That same afternoon the bride and bridegroom started off for their honeymoon3 to the Tyrol and Italy. When Mrs. Trevennack was left alone with her husband it was with a thankful heart. She turned to him, flowing over in soul with joy. “Oh, Michael,” she cried, melting, “I’m so happy, so happy, so happy.”
Trevennack stooped down and kissed her forehead tenderly. He had always been a good husband, and he loved her with all his heart. “That’s well, Lucy,” he answered. “Thank God, it’s all over. For I can’t hold out much longer. The strain’s too much for me.” He paused a moment, and looked at her. “Lucy,” he said, once more, clasping his forehead with one hand, “I’ve fought against it hard. I’m fighting against it still. But at times it almost gets the better of me. Do you know who I saw in the church this morning, skulking4 behind a pillar?—that man Walter Tyrrel.”
Mrs. Trevennack gazed at him all aghast. This was surely a delusion5, a fixed6 idea, an insane hallucination. “Oh, no, dear,” she cried, prying8 deep into his eyes. “It couldn’t be he, it couldn’t. You must be mistaken, Michael. I’m sure he’s not in London.”
“No more mistaken than I am this minute,” Trevennack answered, rushing over to the window, and pointing with one hand eagerly. “See, see! there he is, Lucy—the man that killed our poor, dear Michael!”
Mrs. Trevennack uttered a little cry, half sob9, half wail10, as she looked out of the window and, under the gas-lamps opposite, recognized through the mist the form of Walter Tyrrel.
But Trevennack didn’t rush out at him as she feared and believed he would. He only stood still in his place and glared at his enemy. “Not now,” he said, slowly; “not now, on Cleer’s wedding day. But some other time—more suitable. I hear it in my ears; I hear the voice still ringing: ‘Go, Michael, of celestial11 armies prince!’ I can’t disobey. I shall go in due time. I shall fight the enemy.”
And he sank back in his chair, with his eyes staring wildly.
For the next week or two, while Cleer wrote home happy letters from Paris, Innsbruck, Milan, Venice, Florence, poor Mrs. Trevennack was tortured inwardly with another terrible doubt; had Michael’s state become so dangerous at last that he must be put under restraint as a measure of public security? For Walter Tyrrel’s sake, ought she to make his condition known to the world at large—and spoil Cleer’s honeymoon? She shrank from that final necessity with a deadly shrinking. Day after day she put the discovery off, and solaced12 her soul with the best intentions—as what true woman would not?
But we know where good intentions go. On the morning of the twenty-ninth, which is Michaelmas Day, the poor mother rose in fear and trembling. Michael, to all outward appearance, was as sane7 as usual. He breakfasted and went down to the office, as was his wont13.
When he arrived there, however, he found letters from Falmouth awaiting him with bad news. His presence was needed at once. He must miss his projected visit to St. Michael’s, Cornhill. He must go down to Cornwall.
Hailing a cab at the door he hastened back to Paddington just in time for the Cornish express. This was surely a call. The words rang in his ears louder and clearer than ever, “Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince!” He would go and obey them. He would trample14 under foot this foul15 fiend that masqueraded in human shape as his dear boy’s murderer. He would wield16 once more that huge two-handed sword, brandished17 aloft, wide-wasting, in unearthly warfare18. He would come out in his true shape before heaven and earth as the chief of the archangels.
Stepping into a first-class compartment19 he found himself, unluckily for his present mood, alone. All the way down to Exeter the fit was on him. He stood up in the carriage, swaying his unseen blade, celestial temper fine, and rolling forth20 in a loud voice Miltonic verses of his old encounters in heaven with the powers of darkness.
“Now waved their fiery21 swords, and in the air
Made horrid22 circles; two broad suns their shields
Blazed opposite, while expectation stood
In horror.”
He mouthed out the lines in a perfect ecstasy23 of madness. It was delightful24 to be alone. He could give his soul full vent25. He knew he was mad. He knew he was an archangel.
And all the way down he repeated to himself, many times over, that he would trample under foot that base fiend Walter Tyrrel. Satan has many disguises; squat26 like a toad27, close at the ear of Eve, he sat in Paradise; for
“...spirits as they please
Can limb themselves, and color, or size assume
As likes them best, condense or rare.”
If he himself, Michael, prince of celestial hosts, could fit his angelic majesty29 to the likeness30 of a man, Trevennack—could not Satan meet him on his own ground, and try to thwart31 him as of old in the likeness of a man, Walter Tyrrel—his dear boy’s murderer.
As far as Exeter this was his one train of thought. But from there to Plymouth new passengers got in. They turned the current. Trevennack changed his mind rapidly. Another mood came over him. His wife’s words struck him vaguely32 in some tenderer place. “Fight the devil WITHIN you, Michael. Fight him there, and conquer him.” That surely was fitter far for an angelic nature. That foeman was worthier34 his celestial steel. “Turn homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth!” Not his to do vengeance35 on the man Walter Tyrrel. Not his to play the divine part of vindicator36. In his madness even Trevennack was magnanimous. Leave the creature to the torment37 of his own guilty soul. Do angels care for thrusts of such as he? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?
At Ivybridge station the train slowed, and then stopped. Trevennack, accustomed to the Cornish express, noted38 the stoppage with surprise. “We’re not down to pull up here!” he said, quickly, to the guard.
“No sir,” the guard answered, touching39 his hat with marked respect, for he knew the Admiralty official well. “Signals are against us. Line’s blocked as far as Plymouth.”
“I’ll get out here, then,” Trevennack said, in haste; and the guard opened the door. A new idea had rushed suddenly into the madman’s head. This was St. Michael’s Day—his own day; and there was St. Michael’s Tor—his own tor—full in sight before him. He would go up there this very evening, and before the eyes of all the world, in his celestial armor, taking Lucy’s advice, do battle with and quell40 this fierce devil within him.
No sooner thought than done. Fiery hot within, he turned out of the gate, and as the shades of autumn evening began to fall, walked swiftly up the moor41 toward the tor and the uplands.
As he walked his heart beat to a lilting rhythm within him. “Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince!—Go, Michael!—Go, Michael! Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince—Go, Michael!—Go, Michael!”
The moor was draped in fog. It was a still, damp evening. Swirling42 clouds rose slowly up, and lifted at times and disclosed the peaty hollows, the high tors, the dusky heather. But Trevennack stumbled on, o’er bog43 or steep, through strait, rough, dense28, or rare, as chance might lead him, clambering ever toward his goal, now seen, now invisible—the great stack of wild rock that crowned the gray undulating moor to northward44. Often he missed his way; often he floundered for awhile in deep ochreous bottoms, up to his knees in soft slush, but with some strange mad instinct he wandered on nevertheless, and slowly drew near the high point he was aiming at.
By this time it was pitch dark. The sun had set and fog obscured the starlight. But Trevennack, all on fire, wandered madly forward and scaled the rocky tor by the well-known path, guided not by sight, but by pure instinctive45 groping. In his present exalted46 state, indeed, he had no need of eyes. What matters earthly darkness to angelic feet? He could pick his own way through the gloom, though all the fiends from hell in serried47 phalanx broke loose to thwart him. He would reach the top at last; reach the top; reach the top, and there fight that old serpent who lay in wait to destroy him. At last he gained the peak, and stood with feet firmly planted on the little rocky platform. Now, Satan, come on! Ha, traitor48, come, if you dare! Your antagonist49 is ready for you!
Cr’r’r’k! as he stood there, waiting, a terrible shock brought him to himself all at once with startling suddenness. Trevennack drew back aghast and appalled50. Even in his mad exaltation this strange assault astonished him. He had expected a struggle, indeed; he had expected a conflict, but with a spiritual foe33; to meet his adversary51 in so bodily a form as this, wholly startled and surprised him. For it was a fierce earthly shock he received upon his right leg as he mounted the rocky platform. Satan had been lying in wait for him then, expecting him, waylaying52 him, and in corporeal53 presence too. For this was a spear of good steel! This was a solid Thing that assaulted him as he rose—assaulted him with frantic54 rage and uncontrollable fury!
For a moment Trevennack was stunned—the sharpness of the pain and the suddenness of the attack took both breath and sense away from him. He stood there one instant, irresolute55, before he knew how to comport56 himself. But before he could make up his mind—cr’r’k, a second time—the Presence had assailed57 him again, fighting with deadly force, and in a white heat of frenzy58. Trevennack had no leisure to think what this portent59 might mean. Man or fiend, it was a life-and-death struggle now between them. He stood face to face at last in mortal conflict with his materialized enemy. What form the Evil Thing had assumed to suit his present purpose Trevennack knew not, nor did he even care. Stung with pain and terror he rushed forward blindly upon his enraged60 assailant, and closed with him at once, tooth and nail, in a deadly grapple.
A more terrible battle man and brute61 never fought. Trevennack had no sword, no celestial panoply62. But he could wrestle63 like a Cornishman. He must trample his foe under foot, then, in this final struggle, by sheer force of strong thews and strained muscles alone. He fought the Creature as it stood, flinging his arms round it wildly. The Thing seemed to rear itself as if on cloven hoofs64. Trevennack seized it round the waist, and grasping it hard in an iron grip, clung to it with all the wild energy of madness. Yield, Satan, yield! But still the Creature eluded65 him. Once more it drew back a pace—he felt its hot breath, he smelt66 its hateful smell—and prepared to rush again at him. Trevennack bent67 down to receive its attack, crouching68. The Creature burst full tilt69 on him—it almost threw him over. Trevennack caught it in his horror and awe—caught it bodily by the horns—for horned it seemed to be, as well as cloven-footed—and by sheer force of arm held it off from him an elbow’s length one minute. The Thing struggled and reared again. Yes, yes, it was Satan—he felt him all over now—a devil undisguised—but Satan rather in medieval than in Miltonic fashion. His skin was rough and hairy as a satyr’s; his odor was foul; his feet were cleft70; his horns sharp and terrible. He flung him from him horrified71.
Quick as lightning the demon72 rose again, and tilted73 fiercely at him once more. It was a death fight between those two for that rocky platform. Should Satan thus usurp74 St. Michael’s Tor? Ten thousand times, no! Yield, yield! No surrender! Each knew the ground well, and even in the dark and in the mad heat of the conflict, each carefully avoided the steep edge of the precipice75. But the fiend knew it best, apparently76. He had been lying in a snug77 nook, under lee of a big rock, sharpening his sword on its side, before Trevennack came up there. Against this rock he took his stand, firm as a rock himself, and seemed to defy his enemy’s arms to dislodge him from his position.
Trevennack’s hands and legs were streaming now with blood. His left arm was sorely wounded. His thumb hung useless. But with the strange energy of madness he continued the desperate conflict against his unseen foe. Never should Michael turn and yield to the deadly assaults of the Evil One! He rushed on blindly once more, and the Adversary stooped to oppose him. Again, a terrible shock, it almost broke both his knees; but by sheer strength of nerve he withstood it, still struggling. Then they closed in a final grapple. It was a tooth-and-nail conflict. They fought one another with every weapon they possessed78; each hugged each in their fury; they tilted, and tore, and wrestled79, and bit, and butted80.
Trevennack’s coat was in ribbons, his arm was ripped and bleeding; but he grasped the Adversary still, he fought blindly to the end. Down, Satan, I defy thee!
It was a long, fierce fight! At last, bit by bit, the Enemy began to yield. Trevennack had dashed him against the crag time after time like a log, till he too was torn and hurt and bleeding. His flesh was like pulp81. He could endure the unequal fight no longer. He staggered and gave way. A great joy rose up tremulous in Trevennack’s heart. Even without his celestial sword, then, he had vanquished82 his enemy. He seized the Creature round the middle, dragged it, a dead weight, in his weary arms, to the edge of the precipice, and dropped it, feebly resisting, on to the bare rock beneath him.
Victory! Victory! Once more, a great victory!
He stood on the brink83 of the tor, and poised84 himself, as if for flight, in his accustomed attitude. But he was faint from loss of blood, and his limbs shook under him.
A light seemed to break before his blinded eyes. Victory! Victory! It was the light from heaven! He stared forward to welcome it. The brink of the precipice? What was THAT to such as he? He would spread his wings—for once—at last—thus! thus! and fly forward on full pinions85 to his expected triumph!
He raised both arms above his head, and spread them out as if for flight. His knees trembled fearfully. His fingers quivered. Then he launched himself on the air and fell. His eyes closed half-way. He lost consciousness. He fainted. Before he had reached the bottom he was wholly insensible.
Next day it was known before noon in London that a strange and inexplicable86 accident had befallen Mr. Michael Trevennack C.M.G., the well-known Admiralty official, on the moor near Ivybridge. Mr. Trevennack, it seemed, had started by the Cornish express for Falmouth, on official business; but the line being blocked between Ivybridge and Plymouth, he had changed his plans and set out to walk, as was conjectured87, by a devious88 path across the moor to Tavistock. Deceased knew the neighborhood well, and was an enthusiastic admirer of its tors and uplands. But fog coming on, the unfortunate gentleman, it was believed, had lost his way, and tried to shelter himself for a time behind a tall peak of rock which he used frequently to visit during his summer holidays. There he was apparently attacked by a savage89 moorland ram—one of that wild breed of mountain sheep peculiar90 to Dartmoor, and famous for the strength and ferocity often displayed by the fathers of the flock. Mr. Trevennack was unarmed, and a terrible fight appeared to have taken place between these ill-matched antagonists91 on the summit of the rocks, full details of which, the Telegram said in its curt92 business-like way, were too ghastly for publication. After a long and exhausting struggle, however, the combatants must either have slipped on the wet surface and tumbled over the edge of the rocks together in a deadly grapple, or else, as seemed more probable from the positions in which the bodies were found, the unhappy gentleman had just succeeded in flinging his assailant over, and then, faint from loss of blood, had missed his footing and fallen beside his dead antagonist. At any rate, when the corpse93 was discovered life had been extinct for several hours; and it was the opinion of the medical authorities who conducted the post-mortem that death was due not so much to the injuries themselves as to asphyxiation94 in the act of falling.
* * *
The jury found it “Death from accidental circumstances.” Cleer never knew more than that her father had met his end by walking over the edge of a cliff on Dartmoor.
* * *
But when the body came home for burial, Dr. Yate-Westbury looked in by Mrs. Trevennack’s special request, and performed an informal and private examination of the brain and nervous system. At the close of the autopsy95 he came down to the drawing-room where the silver-haired lady sat pale and tearful, but courageous96. “It is just as I thought,” he said; “a clot97 of blood, due to external injury, has pressed for years above the left frontal region, causing hallucinations and irregularities of a functional98 character only. You needn’t have the slightest fear of its proving hereditary99. It’s as purely100 accidental as a sprain101 or a wound. Your daughter, Mrs. Le Neve, couldn’t possibly suffer for it.”
And neither Cleer nor Le Neve nor anyone else ever shared that secret of Trevennack’s delusions102 with his wife and the doctor.
The End
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1
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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3
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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4
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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5
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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6
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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7
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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8
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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9
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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10
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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11
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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12
solaced
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的过去分词 ) | |
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13
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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14
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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15
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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16
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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17
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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18
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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19
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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20
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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21
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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22
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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23
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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24
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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25
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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26
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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27
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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28
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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29
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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30
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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31
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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32
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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33
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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34
worthier
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| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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35
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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36
vindicator
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| n.维护者，辩护者，辩明者 | |
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37
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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38
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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39
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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40
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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41
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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42
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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43
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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44
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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45
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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46
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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47
serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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48
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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49
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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50
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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51
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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52
waylaying
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的现在分词 ) | |
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53
corporeal
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| adj.肉体的，身体的；物质的 | |
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54
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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55
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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56
comport
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| vi.相称，适合 | |
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57
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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58
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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59
portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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60
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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61
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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usurp
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| vt.篡夺，霸占；vi.篡位 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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butted
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| 对接的 | |
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pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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pinions
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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antagonists
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| 对立[对抗] 者，对手，敌手( antagonist的名词复数 )； 对抗肌； 对抗药 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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asphyxiation
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| n. 窒息 | |
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autopsy
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| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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functional
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| adj.为实用而设计的，具备功能的，起作用的 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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sprain
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| n.扭伤,扭筋 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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