t go to the policeand say that a man has cast a magic spell on his wife.”

“Then you believe it too?” said Susie.

“I don’t know what I believe now,” he cried. “After all, we can’t do anythingif she chooses to go back to her husband. She’s apparently her own mistress.”He wrung his hands. “And I’m imprisoned in London! I can’t leave it for a day.I ought not to be here now, and I must get back in a couple of hours. I can donothing, and yet I’m convinced that Margaret is utterly wretched.”

Susie paused for a minute or two. She wondered how he would accept thesuggestion that was in her mind.

“Do you know, it seems to me that common methods are useless. The only chanceis to fight him with his own weapons. Would you mind if I went over to Paris toconsult Dr Porhoët? You know that he is learned in every branch of the occult,and perhaps he might help us.”

But Arthur pulled himself together.

“It’s absurd. We mustn’t give way to superstition. Haddo is merely a scoundreland a charlatan. He’s worked on our nerves as he’s worked on poor Margaret’s.It’s impossible to suppose that he has any powers greater than the common runof mankind.”

“Even after all you’ve seen with your own eyes?”

“If my eyes show me what all my training assures me is impossible, I can onlyconclude that my eyes deceive me.”

“Well, I shall run over to Paris.”

Chapter XIII

Some weeks later Dr Porhoët was sitting among his books in the quiet, low roomthat overlooked the Seine. He had given himself over to a pleasing melancholy.The heat beat down upon the noisy streets of Paris, and the din of the greatcity penetrated even to his fastness in the Île Saint Louis. He remembered thecloud-laden sky of the country where he was born, and the south-west wind thatblew with a salt freshness. The long streets of Brest, present to his fancyalways in a drizzle of rain, with the lights of cafés reflected on thewet pavements, had a familiar charm. Even in foul weather the sailor-men whotrudged along them gave one a curious sense of comfort. There was delight inthe smell of the sea and in the freedom of the great Atlantic. And then hethought of the green lanes and of the waste places with their scented heather,the fair broad roads that led from one old sweet town to another, of thePardons and their gentle, sad crowds. Dr Porhoët gave a sigh.

“It is good to be born in the land of Brittany,” he smiled.

But his bonne showed Susie in, and he rose with a smile to greet her.She had been in Paris for some time, and they had seen much of one another. Hebasked in the gentle sympathy with which she interested herself in all theabstruse, quaint matters on which he spent his time; and, divining her love forArthur, he admired the courage with which she effaced herself. They had gotinto the habit of eating many of their meals together in a quiet house oppositethe Cluny called La Reine Blanche, and here they had talked of so many thingsthat their acquaintance was grown into a charming friendship.

“I’m ashamed to come here so often,” said Susie, as she entered. “Matilde isbeginning to look at me with a suspicious eye.”

“It is very good of you to entertain a tiresome old man,” he smiled, as he heldher hand. “But I should have been disappointed if you had forgotten yourpromise to come this afternoon, for I have much to tell you.”

“Tell me at once,” she said, sitting down.

“I have discovered an MS. at the library of the Arsenal this morning that noone knew anything about.”

He said this with an air of triumph, as though the achievement were of nationalimportance. Susie had a tenderness for his innocent mania; and, though she knewthe work in question was occult and incomprehensible, congratulated himheartily.

“It is the original version of a book by Paracelsus. I have not read it yet,for the writing is most difficult to decipher, but one point caught my eye onturning over the pages. That is the gruesome fact that Paracelsus fed thehomunculi he manufactured on human blood. One wonders how he came byit.”

Susie gave a little start, which Dr Porhoët noticed.

“What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

He looked at her for a moment, then proceeded with the subject that strangelyfascinated him.

“You must let me take you one day to the library of the Arsenal. There is noricher collection in the world of books dealing with the occult sciences. Andof course you know that it was at the Arsenal that the tribunal sat, under thesuggestive name of chambre ardente, to deal with cases of sorcery andmagic?”

“I didn’t,” smiled Susie.

“I always think that these manuscripts and queer old books, which are the prideof our library, served in many an old trial. There are volumes there ofinnocent appearance that have hanged wretched men and sent others to the stake.You would not believe how many persons of fortune, rank, and intelligence,during the great reign of Louis XIV, immersed themselves in these satanicundertakings.”

Susie did not answer. She could not now deal with these matters in anindifferent spirit. Everything she heard might have some bearing on thecircumstances which she had discussed with Dr Porhoët times out of number. Shehad never been able to pin him down to an affirmation of faith. Certain strangethings had manifestly happened, but what the explanation of them was, no mancould say. He offered analogies from his well-stored memory. He gave her booksto read till she was saturated with occult science. At one moment, she wasinclined to throw them all aside impatiently, and, at another, was ready tobelieve that everything was possible.

Dr Porhoët stood up and stretched out a meditative finger. He spoke in thatagreeably academic manner which, at the beginning of their acquaintance, hadalways entertained Susie, because it contrasted so absurdly with his fantasticutterances.

“It was a strange dream that these wizards cherished. They sought to makethemselves beloved of those they cared for and to revenge themselves on thosethey hated; but, above all, they sought to become greater than the common runof men and to wield the power of the gods. They hesitated at nothing to gaintheir ends. But Nature with difficulty allows her secrets to be wrested fromher. In vain they lit their furnaces, and in vain they studied their crabbedbooks, called up the dead, and conjured ghastly spirits. Their reward wasdisappointment and wretchedness, poverty, the scorn of men, torture,imprisonment, and shameful death. And yet, perhaps after all, there may be someparticle of truth hidden away in these dark places.”

“You never go further than the cautious perhaps,” said Susie. “You never giveme any definite opinion.”

“In these matters it is discreet to have no definite opinion,” he smiled, witha shrug of the shoulders. “If a wise man studies the science of the occult, hisduty is not to laugh at everything, but to seek patiently, slowly,perseveringly, the truth that may be concealed in the night of theseillusions.”

The words were hardly spoken when Matilde, the ancient bonne, opened thedoor to let a visitor come in. It was Arthur Burdon. Susie gave a cry ofsurprise, for she had received a brief note from him two days before, and hehad said nothing of crossing the Channel.

“I’m glad to find you both here,” said Arthur, as he shook hands with them.

“Has anything happened?” cried Susie.

His manner was curiously distressing, and there was a nervousness about hismovements that was very unexpected in so restrained a person.

“I’ve seen Margaret again,” he said.

“Well?”

He seemed unable to go on, and yet both knew that he had something important totell them. He looked at them vacantly, as though all he had to say was suddenlygone out of his mind.

“I’ve come straight here,” he said, in a dull, bewildered fashion. “I went toyour hotel, Susie, in the hope of finding you; but when they told me you wereout, I felt certain you would be here.”

“You seem worn out, cher ami,” said Dr Porhoët, looking at him. “Willyou let Matilde make you a cup of coffee?”

“I should like something,” he answered, with a look of utter weariness.

“Sit still for a minute or two, and you shall tell us what you want to when youare a little rested.”

Dr Porhoët had not seen Arthur since that afternoon in the previous year when,in answer to Haddo’s telegram, he had gone to the studio in the Rue CampagnePremière. He watched him anxiously while Arthur drank his coffee. The change inhim was extraordinary; there was a cadaverous exhaustion about his face, andhis eyes were sunken in their sockets. But what alarmed the good doctor mostwas that Arthur’s personality seemed thoroughly thrown out of gear. All that hehad endured during these nine months had robbed him of the strength of purpose,the matter-of-fact sureness, which had distinguished him. He was now unbalancedand neurotic.

Arthur did not speak. With his eyes fixed moodily on the ground, he wonderedhow much he could bring himself to tell them. It revolted him to disclose hisinmost thoughts, yet he was come to the end of his tether and needed thedoctor’s advice. He found himself obliged to deal with circumstances that mighthave existed in a world of nightmare, and he was driven at last to takeadvantage of his friend’s peculiar knowledge.

Returning to London after Margaret’s flight, Arthur Burdon had thrown himselfagain into the work which for so long had been his only solace. It had lost itssavour; but he would not take this into account, and he slaved awaymechanically, by perpetual toil seeking to deaden his anguish. But as the timepassed he was seized on a sudden with a curious feeling of foreboding, which hecould in no way resist; it grew in strength till it had all the power of anobsession, and he could not reason himself out of it. He was sure that a greatdanger threatened Margaret. He could not tell what it was, nor why the fear ofit was so persistent, but the idea was there always, night and day; it hauntedhim like a shadow and pursued him like remorse. His anxiety increasedcontinually, and the vagueness of his terror made it more tormenting. He feltquite certain that Margaret was in imminent peril, but he did not know how tohelp her. Arthur supposed that Haddo had taken her back to Skene; but, even ifhe went there, he had no chance of seeing her. What made it more difficultstill, was that his chief at St Luke’s was away, and he was obliged to be inLondon in case he should be suddenly called upon to do some operation. But hecould think of nothing else. He felt it urgently needful to see Margaret. Nightafter night he dreamed that she was at the point of death, and heavy fettersprevented him from stretching out a hand to help her. At last he could stand itno more. He told a brother surgeon that private business forced him to leaveLondon, and put the work into his hands. With no plan in his head, merely urgedby an obscure impulse, he set out for the village of Venning, which was aboutthree miles from Skene.

It was a tiny place, with one public-house serving as a hotel to the raretravellers who found it needful to stop there, and Arthur felt that someexplanation of his presence was necessary. Having seen at the station anadvertisement of a large farm to let, he told the inquisitive landlady that hehad come to see it. He arrived late at night. Nothing could be done then, so heoccupied the time by trying to find out something about the Haddos.

Oliver was the local magnate, and his wealth would have made him an easy topicof conversation even without his eccentricity. The landlady roundly called himinsane, and as an instance of his queerness told Arthur, to his great dismay,that Haddo would have no servants to sleep in the house: after dinner everyonewas sent away to the various cottages in the park, and he remained alone withhis wife. It was an awful thought that Margaret might be in the hands of araving madman, with not a soul to protect her. But if he learnt no more thanthis of solid fact, Arthur heard much that was significant. To his amazementthe old fear of the wizard had grown up again in that lonely place, and thegarrulous woman gravely told him of Haddo’s evil influence on the crops andcattle of farmers who had aroused his anger. He had had an altercation with hisbailiff, and the man had died within a year. A small freeholder in theneighbourhood had refused to sell the land which would have rounded off theestate of Skene, and a disease had attacked every animal on his farm so that hewas ruined. Arthur was impressed because, though she reported these rumourswith mock scepticism as the stories of ignorant yokels and old women, theinnkeeper had evidently a terrified belief in their truth. No one could denythat Haddo had got possession of the land he wanted; for, when it was put up toauction, no one would bid against him, and he bought it for a song.

As soon as he could do so naturally, Arthur asked after Margaret. The womanshrugged her shoulders. No one knew anything about her. She never came out ofthe park gates, but sometimes you could see her wandering about inside byherself. She saw no one. Haddo had long since quarrelled with the surroundinggentry; and though one old lady, the mother of a neighbouring landowner, hadcalled when Margaret first came, she had not been admitted, and the visit wasnever returned.

“She’ll come to no good, poor lady,” said the hostess of the inn. “And they dosay she’s a perfect picture to look at.”

Arthur went to his room. He longed for the day to come. There was no certainmeans of seeing Margaret. It was useless to go to the park gates, since eventhe tradesmen were obliged to leave their goods at the lodge; but it appearedthat she walked alone, morning and afternoon, and it might be possible to seeher then. He decided to climb into the park and wait till he came upon her insome spot where they were not likely to be observed.

Next day the great heat of the last week was gone, and the melancholy sky wasdark with lowering clouds. Arthur inquired for the road which led to Skene, andset out to walk the three miles which separated him from it. The country wasgrey and barren. There was a broad waste of heath, with gigantic bouldersstrewn as though in pre-historic times Titans had waged there a mighty battle.Here and there were trees, but they seemed hardly to withstand the fierce windsof winter; they were old and bowed before the storm. One of them attracted hisattention. It had been struck by lightning and was riven asunder, leafless; butthe maimed branches were curiously set on the trunk so that they gave it theappearance of a human being writhing in the torture of infernal agony. The windwhistled strangely. Arthur’s heart sank as he walked on. He had never seen acountry so desolate.

He came to the park gates at last and stood for some time in front of them. Atthe end of a long avenue, among the trees, he could see part of a splendidhouse. He walked along the wooden palisade that surrounded the park. Suddenlyhe came to a spot where a board had been broken down. He looked up and down theroad. No one was in sight. He climbed up the low, steep bank, wrenched down apiece more of the fence, and slipped in.

He found himself in a dense wood. There was no sign of a path, and he advancedcautiously. The bracken was so thick and high that it easily concealed him.Dead owners had plainly spent much care upon the place, for here alone in theneighbourhood were trees in abundance; but of late it had been utterlyneglected. It had run so wild that there were no traces now of its early formalarrangement; and it was so hard to make one’s way, the vegetation was so thick,that it might almost have been some remnant of primeval forest. But at last hecame to a grassy path and walked along it slowly. He stopped on a sudden, forhe heard a sound. But it was only a pheasant that flew heavily through the lowtrees. He wondered what he should do if he came face to face with Oliver. Theinnkeeper had assured him that the squire seldom came out, but spent his dayslocked in the great attics at the top of the house. Smoke came from thechimneys of them, even in the hottest days of summer, and weird tales were toldof the devilries there committed.

Arthur went on, hoping in the end to catch sight of Margaret, but he saw noone. In that grey, chilly day the woods, notwithstanding their greenery, weredesolate and sad. A sombre mystery seemed to hang over them. At last he came toa stone bench at a cross-way among the trees, and, since it was the onlyresting-place he had seen, it struck him that Margaret might come there to sitdown. He hid himself in the bracken. He had forgotten his watch and did notknow how the time passed; he seemed to be there for hours.

But at length his heart gave a great beat against his ribs, for all at once, sosilently that he had not heard her approach, Margaret came into view. She saton the stone bench. For a moment he dared not move in case the sound frightenedher. He could not tell how to make his presence known. But it was necessary todo something to attract her attention, and he could only hope that she wouldnot cry out.

“Margaret,” he called softly.

She did not move, and he repeated her name more loudly. But still she made nosign that she had heard. He came forward and stood in front of her.

“Margaret.”

She looked at him quietly. He might have been someone she had never set eyeson, and yet from her composure she might have expected him to be standingthere.

“Margaret, don’t you know me?”

“What do you want?” she answered placidly.

He was so taken aback that he did not know what to say. She kept gazing at himsteadfastly. On a sudden her calmness vanished, and she sprang to her feet.

“Is it you really?” she cried, terribly agitated. “I thought it was only ashape that mimicked you.”

“Margaret, what do you mean? What has come over you?”

She stretched out her hand and touched him.

“I’m flesh and blood all right,” he said, trying to smile.

She shut her eyes for a moment, as though in an effort to collect herself.

“I’ve had hallucinations lately,” she muttered. “I thought it was some trickplayed upon me.”

Suddenly she shook herself.

“But what are you doing here? You must go. How did you come? Oh, why won’t youleave me alone?”

“I’ve been haunted by a feeling that something horrible was going to happen toyou. I was obliged to come.”

“For God’s sake, go. You can do me no good. If he finds out you’ve been here—”

She stopped, and her eyes were dilated with terror. Arthur seized her hands.

“Margaret, I can’t go—I can’t leave you like this. For Heaven’s sake, tell mewhat is the matter. I’m so dreadfully frightened.”

He was aghast at the difference wrought in her during the two months since hehad seen her last. Her colour was gone, and her face had the greyness of thedead. There were strange lines on her forehead, and her eyes had an unnaturalglitter. Her youth had suddenly left her. She looked as if she were struck downby mortal illness.

“What is that matter with you?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She looked about her anxiously. “Oh, why don’t you go? How can yoube so cruel?”

“I must do something for you,” he insisted.

She shook her head.

“It’s too late. Nothing can help me now.” She paused; and when she spoke againit was with a voice so ghastly that it might have come from the lips of acorpse. “I’ve found out at last what he’s going to do with me He wants me forhis great experiment, and the time is growing shorter.”

“What do you mean by saying he wants you?”

“He wants—my life.”

Arthur gave a cry of dismay, but she put up her hand.

“It’s no use resisting. It can’t do any good—I think I shall be glad when themoment comes. I shall at least cease to suffer.”

“But you must be mad.”

“I don’t know. I know that he is.”

“But if your life is in danger, come away for God’s sake. After all, you’refree. He can’t stop you.”

“I should have to go back to him, as I did last time,” she answered, shakingher head. “I thought I was free then, but gradually I knew that he was callingme. I tried to resist, but I couldn’t. I simply had to go to him.”

“But it’s awful to think that you are alone with a man who’s practically ravingmad.”

“I’m safe for today,” she said quietly. “It can only be done in the very hotweather. If there’s no more this year, I shall live till next summer.”

“Oh, Margaret, for God’s sake don’t talk like that. I love you—I want to haveyou with me always. Won’t you come away with me and let me take care of you? Ipromise you that no harm shall come to you.”

“You don’t love me any more; you’re only sorry for me now.”

“It’s not true.”

“Oh yes it is. I saw it when we were in the country. Oh, I don’t blame you. I’ma different woman from the one you loved. I’m not the Margaret you knew.”

“I can never care for anyone but you.”

She put her hand on his arm.

“If you loved me, I implore you to go. You don’t know what you expose me to.And when I’m dead you must marry Susie. She loves you with all her heart, andshe deserves your love.”

“Margaret, don’t go. Come with me.”

“And take care. He will never forgive you for what you did. If he can, he willkill you.”

She started violently, as though she heard a sound. Her face was convulsed withsudden fear.

“For God’s sake go, go!”

She turned from him quickly, and, before he could prevent her, had vanished.With heavy heart he plunged again into the bracken.

When Arthur had given his friends some account of this meeting, he stopped andlooked at Dr Porhoët. The doctor went thoughtfully to his bookcase.

“What is it you want me to tell you?” he asked.

“I think the man is mad,” said Arthur. “I found out at what asylum his motherwas, and by good luck was able to see the superintendent on my way throughLondon. He told me that he had grave doubts about Haddo’s sanity, but it wasimpossible at present to take any steps. I came straight here because I wantedyour advice. Granting that the man is out of his mind, is it possible that hemay be trying some experiment that entails a sacrifice of human life?”

“Nothing is more probable,” said Dr Porhoët gravely.

Susie shuddered. She remembered the rumour that had reached her ears in MonteCarlo.

“They said there that he was attempting to make living creatures by a magicaloperation.” She glanced at the doctor, but spoke to Arthur. “Just before youcame in, our friend was talking of that book of Paracelsus in which he speaksof feeding the monsters he has made on human blood.”

Arthur gave a horrified cry.

“The most significant thing to my mind is that fact about Margaret which we arecertain of,” said Dr Porhoët. “All works that deal with the Black Arts areunanimous upon the supreme efficacy of the virginal condition.”

“But what is to be done?” asked Arthur is desperation. “We can’t leave her inthe hands of a raving madman.” He turned on a sudden deathly white. “For all weknow she may be dead now.”

“Have you ever heard of Gilles de Rais?” said Dr Porhoët, continuing hisreflections. “That is the classic instance of human sacrifice. I know thecountry in which he lived; and the peasants to this day dare not pass at nightin the neighbourhood of the ruined castle which was the scene of his horriblecrimes.”

“It’s awful to know that this dreadful danger hangs over her, and to be able todo nothing.”

“We can only wait,” said Dr Porhoët.

“And if we wait too long, we may be faced by a terrible catastrophe.”

“Fortunately we live in a civilized age. Haddo has a great care of his neck. Ihope we are frightened unduly.”

It seemed to Susie that the chief thing was to distract Arthur, and she turnedover in her mind some means of directing his attention to other matters.

“I was thinking of going down to Chartres for two days with Mrs Bloomfield,”she said. “Won’t you come with me? It is the most lovely cathedral in theworld, and I think you will find it restful to wander about it for a littlewhile. You can do no good, here or in London. Perhaps when you are calm, youwill be able to think of something practical.”

Dr Porhoët saw what her plan was, and joined his entreaties to hers that Arthurshould spend a day or two in a place that had no associations for him. Arthurwas too exhausted to argue, and from sheer weariness consented. Next day Susietook him to Chartres. Mrs Bloomfield was no trouble to them, and Susie inducedhim to linger for a week in that pleasant, quiet town. They passed many hoursin the stately cathedral, and they wandered about the surrounding country.Arthur was obliged to confess that the change had done him good, and a certainapathy succeeded the agitation from which he had suffered so long. FinallySusie persuaded him to spend three or four weeks in Brittany with Dr Porhoët,who was proposing to revisit the scenes of his childhood. They returned toParis. When Arthur left her at the station, promising to meet her again in anhour at the restaurant where they were going to dine with Dr Porhoët, hethanked her for all she had done.

“I was in an absurdly hysterical condition,” he said, holding her hand. “You’vebeen quite angelic. I knew that nothing could be done, and yet I was tormentedwith the desire to do something. Now I’ve got myself in hand once more. I thinkmy common sense was deserting me, and I was on the point of believing in thefarrago of nonsense which they call magic. After all, it’s absurd to think thatHaddo is going to do any harm to Margaret. As soon at I get back to London,I’ll see my lawyers, and I daresay something can be done. If he’s really mad,we’ll have to put him under restraint, and Margaret will be free. I shall neverforget your kindness.”

Susie smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

She was convinced that he would forget everything if Margaret came back to him.But she chid herself for the bitterness of the thought. She loved him, and shewas glad to be able to do anything for him.

She returned to the hotel, changed her frock, and walked slowly to the ChienNoir. It always exhilarated her to come back to Paris; and she looked withhappy, affectionate eyes at the plane trees, the yellow trams that rumbledalong incessantly, and the lounging people. When she arrived, Dr Porhoët waswaiting, and his delight at seeing her again was flattering and pleasant. Theytalked of Arthur. They wondered why he was late.

In a moment he came in. They saw at once that something quite extraordinary hadtaken place.

“Thank God, I’ve found you at last!” he cried.

His face was moving strangely. They had never seen him so discomposed.

“I’ve been round to your hotel, but I just missed you. Oh, why did you insiston my going away?”

“What on earth’s the matter?” cried Susie.

“Something awful has happened to Margaret.”

Susie started to her feet with a sudden cry of dismay.

“How do you know?” she asked quickly.

He looked at them for a moment and flushed. He kept his eyes upon them, asthough actually to force his listeners into believing what he was about to say.

“I feel it,” he answered hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“It came upon me quite suddenly, I can’t explain why or how. I only know thatsomething has happened.”

He began again to walk up and down, prey to an agitation that was frightful tobehold. Susie and Dr Porhoët stared at him helplessly. They tried to think ofsomething to say that would calm him.

“Surely if anything had occurred, we should have been informed.”

He turned to Susie angrily.

“How do you suppose we could know anything? She was quite helpless. She wasimprisoned like a rat in a trap.”

“But, my dear friend, you mustn’t give way in this fashion,” said the doctor.“What would you say of a patient who came to you with such a story?”

Arthur answered the question with a shrug of the shoulders.

“I should say he was absurdly hysterical.”

“Well?”

“I can’t help it, the feeling’s there. If you try all night you’ll never beable to argue me out of it. I feel it in every bone of my body. I couldn’t bemore certain if I saw Margaret lying dead in front of me.”

Susie saw that it was indeed useless to reason with him. The only course was toaccept his conviction and make the best of it.

“What do you want us to do?” she asked.

“I want you both to come to England with me at once. If we start now we cancatch the evening train.”

Susie did not answer, but she got up. She touched the doctor on the arm.

“Please come,” she whispered.

He nodded and untucked the napkin he had already arranged over his waistcoat.

“I’ve got a cab at the door,” said Arthur.

“And what about clothes for Miss Susie?” said the doctor.

“Oh, we can’t wait for that,” cried Arthur. “For God’s sake, come quickly.”

Susie knew that there was plenty of time to fetch a few necessary things beforethe train started, but Arthur’s impatience was too great to be withstood.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I can get all I want in England.”

He hurried them to the door and told the cabman to drive to the station asquickly as ever he could.

“For Heaven’s sake, calm down a little,” said Susie. “You’ll be no good toanyone in that state.”

“I feel certain we’re too late.”

“Nonsense! I’m convinced that you’ll find Margaret safe and sound.”

He did not answer. He gave a sigh of relief as they drove into the courtyard ofthe station.

Chapter XIV

Susie never forgot the horror of that journey to England. They arrived inLondon early in the morning and, without stopping, drove to Euston. For threeor four days there had been unusual heat, and even at that hour the streetswere sultry and airless. The train north was crowded, and it seemed impossibleto get a breath of air. Her head ached, but she was obliged to keep a cheerfuldemeanour in the effort to allay Arthur’s increasing anxiety. Dr Porhoët sat infront of her. After the sleepless night his eyes were heavy and his face deeplylined. He was exhausted. At length, after much tiresome changing, they reachedVenning. She had expected a greater coolness in that northern country; butthere was a hot blight over the place, and, as they walked to the inn from thelittle station, they could hardly drag their limbs along.

Arthur had telegraphed from London that they must have rooms ready, and thelandlady expected them. She recognized Arthur. He passionately desired to askher whether anything had happened since he went away, but forced himself to besilent for a while. He greeted her with cheerfulness.

“Well, Mrs Smithers, what has been going on since I left you?” he cried.

“Of course you wouldn’t have heard, sir,” she answered gravely.

He began to tremble, but with an almost superhuman effort controlled his voice.

“Has the squire hanged himself?” he asked lightly.

“No sir—but the poor lady’s dead.”

He did not answer. He seemed turned to stone. He stared with ghastly eyes.

“Poor thing!” said Susie, forcing herself to speak. “Was it—very sudden?”

The woman turned to Susie, glad to have someone with whom to discuss the event.She took no notice of Arthur’s agony.

“Yes, mum; no one expected it. She died quite sudden like. She was only buriedthis morning.”

“What did she die of?” asked Susie, her eyes on Arthur.

She feared that he would faint. She wanted enormously to get him away, but didnot know how to manage it.

“They say it was heart disease,” answered the landlady. “Poor thing! It’s ahappy release for her.”

“Won’t you get us some tea, Mrs Smithers? We’re very tired, and we should likesomething immediately.”

“Yes, miss. I’ll get it at once.”

The good woman bustled away. Susie quickly locked the door. She seized Arthur’sarm.

“Arthur, Arthur.”

She expected him to break down. She looked with agony at Dr Porhoët, who stoodhelplessly by.

“You couldn’t have done anything if you’d been here. You heard what the womansaid. If Margaret died of heart disease, your suspicions were quite withoutground.”

He shook her away, almost violently.

“For God’s sake, speak to us,” cried Susie.

His silence terrified her more than would have done any outburst of grief. DrPorhoët went up to him gently.

“Don’t try to be brave, my friend. You will not suffer as much if you allowyourself a little weakness.”

“For Heaven’s sake leave me alone!” said Arthur, hoarsely.

They drew back and watched him silently. Susie heard their hostess come alongto the sitting-room with tea, and she unlocked the door. The landlady broughtin the things. She was on the point of leaving them when Arthur stopped her.

“How do you know that Mrs Haddo died of heart disease?” he asked suddenly.

His voice was hard and stern. He spoke with a peculiar abruptness that made thepoor woman look at him in amazement.

“Dr Richardson told me so.”

“Had he been attending her?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Haddo had called him in several times to see his lady.”

“Where does Dr Richardson live?”

“Why, sir, he lives at the white house near the station.”

She could not make out why Arthur asked these questions.

“Did Mr Haddo go to the funeral?”

“Oh yes, sir. I’ve never seen anyone so upset.”

“That’ll do. You can go.”

Susie poured out the tea and handed a cup to Arthur. To her surprise, he drankthe tea and ate some bread and butter. She could not understand him. Theexpression of strain, and the restlessness which had been so painful, were bothgone from his face, and it was set now to a look of grim determination. At lasthe spoke to them.

“I’m going to see this doctor. Margaret’s heart was as sound as mine.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do?”

He turned on her with a peculiar fierceness.

“I’m going to put a rope round that man’s neck, and if the law won’t help me,by God, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Mais, mon ami, vous êtes fou,” cried Dr Porhoët, springing up.

Arthur put out his hand angrily, as though to keep him back. The frown on hisface grew darker.

“You must leave me alone. Good Heavens, the time has gone by for tearsand lamentation. After all I’ve gone through for months, I can’t weep becauseMargaret is dead. My heart is dried up. But I know that she didn’t dienaturally, and I’ll never rest so long as that fellow lives.”

He stretched out his hands and with clenched jaws prayed that one day he mighthold the man’s neck between them, and see his face turn livid and purple as hedied.

“I am going to this fool of a doctor, and then I shall go to Skene.”

“You must let us come with you,” said Susie.

“You need not be frightened,” he answered. “I shall not take any steps of myown till I find the law is powerless.”

“I want to come with you all the same.”

“As you like.”

Susie went out and ordered a trap to be got ready. But since Arthur would notwait, she arranged that it should be sent for them to the doctor’s door. Theywent there at once, on foot.

Dr Richardson was a little man of five-and-fifty, with a fair beard that wasnow nearly white, and prominent blue eyes. He spoke with a broad Staffordshireaccent. There was in him something of the farmer, something of the well-to-dotradesman, and at the first glance his intelligence did not impress one.

Arthur was shewn with his two friends into the consulting-room, and after ashort interval the doctor came in. He was dressed in flannels and had anold-fashioned racket in his hand.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but Mrs Richardson has got a fewlady-friends to tea, and I was just in the middle of a set.”

His effusiveness jarred upon Arthur, whose manner by contrast became more thanusually abrupt.

“I have just learnt of the death of Mrs Haddo. I was her guardian and heroldest friend. I came to you in the hope that you would be able to tell mesomething about it.”

Dr Richardson gave him at once, the suspicious glance of a stupid man.

“I don’t know why you come to me instead of to her husband. He will be able totell you all that you wish to know.”

“I came to you as a fellow-practitioner,” answered Arthur. “I am at St Luke’sHospital.” He pointed to his card, which Dr Richardson still held. “And myfriend is Dr Porhoët, whose name will be familiar to you with respect to hisstudies in Malta Fever.”

“I think I read an article of yours in the B.M.J.” said the countrydoctor.

His manner assumed a singular hostility. He had no sympathy with Londonspecialists, whose attitude towards the general practitioner he resented. Hewas pleased to sneer at their pretensions to omniscience, and quite willing topit himself against them.

“What can I do for you, Mr Burdon?”

“I should be very much obliged if you would tell me as exactly as possible howMrs Haddo died.”

“It was a very simple case of endocarditis.”

“May I ask how long before death you were called in?”

The doctor hesitated. He reddened a little.

“I’m not inclined to be cross-examined,” he burst out, suddenly making up hismind to be angry. “As a surgeon I daresay your knowledge of cardiac diseases isneither extensive nor peculiar. But this was a very simple case, and everythingwas done that was possible. I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you.”

Arthur took no notice of the outburst.

“How many times did you see her?”

“Really, sir, I don’t understand your attitude. I can’t see that you have anyright to question me.”

“Did you have a post-mortem?”

“Certainly not. In the first place there was no need, as the cause of death wasperfectly clear, and secondly you must know as well as I do that the relativesare very averse to anything of the sort. You gentlemen in Harley Street don’tunderstand the conditions of private practice. We haven’t the time to dopost-mortems to gratify a needless curiosity.”

Arthur was silent for a moment. The little man was evidently convinced thatthere was nothing odd about Margaret’s death, but his foolishness was as greatas his obstinacy. It was clear that several motives would induce him to putevery obstacle in Arthur’s way, and chief of these was the harm it would do himif it were discovered that he had given a certificate of death carelessly. Hewould naturally do anything to avoid social scandal. Still Arthur was obligedto speak.

“I think I’d better tell you frankly that I’m not satisfied, Dr Richardson. Ican’t persuade myself that this lady’s death was due to natural causes.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” cried the other angrily. “I’ve been in practice for hardupon thirty-five years, and I’m willing to stake my professional reputation onit.”

“I have reason to think you are mistaken.”

“And to what do you ascribe death, pray?” asked the doctor.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Upon my soul, I think you must be out of your senses. Really, sir, yourbehaviour is childish. You tell me that you are a surgeon of some eminence …”

“I surely told you nothing of the sort.”

“Anyhow, you read papers before learned bodies and have them printed. And youcome with as silly a story as a Staffordshire peasant who thinks someone hasbeen trying to poison him because he’s got a stomach-ache. You may be a veryadmirable surgeon, but I venture to think I am more capable than you of judgingin a case which I attended and you know nothing about.”

“I mean to take the steps necessary to get an order for exhumation, DrRichardson, and I cannot help thinking it will be worth your while to assist mein every possible way.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind. I think you very impertinent, sir. There is noneed for exhumation, and I shall do everything in my power to prevent it. And Itell you as chairman of the board of magistrates, my opinion will have as greatvalue as any specialist’s in Harley Street.”

He flounced to the door and held it open. Susie and Dr Porhoët walked out; andArthur, looking down thoughtfully, followed on their heels. Dr Richardsonslammed the street-door angrily.

Dr Porhoët slipped his arm in Arthur’s.

“You must be reasonable, my friend,” he said. “From his own point of view thisdoctor has all the rights on his side. You have nothing to justify yourdemands. It is monstrous to expect that for a vague suspicion you will be ableto get an order for exhumation.”

Arthur did not answer. The trap was waiting for them.

“Why do you want to see Haddo?” insisted the doctor. “You will do no more goodthan you have with Dr Richardson.”

“I have made up my mind to see him,” answered Arthur shortly. “But there is noneed that either of you should accompany me.”

“If you go, we will come with you,” said Susie.

Without a word Arthur jumped into the dog-cart, and Susie took a seat by hisside. Dr Porhoët, with a shrug of the shoulders, mounted behind. Arthur whippedup the pony, and at a smart trot they traversed the three miles across thebarren heath that lay between Venning and Skene.

When they reached the park gates, the lodgekeeper, as luck would have it, wasstanding just inside, and she held one of them open for her little boy to comein. He was playing in the road and showed no inclination to do so. Arthurjumped down.

“I want to see Mr Haddo,” he said.

“Mr Haddo’s not in,” she answered roughly.

She tried to close the gate, but Arthur quickly put his foot inside.

“Nonsense! I have to see him on a matter of great importance.”

“Mr Haddo’s orders are that no one is to be admitted.”

“I can’t help that, I’m proposing to come in, all the same.”

Susie and Dr Porhoët came forward. They promised the small boy a shilling tohold their horse.

“Now then, get out of here,” cried the woman. “You’re not coming in, whateveryou say.”

She tried to push the gate to, but Arthur’s foot prevented her. Paying no heedto her angry expostulations, he forced his way in. He walked quickly up thedrive. The lodge-keeper accompanied him, with shrill abuse. The gate was leftunguarded, and the others were able to follow without difficulty.

“You can go to the door, but you won’t see Mr Haddo,” the woman cried angrily.“You’ll get me sacked for letting you come.”

Susie saw the house. It was a fine old building in the Elizabethan style, butmuch in need of repair; and it had the desolate look of a place that has beenuninhabited. The garden that surrounded it had been allowed to run wild, andthe avenue up which they walked was green with rank weeds. Here and there afallen tree, which none had troubled to remove, marked the owner’s negligence.Arthur went to the door and rang a bell. They heard it clang through the houseas though not a soul lived there. A man came to the door, and as soon as heopened it, Arthur, expecting to be refused admission, pushed in. The fellow wasas angry as the virago, his wife, who explained noisily how the three strangershad got into the park.

“You can’t see the squire, so you’d better be off. He’s up in the attics, andno one’s allowed to go to him.”

The man tried to push Arthur away.

“Be off with you, or I’ll send for the police.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said Arthur. “I mean to find Mr Haddo.”

The housekeeper and his wife broke out with abuse, to which Arthur listened insilence. Susie and Dr Porhoët stood by anxiously. They did not know what to do.Suddenly a voice at their elbows made them start, and the two servants wereimmediately silent.

“What can I do for you?”

Oliver Haddo was standing motionless behind them. It startled Susie that heshould have come upon them so suddenly, without a sound. Dr Porhoët, who hadnot seen him for some time, was astounded at the change which had taken placein him. The corpulence which had been his before was become now a positivedisease. He was enormous. His chin was a mass of heavy folds distended withfat, and his cheeks were puffed up so that his eyes were preternaturally small.He peered at you from between the swollen lids. All his features had sunk intothat hideous obesity. His ears were horribly bloated, and the lobes were largeand swelled. He had apparently a difficulty in breathing, for his large mouth,with its scarlet, shining lips, was constantly open. He had grown much balderand now there was only a crescent of long hair stretching across the back ofhis head from ear to ear. There was something terrible about that great shiningscalp. His paunch was huge; he was a very tall man and held himself erect, sothat it protruded like a vast barrel. His hands were infinitely repulsive; theywere red and soft and moist. He was sweating freely, and beads of perspirationstood on his forehead and on his shaven lip.

For a moment they all looked at one another in silence. Then Haddo turned tohis servants.

“Go,” he said.

As though frightened out of their wits, they made for the door and with abustling hurry flung themselves out. A torpid smile crossed his face as hewatched them go. Then he moved a step nearer his visitors. His manner had stillthe insolent urbanity which was customary to him.

“And now, my friends, will you tell me how I can be of service to you?”

“I have come about Margaret’s death,” said Arthur.

Haddo, as was his habit, did not immediately answer. He looked slowly fromArthur to Dr Porhoët, and from Dr Porhoët to Susie. His eyes rested on her hat,and she felt uncomfortably that he was inventing some gibe about it.

“I should have thought this hardly the moment to intrude upon my sorrow,” hesaid at last. “If you have condolences to offer, I venture to suggest that youmight conveniently send them by means of the penny post.”

Arthur frowned.

“Why did you not let me know that she was ill?” he asked.

“Strange as it may seem to you, my worthy friend, it never occurred to me thatmy wife’s health could be any business of yours.”

A faint smile flickered once more on Haddo’s lips, but his eyes had still thepeculiar hardness which was so uncanny. Arthur looked at him steadily.

“I have every reason to believe that you killed her,” he said.

Haddo’s face did not for an instant change its expression.

“And have you communicated your suspicions to the police?”

“I propose to.”

“And, if I am not indiscreet, may I inquire upon what you base them?”

“I saw Margaret three weeks ago, and she told me that she went in terror of herlife.”

“Poor Margaret! She had always the romantic temperament. I think it was thatwhich first brought us together.”

“You damned scoundrel!” cried Arthur.

“My dear fellow, pray moderate your language. This is surely not an occasionwhen you should give way to your lamentable taste for abuse. You outrage allMiss Boyd’s susceptibilities.” He turned to her with an airy wave of his fathand. “You must forgive me if I do not offer you the hospitality of Skene, butthe loss I have so lately sustained does not permit me to indulge in the levityof entertaining.”

He gave her an ironical, low bow; then looked once more at Arthur.

“If I can be of no further use to you, perhaps you would leave me to my ownreflections. The lodgekeeper will give you the exact address of the villageconstable.”

Arthur did not answer. He stared into vacancy, as if he were turning overthings in his mind. Then he turned sharply on his heel and walked towards thegate. Susie and Dr Porhoët, taken completely aback, did not know what to do;and Haddo’s little eyes twinkled as he watched their discomfiture.

“I always thought that your friend had deplorable manners,” he murmured.

Susie, feeling very ridiculous, flushed, and Dr Porhoët awkwardly took off hishat. As they walked away, they felt Haddo’s mocking gaze fixed upon them, andthey were heartily thankful to reach the gate. They found Arthur waiting forthem.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I forgot that I was not alone.”

The three of them drove slowly back to the inn.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Susie.

For a long time Arthur made no reply, and Susie thought he could not have heardher. At last he broke the silence.

“I see that I can do nothing by ordinary methods. I realize that it is uselessto make a public outcry. There is only my own conviction that Margaret came toa violent end, and I cannot expect anyone to pay heed to that.”

“After all, it’s just possible that she really died of heart disease.”

Arthur gave Susie a long look. He seemed to consider her words deliberately.

“Perhaps there are means to decide that conclusively,” he replied at length,thoughtfully, as though he were talking to himself.

“What are they?”

Arthur did not answer. When they came to the door of the inn, he stopped.

“Will you go in? I wish to take a walk by myself,” he said.

Susie looked at him anxiously.

“You’re not going to do anything rash?”

“I will do nothing till I have made quite sure that Margaret was foullymurdered.”

He turned on his heel and walked quickly away. It was late now, and they founda frugal meal waiting for them in the little sitting-room. It seemed no use todelay it till Arthur came back, and silently, sorrowfully, they ate.Afterwards, the doctor smoked cigarettes, while Susie sat at the open windowand looked at the stars. She thought of Margaret, of her beauty and hercharming frankness, of her fall and of her miserable end; and she began to cryquietly. She knew enough of the facts now to be aware that the wretched girlwas not to blame for anything that had happened. A cruel fate had fallen uponher, and she had been as powerless as in the old tales Phaedra, the daughter ofMinos, or Myrrha of the beautiful hair. The hours passed, and still Arthur didnot return. Susie thought now only of him, and she was frightfully anxious.

But at last he came in. The night was far advanced. He put down his hat and satdown. For a long while he looked silently at Dr. Porhoët.

“What is it, my friend?” asked the good doctor at length.

“Do you remember that you told us once of an experiment you made inAlexandria?” he said, after some hesitation.

He spoke in a curious voice.

“You told us that you took a boy, and when he looked in a magic mirror, he sawthings which he could not possibly have known.”

“I remember very well,” said the doctor.

“I was much inclined to laugh at you at the time. I was convinced that the boywas a knave who deceived you.”

“Yes?”

“Of late I’ve thought of that story often. Some hidden recess of my memory hasbeen opened, and I seem to remember strange things. Was I the boy who looked inthe ink?”

“Yes,” said the doctor quietly.

Arthur did not say anything. A profound silence fell upon them, while Susie andthe doctor watched him intently. They wondered what was in his mind.

“There is a side of my character which I did not know till lately,” Arthur saidat last. “When first it dawned upon me, I fought against it. I said to myselfthat deep down in all of us, a relic from the long past, is the remains of thesuperstition that blinded our fathers; and it is needful for the man of scienceto fight against it with all his might. And yet it was stronger than I. Perhapsmy birth, my early years, in those Eastern lands where everyone believes in thesupernatural, affected me although I did not know it. I began to remembervague, mysterious things, which I never knew had been part of my knowledge. Andat last one day it seemed that a new window was opened on to my soul, and I sawwith extraordinary clearness the incident which you had described. I knewsuddenly it was part of my own experience. I saw you take me by the hand andpour the ink on my palm and bid me look at it. I felt again the strange glowthat thrilled me, and with an indescribable bitterness I saw things in themirror which were not there before. I saw people whom I had never seen. I sawthem perform certain actions. And some force I knew not, obliged me to speak.And at length everything grew dim, and I was as exhausted as if I had not eatenall day.”

He went over to the open window and looked out. Neither of the others spoke.The look on Arthur’s face, curiously outlined by the light of the lamp, wasvery stern. He seemed to undergo some mental struggle of extraordinaryviolence. He breath came quickly. At last he turned and faced them. He spokehoarsely, quickly.

“I must see Margaret again.”

“Arthur, you’re mad!” cried Susie.

He went up to Dr Porhoët and, putting his hands on his shoulders, lookedfixedly into his eyes.

“You have studied this science. You know all that can be known of it. I wantyou to show her to me.”

The doctor gave an exclamation of alarm.

“My dear fellow, how can I? I have read many books, but I have never practisedanything. I have only studied these matters for my amusement.”

“Do you believe it can be done?”

“I don’t understand what you want.”

“I want you to bring her to me so that I may speak with her, so that I may findout the truth.”

“Do you think I am God that I can raise men from the dead?”

Arthur’s hands pressed him down in the chair from which he sought to rise. Hisfingers were clenched on the old man’s shoulders so that he could hardly bearthe pain.

“You told us how once Eliphas Levi raised a spirit. Do you believe that wastrue?”

“I don’t know. I have always kept an open mind. There was much to be said onboth sides.”

“Well, now you must believe. You must do what he did.”

“You must be mad, Arthur.”

“I want you to come to that spot where I saw her last. If her spirit can bebrought back anywhere, it must be in that place where she sat and wept. Youknow all the ceremonies and all the words that are necessary.”

But Susie came forward and laid her hand on his arm. He looked at her with afrown.

“Arthur, you know in your heart that nothing can come of it. You’re onlyincreasing your unhappiness. And even if you could bring her from the grave fora moment, why can you not let her troubled soul rest in peace?”

“If she died a natural death we shall have no power over her, but if her deathwas violent perhaps her spirit is earthbound still. I tell you I must becertain. I want to see her once more, and afterwards I shall know what to do.”

“I cannot, I cannot,” said the doctor.

“Give me the books and I will do it alone.”

“You know that I have nothing here.”

“Then you must help me,” said Arthur. “After all, why should you mind? Weperform a certain operation, and if nothing happens we are no worse off thenbefore. On the other hand, if we succeed…. Oh, for God’s sake, help me! If youhave any care for my happiness do this one thing for me.”

He stepped back and looked at the doctor. The Frenchman’s eyes were fixed uponthe ground.

“It’s madness,” he muttered.

He was intensely moved by Arthur’s appeal. At last he shrugged his shoulders.

“After all, if it is but a foolish mummery it can do no harm.”

“You will help me?” cried Arthur.

“If it can give you any peace or any satisfaction, I am willing to do what Ican. But I warn you to be prepared for a great disappointment.”

Chapter XV

Arthur wished to set about the invocation then and there, but Dr Porhoët saidit was impossible. They were all exhausted after the long journey, and it wasnecessary to get certain things together without which nothing could be done.In his heart he thought that a night’s rest would bring Arthur to a morereasonable mind. When the light of day shone upon the earth he would be ashamedof the desire which ran counter to all his prepossessions. But Arthurremembered that on the next day it would be exactly a week since Margaret’sdeath, and it seemed to him that then their spells might have a greaterefficacy.

When they came down in the morning and greeted one another, it was plain thatnone of them had slept.

“Are you still of the same purpose as last night?” asked Dr Porhoët gravely.

“I am.”

The doctor hesitated nervously.

“It will be necessary, if you wish to follow out the rules of the oldnecromancers, to fast through the whole day.”

“I am ready to do anything.”

“It will be no hardship to me,” said Susie, with a little hysterical laugh. “Ifeel I couldn’t eat a thing if I tried.”

“I think the whole affair is sheer folly,” said Dr Porhoët.

“You promised me you would try.”

The day, the long summer day, passed slowly. There was a hard brilliancy in thesky that reminded the Frenchman of those Egyptian heavens when the earth seemedcrushed beneath a bowl of molten fire. Arthur was too restless to remainindoors and left the others to their own devices. He walked without aim, asfast as he could go; he felt no weariness. The burning sun beat down upon him,but he did not know it. The hours passed with lagging feet. Susie lay on herbed and tried to read. Her nerves were so taut that, when there was a sound inthe courtyard of a pail falling on the cobbles, she cried out in terror. Thesun rose, and presently her window was flooded with quivering rays of gold. Itwas midday. The day passed, and it was afternoon. The evening came, but itbrought no freshness. Meanwhile Dr Porhoët sat in the little parlour, with hishead between his hands, trying by a great mental effort to bring back to hismemory all that he had read. His heart began to beat more quickly. Then thenight fell, and one by one the stars shone out. There was no wind. The air washeavy. Susie came downstairs and began to talk with Dr Porhoët. But they spokein a low tone, as if they were afraid that someone would overhear. They werefaint now with want of food. The hours went one by one, and the striking of aclock filled them each time with a mysterious apprehension. The lights in thevillage were put out little by little, and everybody slept. Susie had lightedthe lamp, and they watched beside it. A cold shiver passed through her.

“I feel as though someone were lying dead in the room,” she said.

“Why does not Arthur come?”

They spoke inconsequently, and neither heeded what the other said. The windowwas wide open, but the air was difficult to breathe. And now the silence was sounusual that Susie grew strangely nervous. She tried to think of the noisystreets in Paris, the constant roar of traffic, and the shuffling of the crowdstoward evening as the work people returned to their homes. She stood up.

“There’s no air tonight. Look at the trees. Not a leaf is moving.”

“Why does not Arthur come?” repeated the doctor.

“There’s no moon tonight. It will be very dark at Skene.”

“He’s walked all day. He should be here by now.”

Susie felt an extraordinary oppression, and she panted for breath. At last theyheard a step on the road outside, and Arthur stood at the window.

“Are you ready to come?” he said.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

They joined him, bringing the few things that Dr Porhoët had said werenecessary, and they walked along the solitary road that led to Skene. On eachside the heather stretched into the dark night, and there was a blackness aboutit that was ominous. There was no sound save that of their own steps. Dimly,under the stars, they saw the desolation with which they were surrounded. Theway seemed very long. They were utterly exhausted, and they could hardly dragone foot after the other.

“You must let me rest for a minute,” said Susie.

They did not answer, but stopped, and she sat on a boulder by the wayside. Theystood motionless in front of her, waiting patiently till she was ready. After alittle while she forced herself to get up.

“Now I can go,” she said.

Still they did not speak, but walked on. They moved like figures in a dream,with a stealthy directness, as though they acted under the influence ofanother’s will. Suddenly the road stopped, and they found themselves at thegates of Skene.

“Follow me very closely,” said Arthur.

He turned on one side, and they followed a paling. Susie could feel that theywalked along a narrow path. She could see hardly two steps in front of her. Atlast he stood still.

“I came here earlier in the night and made the opening easier to get through.”

He turned back a broken piece of railing and slipped in. Susie followed, and DrPorhoët entered after her.

“I can see nothing,” said Susie.

“Give my your hand, and I will lead you.”

They walked with difficulty through the tangled bracken, among closely plantedtrees. They stumbled, and once Dr Porhoët fell. It seemed that they went a longway. Susie’s heart beat fast with anxiety. All her weariness was forgotten.

Then Arthur stopped them, and he pointed in front of him. Through an opening inthe trees, they saw the house. All the windows were dark except those justunder the roof, and from them came bright lights.

“Those are the attics which he uses as a laboratory. You see, he is workingnow. There is no one else in the house.”

Susie was curiously fascinated by the flaming lights. There was an awfulmystery in those unknown labours which absorbed Oliver Haddo night after nighttill the sun rose. What horrible things were done there, hidden from the eyesof men? By himself in that vast house the madman performed ghastly experiments;and who could tell what dark secrets he trafficked in?

“There is no danger that he will come out,” said Arthur. “He remains there tillthe break of day.”

He took her hand again and led her on. Back they went among the trees, andpresently they were on a pathway. They walked along with greater safety.

“Are you all right, Porhoët?” asked Arthur.

“Yes.”

But the trees grew thicker and the night more sombre. Now the stars were shutout, and they could hardly see in front of them.

“Here we are,” said Arthur.

They stopped, and found that there was in front of them a green space formed byfour cross-ways. In the middle a stone bench gleamed vaguely against thedarkness.

“This is where Margaret sat when last I saw her.”

“I can see to do nothing here,” said the doctor.

They had brought two flat bowls of brass to serve as censers, and these Arthurgave to Dr Porhoët. He stood by Susie’s side while the doctor busied himselfwith his preparations. They saw him move to and fro. They saw him bend to theground. Presently there was a crackling of wood, and from the brazen bowls redflames shot up. They did not know what he burnt, but there were heavy clouds ofsmoke, and a strong, aromatic odour filled the air. Now and again the doctorwas sharply silhouetted against the light. His slight, bowed figure wassingularly mysterious. When Susie caught sight of his face, she saw that it wastouched with a strong emotion. The work he was at affected him so that hisdoubts, his fears, had vanished. He looked like some old alchemist busied withunnatural things. Susie’s heart began to beat painfully. She was growingdesperately frightened and stretched out her hand so that she might touchArthur. Silently he put his arm through hers. And now the doctor was tracingstrange signs upon the ground. The flames died down and only a glow remained,but he seemed to have no difficulty in seeing what he was about. Susie couldnot discern what figures he drew. Then he put more twigs upon the braziers, andthe flames sprang up once more, cutting the darkness sharply as with a sword.

“Now come,” he said.

But, inexplicably, a sudden terror seized Susie. She felt that the hairs of herhead stood up, and a cold sweat broke out on her body. Her limbs had grown onan instant inconceivably heavy so that she could not move. A panic such as shehad never known came upon her, and, except that her legs would not carry her,she would have fled blindly. She began to tremble. She tried to speak, but hertongue clave to her throat.

“I can’t, I’m afraid,” she muttered hoarsely.

“You must. Without you we can do nothing,” said Arthur.

She could not reason with herself. She had forgotten everything except that shewas frightened to death. Her heart was beating so quickly that she almostfainted. And now Arthur held her, so firmly that she winced.

“Let me go,” she whispered. “I won’t help you. I’m afraid.”

“You must,” he said. “You must.”

“No.”

“I tell you, you must come.”

“Why?”

Her deadly fear expressed itself in a passion of sudden anger.

“Because you love me, and it’s the only way to give me peace.”

She uttered a low wail of pain, and her terror gave way to shame. She blushedto the roots of her hair because he too knew her secret. And then she wasseized again with anger because he had the cruelty to taunt her with it. Shehad recovered her courage now, and she stepped forward. Dr. Porhoët told herwhere to stand. Arthur took his place in front of her.

“You must not move till I give you leave. If you go outside the figure I havedrawn, I cannot protect you.”

For a moment Dr Porhoët stood in perfect silence. Then he began to recitestrange words in Latin. Susie heard him but vaguely. She did not know thesense, and his voice was so low that she could not have distinguished thewords. But his intonation had lost that gentle irony which was habitual to him,and he spoke with a trembling gravity that was extraordinarily impressive.Arthur stood immobile as a rock. The flames died away, and they saw one anotheronly by the glow of the ashes, dimly, like persons in a vision of death. Therewas silence. Then the necromancer spoke again, and now his voice was louder. Heseemed to utter weird invocations, but they were in a tongue that the othersknew not. And while he spoke the light from the burning cinders on a suddenwent out.

It did not die, but was sharply extinguished, as though by invisible hands. Andnow the darkness was more sombre than that of the blackest night. The treesthat surrounded them were hidden from their eyes, and the whiteness of thestone bench was seen no longer. They stood but a little way one from the other,but each might have stood alone. Susie strained her eyes, but she could seenothing. She looked up quickly; the stars were gone out, and she could see nofurther over her head than round about. The darkness was terrifying. And fromit, Dr Porhoët’s voice had a ghastly effect. It seemed to come, wonderfullychanged, from the void of bottomless chaos. Susie clenched her hands so thatshe might not faint.

All at once she started, for the old man’s voice was cut by a sudden gust ofwind. A moment before, the utter silence had been almost intolerable, and now astorm seemed to have fallen upon them. The trees all around them rocked in thewind; they heard the branches creak; and they heard the hissing of the leaves.They were in the midst of a hurricane. And they felt the earth sway as itresisted the straining roots of great trees, which seemed to be dragged up bythe force of the furious gale. Whistling and roaring, the wind stormed allabout them, and the doctor, raising his voice, tried in vain to command it. Butthe strangest thing of all was that, where they stood, there was no sign of theraging blast. The air immediately about them was as still as it had beenbefore, and not a hair on Susie’s head was moved. And it was terrible to hearthe tumult, and yet to be in a calm that was almost unnatural.

On a sudden, Dr Porhoët raised his voice, and with a sternness they had neverheard in it before, cried out in that unknown language. Then he called uponMargaret. He called her name three times. In the uproar Susie could scarcelyhear. Terror had seized her again, but in her confusion she remembered hiscommand, and she dared not move.

“Margaret, Margaret, Margaret.”

Without a pause between, as quickly as a stone falls to the ground, the dinwhich was all about them ceased. There was no gradual diminution. But at onemoment there was a roaring hurricane and at the next a silence so complete thatit might have been the silence of death.

And then, seeming to come out of nothingness, extraordinarily, they heard witha curious distinctness the sound of a woman weeping. Susie’s heart stood still.They heard the sound of a woman weeping, and they recognized the voice ofMargaret. A groan of anguish burst from Arthur’s lips, and he was on the pointof starting forward. But quickly Dr Porhoët put out his hand to prevent him.The sound was heartrending, the sobbing of a woman who had lost all hope, thesobbing of a woman terrified. If Susie had been able to stir, she would haveput her hands to her ears to shut out the ghastly agony of it.

And in a moment, notwithstanding the heavy darkness of the starless night,Arthur saw her. She was seated on the stone bench as when last he had spokenwith her. In her anguish she sought not to hide her face. She looked at theground, and the tears fell down her cheeks. Her bosom heaved with the pain ofher weeping.

Then Arthur knew that all his suspicions were justified.

Chapter XVI

Arthur would not leave the little village of Venning. Neither Susie nor thedoctor could get him to make any decision. None of them spoke of the nightwhich they had spent in the woods of Skene; but it coloured all their thoughts,and they were not free for a single moment from the ghastly memory of it. Theyseemed still to hear the sound of that passionate weeping. Arthur was moody.When he was with them, he spoke little; he opposed a stubborn resistance totheir efforts at diverting his mind. He spent long hours by himself, in thecountry, and they had no idea what he did. Susie was terribly anxious. He hadlost his balance so completely that she was prepared for any rashness. Shedivined that his hatred of Haddo was no longer within the bounds of reason. Thedesire for vengeance filled him entirely, so that he was capable of anyviolence.

Several days went by.

At last, in concert with Dr Porhoët, she determined to make one more attempt.It was late at night, and they sat with open windows in the sitting-room of theinn. There was a singular oppressiveness in the air which suggested that athunderstorm was at hand. Susie prayed for it; for she ascribed to the peculiarheat of the last few days much of Arthur’s sullen irritability.

“Arthur, you must tell us what you are going to do,” she said. “It isuseless to stay here. We are all so ill and nervous that we cannot consideranything rationally. We want you to come away with us tomorrow.”

“You can go if you choose,” he said. “I shall remain till that man is dead.”

“It is madness to talk like that. You can do nothing. You are only makingyourself worse by staying here.”

“I have quite made up my mind.”

“The law can offer you no help, and what else can you do?”

She asked the question, meaning if possible to get from him some hint of hisintentions; but the grimness of his answer, though it only confirmed her vaguesuspicions, startled her.

“If I can do nothing else, I shall shoot him like a dog.”

She could think of nothing to say, and for a while they remained in silence.Then he got up.

“I think I should prefer it if you went,” he said. “You can only hamper me.”

“I shall stay here as long as you do.”

“Why?”

“Because if you do anything, I shall be compromised. I may be arrested. I thinkthe fear of that may restrain you.”

He looked at her steadily. She met his eyes with a calmness which showed thatshe meant exactly what she said, and he turned uneasily away. A silence evengreater than before fell upon them. They did not move. It was so still in theroom that it might have been empty. The breathlessness of the air increased, sothat it was horribly oppressive. Suddenly there was a loud rattle of thunder,and a flash of lightning tore across the heavy clouds. Susie thanked Heaven forthe storm which would give presently a welcome freshness. She felt excessivelyill at ease, and it was a relief to ascribe her sensation to a state of theatmosphere. Again the thunder rolled. It was so loud that it seemed to beimmediately above their heads. And the wind rose suddenly and swept with a longmoan through the trees that surrounded the house. It was a sound so human thatit might have come from the souls of dead men suffering hopeless torments ofregret.

The lamp went out, so suddenly that Susie was vaguely frightened. It gave oneflicker, and they were in total darkness. It seemed as though someone hadleaned over the chimney and blown it out. The night was very black, and theycould not see the window which opened on to the country. The darkness was sopeculiar that for a moment no one stirred.

Then Susie heard Dr Porhoët slip his hand across the table to find matches, butit seemed that they were not there. Again a loud peal of thunder startled them,but the rain would not fall. They panted for fresh air. On a sudden Susie’sheart gave a bound, and she sprang up.

“There’s someone in the room.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she heard Arthur fling himselfupon the intruder. She knew at once, with the certainty of an intuition, thatit was Haddo. But how had he come in? What did he want? She tried to cry out,but no sound came from her throat. Dr Porhoët seemed bound to his chair. He didnot move. He made no sound. She knew that an awful struggle was proceeding. Itwas a struggle to the death between two men who hated one another, but the mostterrible part of it was that nothing was heard. They were perfectly noiseless.She tried to do something, but she could not stir. And Arthur’s heart exulted,for his enemy was in his grasp, under his hands, and he would not let him gowhile life was in him. He clenched his teeth and tightened his strainingmuscles. Susie heard his laboured breathing, but she only heard the breathingof one man. She wondered in abject terror what that could mean. They struggledsilently, hand to hand, and Arthur knew that his strength was greater. He hadmade up his mind what to do and directed all his energy to a definite end. Hisenemy was extraordinarily powerful, but Arthur appeared to create some strengthfrom the sheer force of his will. It seemed for hours that they struggled. Hecould not bear him down.

Suddenly, he knew that the other was frightened and sought to escape from him.Arthur tightened his grasp; for nothing in the world now would he ever loosenhis hold. He took a deep, quick breath, and then put out all his strength in atremendous effort. They swayed from side to side. Arthur felt as if his muscleswere being torn from the bones, he could not continue for more than a momentlonger; but the agony that flashed across his mind at the thought of failurebraced him to a sudden angry jerk. All at once Haddo collapsed, and they fellheavily to the ground. Arthur was breathing more quickly now. He thought thatif he could keep on for one instant longer, he would be safe. He threw all hisweight on the form that rolled beneath him, and bore down furiously on theman’s arm. He twisted it sharply, with all his might, and felt it give way. Hegave a low cry of triumph; the arm was broken. And now his enemy was seizedwith panic; he struggled madly, he wanted only to get away from those longhands that were killing him. They seemed to be of iron. Arthur seized the hugebullock throat and dug his fingers into it, and they sunk into the heavy rollsof fat; and he flung the whole weight of his body into them. He exulted, for heknew that his enemy was in his power at last; he was strangling him, stranglingthe life out of him. He wanted light so that he might see the horror of thatvast face, and the deadly fear, and the staring eyes. And still he pressed withthose iron hands. And now the movements were strangely convulsive. His victimwrithed in the agony of death. His struggles were desperate, but the avenginghands held him as in a vice. And then the movements grew spasmodic, and thenthey grew weaker. Still the hands pressed upon the gigantic throat, and Arthurforgot everything. He was mad with rage and fury and hate and sorrow. Hethought of Margaret’s anguish and of her fiendish torture, and he wished theman had ten lives so that he might take them one by one. And at last all wasstill, and that vast mass of flesh was motionless, and he knew that his enemywas dead. He loosened his grasp and slipped one hand over the heart. It wouldnever beat again. The man was stone dead. Arthur got up and straightenedhimself. The darkness was intense still, and he could see nothing. Susie heardhim, and at length she was able to speak.

“Arthur, what have you done?”

“I’ve killed him,” he said hoarsely.

“O God, what shall we do?”

Arthur began to laugh aloud, hysterically, and in the darkness his hilarity wasterrifying.

“For God’s sake let us have some light.”

“I’ve found the matches,” said Dr Porhoët.

He seemed to awake suddenly from his long stupor. He struck one, and it wouldnot light. He struck another, and Susie took off the globe and the chimney ashe kindled the wick. Then he held up the lamp, and they saw Arthur looking atthem. His face was ghastly. The sweat ran off his forehead in great beads, andhis eyes were bloodshot. He trembled in every limb. Then Dr Porhoët advancedwith the lamp and held it forward. They looked down on the floor for the manwho lay there dead. Susie gave a sudden cry of horror.

There was no one there.

Arthur stepped back in terrified surprise. There was no one in the room, livingor dead, but the three friends. The ground sank under Susie’s feet, she felthorribly ill, and she fainted. When she awoke, seeming difficultly to emergefrom an eternal night, Arthur was holding down her head.

“Bend down,” he said. “Bend down.”

All that had happened came back to her, and she burst into tears. Herself-control deserted her, and, clinging to him for protection, she sobbed asthough her heart would break. She was shaking from head to foot. Thestrangeness of this last horror had overcome her, and she could have shriekedwith fright.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You need not be afraid.”

“Oh, what does it mean?”

“You must pluck up courage. We’re going now to Skene.”

She sprang to her feet, as though to get away from him; her heart beat wildly.

“No, I can’t; I’m frightened.”

“We must see what it means. We have no time to lose, or the morning will beupon us before we get back.”

Then she sought to prevent him.

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t go, Arthur. Something awful may await you there.Don’t risk your life.”

“There is no danger. I tell you the man is dead.”

“If anything happened to you …”

She stopped, trying to restrain her sobs; she dared not go on. But he seemed toknow what was in her mind.

“I will take no risks, because of you. I know that whether I live or die is nota—matter of indifference to you.”

She looked up and saw that his eyes were fixed upon her gravely. She reddened.A curious feeling came into her heart.

“I will go with you wherever you choose,” she said humbly.

“Come, then.”

They stepped out into the night. And now, without rain, the storm had passedaway, and the stars were shining. They walked quickly. Arthur went in front ofthem. Dr Porhoët and Susie followed him, side by side, and they had to hastentheir steps in order not to be left behind. It seemed to them that the horrorof the night was passed, and there was a fragrancy in the air which waswonderfully refreshing. The sky was beautiful. And at last they came to Skene.Arthur led them again to the opening in the palisade, and he took Susie’s hand.Presently they stood in the place from which a few days before they had seenthe house. As then, it stood in massive blackness against the night and, asthen, the attic windows shone out with brilliant lights. Susie started, for shehad expected that the whole place would be in darkness.

“There is no danger, I promise you,” said Arthur gently. “We are going to findout the meaning of all this mystery.”

He began to walk towards the house.

“Have you a weapon of some sort?” asked the doctor.

Arthur handed him a revolver.

“Take this. It will reassure you, but you will have no need of it. I bought itthe other day when—I had other plans.”

Susie gave a little shudder. They reached the drive and walked to the greatportico which adorned the facade of the house. Arthur tried the handle, but itwould not open.

“Will you wait here?” he said. “I can get through one of the windows, and Iwill let you in.”

He left them. They stood quietly there, with anxious hearts; they could notguess what they would see. They were afraid that something would happen toArthur, and Susie regretted that she had not insisted on going with him.Suddenly she remembered that awful moment when the light of the lamp had beenthrown where all expected to see a body, and there was nothing.

“What do you think it meant?” she cried suddenly. “What is the explanation?”

“Perhaps we shall see now,” answered the doctor.

Arthur still lingered, and she could not imagine what had become of him. Allsorts of horrible fancies passed through her mind, and she dreaded she knew notwhat. At last they heard a footstep inside the house, and the door was opened.

“I was convinced that nobody slept here, but I was obliged to make sure. I hadsome difficulty in getting in.”

Susie hesitated to enter. She did not know what horrors awaited her, and thedarkness was terrifying.

“I cannot see,” she said.

“I’ve brought a torch,” said Arthur.

He pressed a button, and a narrow ray of bright light was cast upon the floor.Dr Porhoët and Susie went in. Arthur carefully closed the door, and flashed thelight of his torch all round them. They stood in a large hall, the floor ofwhich was scattered with the skins of lions that Haddo on his celebratedexpedition had killed in Africa. There were perhaps a dozen, and their numbergave a wild, barbaric note. A great oak staircase led to the upper floors.

“We must go through all the rooms,” said Arthur.

He did not expect to find Haddo till they came to the lighted attics, but itseemed needful nevertheless to pass right through the house on their way. Aflash of his torch had shown him that the walls of the hall were decorated withall manner of armour, ancient swords of Eastern handiwork, barbaric weaponsfrom central Africa, savage implements of medieval warfare; and an idea came tohim. He took down a huge battle-axe and swung it in his hand.

“Now come.”

Silently, holding their breath as though they feared to wake the dead, theywent into the first room. They saw it difficultly with their scant light, sincethe thin shaft of brilliancy, emphasising acutely the surrounding darkness,revealed it only piece by piece. It was a large room, evidently unused, for thefurniture was covered with holland, and there was a mustiness about it whichsuggested that the windows were seldom opened. As in many old houses, the roomsled not from a passage but into one another, and they walked through many tillthey came back into the hall. They had all a desolate, uninhabited air. Theirsombreness was increased by the oak with which they were panelled. There waspanelling in the hall too, and on the stairs that led broadly to the top of thehouse. As they ascended, Arthur stopped for one moment and passed his hand overthe polished wood.

“It would burn like tinder,” he said.

They went through the rooms on the first floor, and they were as empty and ascheerless. Presently they came to that which had been Margaret’s. In a bowlwere dead flowers. Her brushes were still on the toilet table. But it was agloomy chamber, with its dark oak, and, so comfortless that Susie shuddered.Arthur stood for a time and looked at it, but he said nothing. They foundthemselves again on the stairs and they went to the second storey. But herethey seemed to be at the top of the house.

“How does one get up to the attics?” said Arthur, looking about him withsurprise.

He paused for a while to think. Then he nodded his head.

“There must be some steps leading out of one of the rooms.”

They went on. And now the ceilings were much lower, with heavy beams, and therewas no furniture at all. The emptiness seemed to make everything moreterrifying. They felt that they were on the threshold of a great mystery, andSusie’s heart began to beat fast. Arthur conducted his examination with thegreatest method; he walked round each room carefully, looking for a door thatmight lead to a staircase; but there was no sign of one.

“What will you do if you can’t find the way up?” asked Susie.

“I shall find the way up,” he answered.

They came to the staircase once more and had discovered nothing. They looked atone another helplessly.

“It’s quite clear there is a way,” said Arthur, with impatience. “There must besomething in the nature of a hidden door somewhere or other.”

He leaned against the balustrade and meditated. The light of his lantern threwa narrow ray upon the opposite wall.

“I feel certain it must be in one of the rooms at the end of the house. Thatseems the most natural place to put a means of ascent to the attics.”

They went back, and again he examined the panelling of a small room that hadoutside walls on three sides of it. It was the only room that did not lead intoanother.

“It must be here,” he said.

Presently he gave a little laugh, for he saw that a small door was concealed bythe woodwork. He pressed it where he thought there might be a spring, and itflew open. Their torch showed them a narrow wooden staircase. They walked upand found themselves in front of a door. Arthur tried it, but it was locked. Hesmiled grimly.

“Will you get back a little,” he said.

He lifted his axe and swung it down upon the latch. The handle was shattered,but the lock did not yield. He shook his head. As he paused for a moment, anthere was a complete silence, Susie distinctly heard a slight noise. She puther hand on Arthur’s arm to call his attention to it, and with strained earsthey listened. There was something alive on the other side of the door. Theyheard its curious sound: it was not that of a human voice, it was not thecrying of an animal, it was extraordinary.

It was the sort of gibber, hoarse and rapid, and it filled them with an icyterror because it was so weird and so unnatural.

“Come away, Arthur,” said Susie. “Come away.”

“There’s some living thing in there,” he answered.

He did not know why the sound horrified him. The sweat broke out on hisforehead.

“Something awful will happen to us,” whispered Susie, shaking withuncontrollable fear.

“The only thing is to break the door down.”

The horrid gibbering was drowned by the noise he made. Quickly, withoutpausing, he began to hack at the oak door with all his might. In rapidsuccession his heavy blows rained down, and the sound echoed through the emptyhouse. There was a crash, and the door swung back. They had been so long inalmost total darkness that they were blinded for an instant by the dazzlinglight. And then instinctively they started back, for, as the door opened, awave of heat came out upon them so that they could hardly breathe. The placewas like an oven.

They entered. It was lit by enormous lamps, the light of which was increased byreflectors, and warmed by a great furnace. They could not understand why sointense a heat was necessary. The narrow windows were closed. Dr Porhoët caughtsight of a thermometer and was astounded at the temperature it indicated. Theroom was used evidently as a laboratory. On broad tables were test-tubes,basins and baths of white porcelain, measuring-glasses, and utensils of allsorts; but the surprising thing was the great scale upon which everything was.Neither Arthur nor Dr Porhoët had ever seen such gigantic measures nor suchlarge test-tubes. There were rows of bottles, like those in the dispensary of ahospital, each containing great quantities of a different chemical. The threefriends stood in silence. The emptiness of the room contrasted so oddly withits appearance of being in immediate use that it was uncanny. Susie felt thathe who worked there was in the midst of his labours, and might return at anymoment; he could have only gone for an instant into another chamber in order tosee the progress of some experiment. It was quite silent. Whatever had madethose vague, unearthly noises was hushed by their approach.

The door was closed between this room and the next. Arthur opened it, and theyfound themselves in a long, low attic, ceiled with great rafters, asbrilliantly lit and as hot as the first. Here too were broad tables laden withretorts, instruments for heating, huge test-tubes, and all manner of vessels.The furnace that warmed it gave a steady heat. Arthur’s gaze travelled slowlyfrom table to table, and he wondered what Haddo’s experiments had really been.The air was heavy with an extraordinary odour: it was not musty, like that ofthe closed rooms through which they had passed, but singularly pungent,disagreeable and sickly. He asked himself what it could spring from. Then hiseyes fell upon a huge receptacle that stood on the table nearest to thefurnace. It was covered with a white cloth. He took it off. The vessel wasabout four feet high, round, and shaped somewhat like a washing tub, but it wasmade of glass more than an inch thick. In it a spherical mass, a little largerthan a football, of a peculiar, livid colour. The surface was smooth, butrather coarsely grained, and over it ran a dense system of blood-vessels. Itreminded the two medical men of those huge tumours which are preserved inspirit in hospital museums. Susie looked at it with an incomprehensibledisgust. Suddenly she gave a cry.

“Good God, it’s moving!”

Arthur put his hand on her arm quickly to quieten her and bent down withirresistible curiosity. They saw that it was a mass of flesh unlike that of anyhuman being; and it pulsated regularly. The movement was quite distinct, up anddown, like the delicate heaving of a woman’s breast when she is asleep. Arthurtouched the thing with one finger and it shrank slightly.

“Its quite warm,” he said.

He turned it over, and it remained in the position in which he had placed it,as if there were neither top nor bottom to it. But they could see now,irregularly placed on one side, a few short hairs. They were just like humanhairs.

“Is it alive?” whispered Susie, struck with horror and amazement.

“Yes!”

Arthur seemed fascinated. He could not take his eyes off the loathsome thing.He watched it slowly heave with even motion.

“What can it mean?” he asked.

He looked at Dr Porhoët with pale startled face. A thought was coming to him,but a thought so unnatural, extravagant, and terrible that he pushed it fromhim with a movement of both hands, as though it were a material thing. Then allthree turned around abruptly with a start, for they heard again the wildgibbering which had first shocked their ears. In the wonder of this revoltingobject they had forgotten all the rest. The sound seemed extraordinarily near,and Susie drew back instinctively, for it appeared to come from her very side.

“There’s nothing here,” said Arthur. “It must be in the next room.”

“Oh, Arthur, let us go,” cried Susie. “I’m afraid to see what may be in storefor us. It is nothing to us; and what we see may poison our sleep for ever.”

She looked appealingly at Dr Porhoët. He was white and anxious. The heat ofthat place had made the sweat break out on his forehead.

“I have seen enough. I want to see no more,” he said.

“Then you may go, both of you,” answered Arthur. “I do not wish to force you tosee anything. But I shall go on. Whatever it is, I wish to find out.”

“But Haddo? Supposing he is there, waiting? Perhaps you are only walking into atrap that he has set for you.”

“I am convinced that Haddo is dead.”

Again that unintelligible jargon, unhuman and shrill, fell upon their ears, andArthur stepped forward. Susie did not hesitate. She was prepared to follow himanywhere. He opened the door, and there was a sudden quiet. Whatever made thosesounds was there. It was a larger room than any on the others and much higher,for it ran along the whole front of the house. The powerful lamps showed everycorner of it at once, but, above, the beams of the open ceiling were dark withshadow. And here the nauseous odour, which had struck them before, was sooverpowering that for a while they could not go in. It was indescribably foul.Even Arthur thought it would make him sick, and he looked at the windows to seeif it was possible to open them; but it seemed they were hermetically closed.The extreme warmth made the air more overpowering. There were four furnaceshere, and they were all alight. In order to give out more heat and to burnslowly, the fronts of them were open, and one could see that they were filledwith glowing coke.

The room was furnished no differently from the others, but to the variousinstruments for chemical operations on a large scale were added all manner ofelectrical appliances. Several books were lying about, and one had been leftopen face downwards on the edge of a table. But what immediately attractedtheir attention was a row of those large glass vessels like that which they hadseen in the adjoining room. Each was covered with a white cloth. They hesitateda moment, for they knew that here they were face to face with the great enigma.At last Arthur pulled away the cloth from one. None of them spoke. They staredwith astonished eyes. For here, too, was a strange mass of flesh, almost aslarge as a new-born child, but there was in it the beginnings of somethingghastly human. It was shaped vaguely like an infant, but the legs were joinedtogether so that it looked like a mummy rolled up in its coverings. There wereneither feet nor knees. The trunk was formless, but there was a curiousthickening on each side; it was as if a modeller had meant to make a figurewith the arms loosely bent, but had left the work unfinished so that they werestill one with the body. There was something that resembled a human head,covered with long golden hair, but it was horrible; it was an uncouth mass,without eyes or nose or mouth. The colour was a kind of sickly pink, and it wasalmost transparent. There was a very slight movement in it, rhythmical andslow. It was living too.

Then quickly Arthur removed the covering from all the other jars but one; andin a flash of the eyes they saw abominations so awful that Susie had to clenchher fists in order not to scream. There was one monstrous thing in which thelimbs approached nearly to the human. It was extraordinarily heaped up, withfat tiny arms, little bloated legs, and an absurd squat body, so that it lookedlike a Chinese mandarin in porcelain. In another the trunk was almost like thatof a human child, except that it was patched strangely with red and grey. Butthe terror of it was that at the neck it branched hideously, and there were twodistinct heads, monstrously large, but duly provided with all their features.The features were a caricature of humanity so shameful that one could hardlybear to look. And as the light fell on it, the eyes of each head opened slowly.They had no pigment in them, but were pink, like the eyes of white rabbits; andthey stared for a moment with an odd, unseeing glance. Then they were shutagain, and what was curiously terrifying was that the movements were not quitesimultaneous; the eyelids of one head fell slowly just before those of theother. And in another place was a ghastly monster in which it seemed that twobodies had been dreadfully entangled with one another. It was a creature ofnightmare, with four arms and four legs, and this one actually moved. With apeculiar motion it crawled along the bottom of the great receptacle in which itwas kept, towards the three persons who looked at it. It seemed to wonder whatthey did. Susie started back with fright, as it raised itself on its four legsand tried to reach up to them.

Susie turned away and hid her face. She could not look at those ghastlycounterfeits of humanity. She was terrified and ashamed.

“Do you understand what this means?” said Dr Porhoët to Arthur, in an awedvoice. “It means that he has discovered the secret of life.”

“Was it for these vile monstrosities that Margaret was sacrificed in all herloveliness?”

The two men looked at one another with sad, wondering eyes.

“Don’t you remember that he talked of the manufacture of human beings? It’sthese misshapen things that he’s succeeding in producing,” said the doctor.

“There is one more that we haven’t seen,” said Arthur.

He pointed to the covering which still hid the largest of the vases. He had afeeling that it contained the most fearful of all these monsters; and it wasnot without an effort that he drew the cloth away. But no sooner had he donethis than something sprang up, so that instinctively he started back, and itbegan to gibber in piercing tones. These were the unearthly sounds that theyhad heard. It was not a voice, it was a kind of raucous crying, hoarse yetshrill, uneven like the barking of a dog, and appalling. The sounds came forthin rapid succession, angrily, as though the being that uttered them sought toexpress itself in furious words. It was mad with passion and beat against theglass walls of its prison with clenched fists. For the hands were human hands,and the body, though much larger, was of the shape of a new-born child. Thecreature must have stood about four feet high. The head was horribly misshapen.The skull was enormous, smooth and distended like that of a hydrocephalic, andthe forehead protruded over the face hideously. The features were almostunformed, preternaturally small under the great, overhanging brow; and they hadan expression of fiendish malignity.

The tiny, misshapen countenance writhed with convulsive fury, and from themouth poured out a foaming spume. It raised its voice higher and higher,shrieking senseless gibberish in its rage. Then it began to hurl its whole bodymadly against the glass walls and to beat its head. It appeared to have asudden incomprehensible hatred for the three strangers. It was trying to fly atthem. The toothless gums moved spasmodically, and it threw its face intohorrible grimaces. That nameless, loathsome abortion was the nearest thatOliver Haddo had come to the human form.

“Come away,” said Arthur. “We must not look at this.”

He quickly flung the covering over the jar.

“Yes, for God’s sake let us go,” said Susie.

“We haven’t done yet,” answered Arthur. “We haven’t found the author of allthis.”

He looked at the room in which they were, but there was no door except that bywhich they had entered. Then he uttered a startled cry, and stepping forwardfell on his knee.

On the other side of the long tables heaped up with instruments, hidden so thatat first they had not seen him, Oliver Haddo lay on the floor, dead. His blueeyes were staring wide, and they seemed larger than they had ever been. Theykept still the expression of terror which they had worn in the moment of hisagony, and his heavy face was distorted with deadly fear. It was purple anddark, and the eyes were injected with blood.

“He died of suffocation,” whispered Dr Porhoët.

Arthur pointed to the neck. There could be seen on it distinctly the marks ofthe avenging fingers that had strangled the life out of him. It was impossibleto hesitate.

“I told you that I had killed him,” said Arthur.

Then he remembered something more. He took hold of the right arm. He wasconvinced that it had been broken during that desperate struggle in thedarkness. He felt it carefully and listened. He heard plainly the two parts ofthe bone rub against one another. The dead man’s arm was broken just in theplace where he had broken it. Arthur stood up. He took one last look at hisenemy. That vast mass of flesh lay heaped up on the floor in horrible disorder.

“Now that you have seen, will you come away?” said Susie, interrupting him.

The words seemed to bring him suddenly to himself.

“Yes, we must go quickly.”

They turned away and with hurried steps walked through those bright attics tillthey came to the stairs.

“Now go down and wait for me at the door,” said Arthur. “I will follow youimmediately.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Susie.

“Never mind. Do as I tell you. I have not finished here yet.”

They went down the great oak staircase and waited in the hall. They wonderedwhat Arthur was about. Presently he came running down.

“Be quick!” he cried. “We have no time to lose.”

“What have you done, Arthur?”

There’s no time to tell you now.”

He hurried them out and slammed the door behind him. He took Susie’s hand.

“Now we must run. Come.”

She did not know what his haste signified, but her heart beat furiously. Hedragged her along. Dr Porhoët hurried on behind them. Arthur plunged into thewood. He would not leave them time to breathe.

“You must be quick,” he said.

At last they came to the opening in the fence, and he helped them to getthrough. Then he carefully replaced the wooden paling and, taking Susie’s armbegan to walk rapidly towards their inn.

“I’m frightfully tired,” she said. “I simply can’t go so fast.”

“You must. Presently you can rest as long as you like.”

They walked very quickly for a while. Now and then Arthur looked back. Thenight was still quite dark, and the stars shone out in their myriads. At lasthe slackened their pace.

“Now you can go more slowly,” he said.

Susie saw the smiling glance that he gave her. His eyes were full oftenderness. He put his arm affectionately round her shoulders to support her.

“I’m afraid you’re quite exhausted, poor thing,” he said. “I’m sorry to havehad to hustle you so much.”

“It doesn’t matter at all.”

She leaned against him comfortably. With that protecting arm about her, shefelt capable of any fatigue. Dr Porhoët stopped.

“You must really let me roll myself a cigarette,” he said.

“You may do whatever you like,” answered Arthur.

There was a different ring in his voice now, and it was soft with a good-humourthat they had not heard in it for many months. He appeared singularly relieved.Susie was ready to forget the terrible past and give herself over to thehappiness that seemed at last in store for her. They began to saunter slowlyon. And now they could take pleasure in the exquisite night. The air was verysuave, odorous with the heather that was all about them, and there was anenchanting peace in that scene which wonderfully soothed their weariness. Itwas dark still, but they knew the dawn was at hand, and Susie rejoiced in theapproaching day. In the east the azure of the night began to thin away intopale amethyst, and the trees seemed gradually to stand out from the darkness ina ghostly beauty. Suddenly birds began to sing all around them in a splendidchorus. From their feet a lark sprang up with a rustle of wings and, mountingproudly upon the air, chanted blithe canticles to greet the morning. They stoodupon a little hill.

“Let us wait here and see the sun rise,” said Susie.

“As you will.”

They stood all three of them, and Susie took in deep, joyful breaths of thesweet air of dawn. The whole land, spread at her feet, was clothed in thepurple dimness that heralds day, and she exulted in its beauty. But she noticedthat Arthur, unlike herself and Dr Porhoët, did not look toward the east. Hiseyes were fixed steadily upon the place from which they had come. What did helook for in the darkness of the west? She turned round, and a cry broke fromher lips, for the shadows there were lurid with a deep red glow.

“It looks like a fire,” she said.

“It is. Skene is burning like tinder.”

And as he spoke it seemed that the roof fell in, for suddenly vast flamessprang up, rising high into the still night air; and they saw that the housethey had just left was blazing furiously. It was a magnificent sight from thedistant hill on which they stood to watch the fire as it soared and sank, as itshot scarlet tongues along like strange Titanic monsters, as it raged from roomto room. Skene was burning. It was beyond the reach of human help. In a littlewhile there would be no trace of all those crimes and all those horrors. Now itwas one mass of flame. It looked like some primeval furnace, where the godsmight work unheard-of miracles.

“Arthur, what have you done?” asked Susie, in a tone that was hardly audible.

He did not answer directly. He put his arm about her shoulder again, so thatshe was obliged to turn round.

“Look, the sun is rising.”

In the east, a long ray of light climbed up the sky, and the sun, yellow andround, appeared upon the face of the earth.

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